“A presence. I know. But we love her.” Clearing her throat, which suddenly felt terribly parched and burning, Alex said, “I’m glad you’re here, but what’s the story with Pigeon?”
“We’ll find her. Just a matter of time. I hate to ask, but could you keep Braden this afternoon? Zeke found out that Pigeon’s mother and stepdad have a place in Indian Springs. We’d like to run up there and ask a few questions.”
Alex was exhausted, utterly drained, but she couldn’t say no. She knew how important this was to him, to Braden. “Sure,” she said. “Kate planned to hang out at Mom’s to visit with Grace, so I’m sure Maya and Braden will have a great time together.”
And with any luck, I can grab a nap.
Chapter Nineteen
Mark left the Day Care with mixed emotions. Mostly, he felt guilty about asking Alex to keep Braden. She’d looked so tired. Beautiful, of course. The jaunty tilt of the plush red hat with the white trim fur almost matched her rosy cheeks.
Parking was at a premium today, with all the families of both the morning and afternoon classes attending the festivities, so Mark had to search for Zeke’s car. He’d taken a few minutes to follow Braden on a guided tour of his art projects. More examples than Mark had expected to find since Braden only attended the school a couple of hours a day.
Braden had also presented Mark with a decorated box—the kind Mark had folded and assembled when he’d been a volunteer helping at the school.
“M-my h-hand,” Braden had said, proudly.
“That’s great, son. We’ll hang it on the wall when we get home. This is the best gift ever.” And he’d meant it. Mark was finally starting to feel as if things were going to work out—for him and for Braden.
He had to jog halfway around the block to find the unmarked Ford. To his shock, a stranger was sitting in the passenger seat.
The window rolled down. Zeke leaned over and said to Mark, “Nick Lightner, meet Mark Gaylord. Nick’s coming with us. Since this is just an informal social call and all,” he added, reminding both men of Mark’s unofficial status where this investigation was concerned.
“The more the merrier,” Mark said, getting into the back-seat. He knew the only reason he was here was because of Zeke’s friendship and determination to clear Mark’s name.
“Sorry to butt in,” the well-built man with wavy blond hair said. He looked more like a movie star than a cop. And he was half Romani? Mark wasn’t sure he believed it.
“No problem, but aren’t you supposed to be at the party? I saw your fiancée there.”
The man ran a hand through his hair in a nervous mannerism. “Yeah, but all those kids? No, thanks. Zeke offered me a chance to go hunting, and I jumped onboard. Grace will understand.”
“You got something against kids?” Mark asked.
Nick turned so Mark could see his face. “Not really. But, they’re short and loud and…” His gaze dropped. “They scare the you-know-what out of me.”
Mark would have laughed, but he could tell the man was serious. Big, strong cop unnerved by a group of preschoolers. He loved it.
“Well, that’ll change when you have your own. I guarantee it. Grace strikes me as the equal-parent kind of woman. You’ll be changing your share of diapers and doing your part when it’s time for preschool.”
Nick let out a long groan and slumped down in the seat. “Yep, I suspect you’re right.”
“Speaking of suspects…” Zeke said, yukking at his little joke. “Do we have an address for Pigeon’s parents?”
“Mother,” Mark clarified. “The dad is dead, according to her records. There was a stepdad, but I’m not sure he’s living there now. The street number is on top of the folder. My notes are inside, if you want to take a look, Lightner.”
Nobody spoke for a few miles while the newcomer read. “Hell,” Nick said twenty minutes later. “They suspended you for this? A plea bargain with a three-strike loser? The man was a flake. It says here they’re not even sure he was in town at the time of the fire. How would he know anything?”
Mark shrugged. “Supposedly, I have a motive and the expertise.”
Nikolai snorted skeptically. He turned the page and read further until he startled visibly and looked at Zeke. “It says here that the dealer who died in the fire was known to have supplied Charles Harmon’s sister with drugs.”
Zeke glanced at Mark. “Really? I don’t remember reading that.”
