Moonlight Avenue

by Gerri Hill

  “What do you mean?”

  “Say it’s your brother. You haven’t talked to him in a couple of days. You call his work. They haven’t seen him. You call his friends. They haven’t seen him. You call the police. What do they do? They contact his work, they contact his friends. They run a trace on credit cards. They try to map his last whereabouts. People disappear all the time. If there are no hits on credit cards and no evidence of foul play, then there’s not much else to do. The police simply don’t have the manpower to continue to follow up on cases like that. There are hundreds of them.”

  “So what do you do differently?”

  “Delve into their background. Interview coworkers and friends. Was he mixed up in drugs? Did he have enemies?”

  “Aren’t those all things the police should do?”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. They do those things, only on a smaller scale. That missing persons case is but one of many cases they’re juggling. Whereas the family hires a private investigator, I can devote all of my time to it.”

  “Do you find them?”

  “Sometimes. A lot of times.”

  “Alive?”

  “Mostly.”

  “So you find them? Then what? Do you notify the police?”

  “The police didn’t hire me. The family did. So no, I don’t. Whether the family does or not, that’s not my concern.”

  “I guess a lot of them don’t want to be found so they’re not real happy with you, huh?”

  “Some, yes.”

  The rain had turned into a downpour and she could barely see the apartment door. Rylee pulled her jacket tighter around her.

  “Are you cold?”

  “A little. It’s the rain.”

  “Yeah. This kind of weather will last through January. By February, spring is in the air and you kinda forget about these months.”

  Rylee turned to look at her. “What do you do for fun?”

  “For fun?”

  Rylee shook her head. “You don’t do anything, do you?”

  “I…when Sammy was here, we’d go fishing some.” Of course, that was a lie, wasn’t it? She hadn’t made time for fishing in a very long time. “And my neighbor, Larry. He’s a widower. We’ll grill a steak every once in a while.” Again…a lie. She hadn’t even seen Larry since Sammy’s death.

  “The first sunny, warm day…you know what we’re going to do?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Take the top off my Jeep and drive the beach all the way to Padre Island. The wind in your hair, the sun on your skin…there’s no better therapy.”

  “So you’re saying I need therapy?”

  Rylee rolled her head against the seat, meeting her gaze. “I’m saying you need some fun.”

  Finn nodded. “I can’t remember the last time I was out on the beach.”

  “You’re kidding? You live like…right here.”

  “I know. Sammy was always going to teach me how to fish off the island…in the surf. I just…well, never got around to it.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Finn raised her eyebrows. “Do you like to fish?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Finn laughed. “So you’ve not been before, huh?”

  “Fishing opportunities in Amarillo are kinda limited. So no.”

  “Yeah, then we’ll—”

  Her reply was cut short when the door to Apartment 19 opened. A man came out, not Lori Peterson. He looked around suspiciously, and she froze, even though she doubted he could see them from this distance. Her side windows were tinted and it was still raining, although the downpour had eased up. Rylee, too, sat still, watching him.

  “That’s not Carlos Hernandez,” Rylee murmured.

  “Didn’t think so. This guy’s too old, for one thing.”

  “Hair’s too short too.”

  He went back inside but didn’t close the door. Finn slowly put the binoculars up to her eyes, but she couldn’t make out anything. It appeared to be dark inside the apartment.

  “Nothing,” she murmured.

  A few moments later, Lori Peterson appeared in the doorway. Her sunglasses were on top of her head and she stepped out, slipping on her jacket. A man’s hand reached out to help her and she jerked away from it. She stood outside the door, looking in both directions, as if waiting for someone. A few seconds later, an older model black Cadillac pulled up next to her. Lori Peterson took a step away from the car, then froze in place. Finn felt her adrenaline build, felt her heart begin to race. Something was going to happen. Was Lori about to be abducted or something? But she didn’t try to flee when the door opened. A small child got out and Lori dropped to her knees, arms open. The kid ran to her, nearly flinging herself into her arms. The black Cadillac sped away and Lori picked up the child, nearly running across the parking lot to her car.

  “What the hell just happened?”

  “DWQ1473.” She lowered the binoculars. “Write it down.”

  “License plate?”

  “Yeah. And I think I know why she was wearing sunglasses earlier.” She started up the car and drove slowly through the lot. “She had a hell of a black eye.”

  “Oh, no. From Carlos, you think?”

  “Hard to tell how fresh the bruising was. A couple of days, maybe.”

  “Now what do we do?”

  “Let’s follow her.”

  “You think that was her kid?”

  “Looked like it.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “If you’re thinking someone snatched the kid, then yeah.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Rylee listened to Finn’s conversation with Dee. From what she’d gathered, Dee was at King Chevrolet, waiting on Roger King to leave for the day. She glanced at the clock. It was almost four-thirty. They were parked across the street from Peterson’s office. They were still debating whether to tail Brett Peterson or his father.

  “We’ll meet at the house. With this weather, I’m not too confident we’re going to hit on anything today.” Finn nodded at something Dee said. “Let me know.” She put the phone on the console, then glanced over at her. “You hungry?”

  “I’m always hungry.”

  “I’m sorry we didn’t have time for any shopping. Looks like it’ll be takeout again tonight.”

  “If we could at least stop somewhere so I could pick up some things for breakfast, that’d be great. If we’re going to be finishing up on these profiles tomorrow morning, I’ll need more than coffee.” Her stomach rumbled as she imagined a big breakfast—eggs, bacon, hash browns, buttered toast.