Mark sat forward. “I pulled it off some report. Didn’t figure it meant anything since Harmon’s in jail, but his name always raises a red flag with me, considering his ties to the Rom community.” He looked at Nick. “You’re the guy who nailed him, right?”
Nikolai turned so he could see both Mark and Zeke. “With a little help from Grace,” he said with a chuckle. “But the first call I got from Yetta came in late January. Harmon was on the street for a couple of months after that. I didn’t even come to Vegas until the middle of February.”
Zeke nodded. “That’s true.”
“What’s your point? Harmon’s sister has been dead for years. Why would he wait so long to do something to the guy who sold her drugs?”
Nick shook his head. “I don’t know, but I remember him bragging that the people who supplied her with drugs would be afraid to make him mad. I didn’t pursue it because I was undercover at the time, but I definitely got the impression he had something to do with drug traffic in this area.”
“Not surprising,” Zeke said. “The guy thought he could build his own little syndicate of corruption without law enforcement giving a damn.” Glancing at Mark in the rear-view mirror, he added, “I swear Harmon and your ex-mother-in-law would get along great. They both see the world only as it applies to them.”
Mark agreed.
To Nick, Zeke said, “I think we could use some fresh eyes on this case. Want to do a little moonlighting while you’re here?”
“My future wife would kill me.”
“I might be able to make it worth your while—and toss in a little bonus that even Grace would like.”
Mark heard an odd waver in Zeke’s voice. He hunched closer, elbows on knees.
“Really?” Nikolai said, glancing at Mark. “What would that be?”
“My job.”
“I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE GULLIVER when I sit at one of these tables,” Grace said, yanking her short skirt down modestly.
Kate, who was partially hidden behind a tower of art papers topped by a gold foil-wrapped box and a chain of green and red construction-paper loops, plopped one elbow on the table and sighed. “What was the name of the place that he landed in?”
“I can’t remember,” Grace said. “But I bet Alex knows.”
“Lilliput. The people were Lilliputians. They buried their dead heads downward because they believed that when redemption came, the earth, which was flat, of course, was going to flip over and they’d be restored, feet flat on the ground.”
Alex noticed her sisters staring at her, mouths agape.
“I read Jonathan Swift. Don’t look at me like that.”
“Something’s up with her,” Grace said to Kate.
“Well, duh, you don’t have to be a Gypsy psychic to know that,” Kate returned, tossing a stray kernel of popcorn across the table. “Mom thinks she’s in love.”
“Mom thinks Alex is in love?”
“Of course, who did you think I meant?”
“Mom.”
“That’s what I said, Mom thinks she’s—”
Alex let out a low gurgle and dropped her head to the table. “Stop it. You two are like a bad version of ‘Who’s on First?’”
“We’re not talkin’ baseball here,” Grace said, but the twinkle in her eye told Alex she was joking.
“Or Abbott and Costello,” Kate put in. “Mom might be in love, too, but she’s not our concern at the moment. You are.”
The smooth, cool tabletop brought instant relief to Alex’s hot cheeks and forehead. “Why me?”
“Uh-
oh. She’s mumbling.”
“I think she has a fever. Maya gets the same glassy look in her eyes when she’s sick.”
Sick? Like the flu?
A sudden thought hit her and she sat upright and looked around. “Did anyone check my phone messages this morning?”
“I did,” another voice called. “Mom told me to.” Liz finished boxing up the donated books that she’d volunteered to deliver to the shelter on her way home and walked across the room to join her sisters. “Because you were so busy greeting people.”
“Well, what were the messages?”
“There was just one. From Roberta. She said William was sick. He came down with the flu last night, and she’d try to pick up his artwork on Monday unless she caught it, too.”
“The flu,” Alex croaked. “I have the flu.”
Grace made a face. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone sound happy about being sick.”
Alex looked around and realized all three of her sisters were staring at her. She swallowed. The burning pain in her throat made sense, now. It wasn’t from throwing up. How could she have been so stupid?
“I thought I had morning sickness,” she admitted.
Their collective gasp could have sucked the air out of a dozen balloons.
Before any of them recovered, she held up her hand. “I don’t want to talk about it. When I’m feeling better, I will open my private life to your sisterly scrutiny…because I know you’ll drive me mad until you know everything. But not now. I’m too wiped out. Remember what happened the last time I had the flu?”
Kate and Grace looked at each other and nodded. “You wound up in the hospital,” Kate said.
“Because you always take care of yourself last,” Grace added. “Go to bed, now.”
“And drink lots of liquids,” Liz added. She jumped to her feet and started toward the kitchen. “I’ll brew you some tea.”
“What about Braden?” Kate asked. “Can we take him to Mom’s with us?”
Alex leaned forward and braced her hands on the tiny table. “He could stay here and watch a movie, but I don’t want to expose him to any more of my germs. I feel terrible that I was breathing on those poor people today. They’ll probably all be sick on Christmas.”
Grace stood up, too. “Cut yourself a little slack, Typhoid Alex. It’s winter, and you work in a germ factory. Where do you think you got the bug?”
“And remember what Mom always says, ‘It’s not the seed, it’s the garden.’ Or something like that,” Kate put in before anyone could correct her. “You were probably more susceptible to the virus because this is such a hectic time for you, and you let yourself get run-down.”
Alex couldn’t argue with that logic—even if she’d had the energy.
Grace bent down to pat Alex’s back. “Kate’s right. I know how hard you push yourself to make the holidays special for your students. But look at you, Alex. You’re white as Santa’s beard. Now, go to bed and get some rest. I’ll put a note on your door so Mark won’t disturb you when he shows up for his kid. Okay?”
Kate put her warm hand over Alex’s icy one. “Braden will be fine. He seems to adore Maya, and she’s very protective of him. She told me the other day that she’s decided to ‘fix’ his speech problem because she doesn’t like the way the other kids look at him when he stutters.”
Alex attempted a smile. If anyone could bring Braden out of his shell and help him with his speech impediment, it was Maya.
As she shuffled down the hall, one hand on the wall to keep her balance, she heard the low murmurings of her three sisters. They were talking about her, of course. And her revelation that she’d had sex with Mark. No doubt they’d come to the same conclusion: their eldest sister was out of her mind.
Chapter Twenty
The address Mark had scribbled in his notes belonged to a 1970s-era Fleetwood mobile home, faded green with a curved bay window on the end facing the street. Three cats watched from their vantage point behind the glass as Mark, Zeke and Nikolai approached.
A small, slightly lopsided porch had been attached to the front door. Several strands of tiny white Christmas lights zigzagged from post to post. The cheap artificial turf underfoot was frayed and sun-bleached, but a fresh pine wreath adorned with shiny red balls hung beside the door.
Mark knocked.
“Coming…” a voice called.
A face appeared behind the glass storm door. A woman. Shoulder-length dishwater-blond hair. Extremely thin. Mark recognized her from the photograph.
“You’re Pigeon. I’m Mark Gaylord. You knew my ex-wife.”
Her pretty blue eyes went wide and round. She was probably in her mid-thirties, but the years hadn’t been kind to her.
“Can we come in and talk to you for a few minutes?”
“Am I in trouble? My mom said I couldn’t stay if I brought trouble with me.”
Mark felt sorry for her, but he said, “These gentlemen are police officers, but they’re not here to arrest you. They’re investigating Tracey’s death, and they were hoping to get some sense of what Tracey’s life was like at the end. We thought you might be able to help us.”
After a few moments of indecision, she opened the door and led them into the shabby but neat living room. The cats were now grouped together like a three-headed beast. “I have to go to work in half an hour. I’m a waitress. Don’t make squat in tips, but I’m not quite ready to give Vegas another try. Bad things happen when I’m there.”
“What kind of bad things?” Zeke asked, taking a seat on the sofa. “Drugs?”
“Uh-huh. Mom says I have codependent tendencies. Whatever that means. And I ran with the wrong crowd. In school and stuff.”
“Did you know Amy Harmon when you lived in Vegas?” Nick asked. “She had a brother. Quite a bit older. He used to be a lawyer in town.”
Her shoulders lifted and fell. “Name sorta rings a bell, but I don’t really remember.”
Mark withdrew the photograph he’d brought with him. “How did you and Tracey get to know each other, Pigeon?”
The woman laughed nervously and looked over her shoulder as if expecting someone to scold her. “Um, I don’t go by that name anymore. That was my…um…street name, if you get my drift. Call me Patti. That was what Tracey called me. She said I wasn’t anybody’s bird.”
Mark waited for her to go on.
“She was one of the cops that came to the house when me and my old man were fighting. That was the second time we met. The first was when she busted me for soliciting. But I wasn’t really. I was just trying to score some glass—” Mark and Nick exchanged a look that said they recognized one of the many street names for meth. “And somebody said this guy in a Mercedes would trade the stuff for a blow job. Seemed like a good deal at the time,” she said with a self-conscious laugh. “Tracey let me go. She said the buyer in the car was as much to blame as me.” Her smile seemed reflective—and sad.
“I was pretty bad off when your wife…um, I mean ex-wife, came to the house. I was bleeding all over everything from this cut above my eye.” She pointed to a small silver scar that bisected her left brow. “She called the EMTs and followed me to the emergency room. When we talked I felt like she really understood what I was going through.”
She let out a weighty sigh. “Trace got me in a program. It helped for a while. I was doing good. She said I could live with her as long as I was clean. That’s when we took this picture,” she said, smiling at the memory. “But then the doctor who was running the program got caught bonking his nurse or something. The place closed down and I…I…”
“You started using again?”
She nodded. “I fell back in with my old crowd, but things weren’t good. I sorta freaked out, and I went to Tracey for help, but she wasn’t doing so good herself. This was after she got hurt at work. Her mother had moved in and…” She shuddered in a way that told Mark a lot. “The pain pills she was taking for her back made her kinda loopy and depressed. I think it real
ly bummed her out when she lost her job.”
Patti looked at Zeke and frowned. “That wasn’t right, you know. She was a good person, and she did good when she was a cop. You guys hung her out to dry just because she made one mistake and lost her temper.”
Zeke appeared to agree with her. “Unfortunately, she beat up a suspect, and somebody with a movie camera caught it on tape. The department didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter.”
“Well, she deserved better,” Patti said, showing surprising spirit. “But Trace did have a temper. Her mom was the same way. And when those two started fighting, me and Braden would run and hide.”
She looked at Mark. “I heard you got custody of him. Tracey wouldn’t have wanted Odessa to be raising him. Sometimes, I thought she hated her mother worse than she hated Tom-Tom.”
“Who?”
She looked at her hands, which were clenched so tightly Mark could see her knuckles white against her skin. “My ex. Tracey and Odessa knew him, too.”
Mark’s stomach clenched. “Odessa told me that Tracey and this Tom guy were an item before Trace and I got married. Is that true?”
Patti shrugged. “Don’t know. Tracey hated him. That was for sure. When she found out I was getting my stuff from him, she went ballistic. Grabbed her gun, sent Braden to the neighbor lady next door and drove me straight to his place.”
At the mention of the word gun, Mark looked at Zeke, who asked, “Do you know what kind of gun?”
She shook her head. “I was pretty messed up at the time. All I remember is her yelling at me and saying something about putting an end to the poison. She drove my car ’cause hers was low on gas. When we got there, she made me wait in the car.”
Mark couldn’t see her face because her chin was practically buried in the throat of her waitress uniform. “What happened?”
“She didn’t come out for a long time. I got scared and I started to go after her in case Tom-Tom done something to her, you know?” She looked up. Tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks at any moment. “I only made it a few steps when there was a big explosion. I didn’t really see what happened because the force threw me backwards and I covered up my head to keep from getting hit with boards and glass and stuff.”
The Quiet Child Page 17