  “I guess we can manage a quick stop.” Finn motioned to the backseat. “In my bag there, I have some stuff. Snacks.”

  “And you’re just now telling me this?” She twisted in the seat, reaching for the bag. When she opened it, something slimy touched her hand. “Oh, my God. What is this?”

  “Oh, yeah. Forgot to throw that out. That’s an orange.”

  “This is like way past being an orange.” She used a bag of peanuts to shove the offending orange aside and then picked up a package of peanut butter crackers. “You want something?”

  “I think there’s a protein bar in there.”

  Rylee found it and took it out. “So this is how you survive, huh?”

  Finn stretched her legs with a loud sigh, then took the protein bar Rylee held out to her.

  “I feel like we’ve been in the car all damn day.”

  “That’s because we have.” Rylee opened her crackers and took one. “At least the rain has almost stopped.” She turned in her seat to face Finn. “So what’s new with Dee?”

  “Her lunch was about as productive as ours. She’s hoping Roger King will lead her somewhere.”

  “You didn’t mention Peterson to her. Or the kid.”

  “I thought it would be better to talk in person. The fact that it looks like the wife has been punched in the face doesn’t help us much. We can’t lay that blame on Carlos Hernandez. Peters
on could have done that himself.”

  “You know what I think?”

  “No. Tell me.”

  “I think we should ask her.”

  Finn shook her head. “Rylee, we’re supposed to be secretly following her at the request of her husband who thinks she’s having an affair. You can’t walk up to her and ask her.”

  “Then Dee can do it.”

  “And say what? Heard a rumor you’re having an affair? That’s not against the law, you know.”

  “Punching a woman in the face is, though. Abducting a child certainly is.”

  “I know you think she needs help but we can’t do it. There’s too much at stake.”

  Rylee leaned her head back. Of course she knew that. “Then let’s call his hand.”

  “Who? Her husband?”

  “Yes. Let’s give him a report. Pictures. Carlos Hernandez’s name. Tell him this is who she’s meeting. Let him decide if it’s an affair or not.”

  “We can do that. But chances are, he’s going to want more information. More proof. And frankly, we can’t spare the time to follow her. We have five members of this little club to monitor.”

  “What if he does want us to continue?”

  “I’ll tell him I have another client. I’ll give him a report based on what we have. I’m interested to see his reaction to Carlos Hernandez.”

  “Will you tell him that you know Carlos cleans his office?”

  “No. He didn’t ask for anything on Hernandez.”

  “We don’t have any photos of her with Carlos, though.”

  “Right. Apartment 19 is being rented by Carlos Hernandez. Lori Peterson has gone there twice and stayed for over an hour each time. We have no usable photos from today, not with the rain. I especially wish we’d gotten one of the kid.”

  “And we can’t access phone records?”

  “Not legally, no.”

  “Meaning there is a way to?”

  “There are services that offer that information. It’s a questionable practice and I don’t use them often.”

  “Questionable because it’s illegal?”

  “That. And often not accurate. And it’s not anything that would ever hold up in court.” Finn pointed out the window. “There’s the old man.” She tapped the steering wheel. “I think we should follow him. After what happened today, I’d guess that Brett Peterson will rush home to his wife and kid.”

  “Okay. And what if the older Peterson goes home too?”

  “Then we’ll go grocery shopping.”

  * * *

  Fredrick Peterson did not go home, however. He headed south and hopped on the Crosstown Expressway. Five o’clock traffic didn’t leave her many options and Finn ended up six cars behind him. The rain had ended, but a foggy mist remained and her wipers cleared the windshield intermittently.

  “He’s changing lanes,” Rylee said.

  “Going to get on the SPID, most likely. Maybe he’s taking the JFK over to the island.”

  “What’s SPID?”

  “South Padre Island Drive.” She changed lanes too. Peterson was now at least seven cars ahead of her. In the waning light—dusk brought on sooner by the fog—she was having a hard time seeing him. He put his blinker on to exit and she did as well. Five cars behind now, they made the curve to the left, merging into traffic.

  “I’m glad I don’t have to drive in traffic every day,” Rylee said. “This would make me nuts.”

  “You didn’t renew your lease, did you?”

  “No. It’s up at the end of the month.” Rylee looked at her expectantly. “Why? Do I have an option?”

  “The apartment at the office is the logical solution, but until this is over with, no. I wouldn’t let you stay there alone.”

  “As it is, I’m not at my apartment either.”

  “True.” Finn glanced at her quickly. “You can stay with me until this is wrapped up.” Actually, she would insist on it. They didn’t know who they were dealing with here. Well, they were dealing with killers, that much they knew. So no, Rylee wouldn’t be going back to her apartment. Not alone. Still, she expected Rylee to protest, and she did. A little.

  “Are you sure? I mean…well, that’s a lot of togetherness. You’ll be sick of me.”

  Too much togetherness? Too close? Too familiar? Too…intimate a setting? No. Only if they let it. So she smiled, trying to keep things light between them. “Maybe you’ll be sick of me.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  Instead of taking the JFK Causeway across the bay and onto the island, Peterson exited, taking the frontage road that ran parallel to the highway. There was only one car between his car and theirs now. A turn to the left took them into a residential neighborhood with large, expensive homes.

  “Do you know where we are?”

  “South Bay Park,” Finn said, slowing down as there were no longer any cars between them and Fredrick Peterson. “It dead ends up here, I think.”

  He turned on Seashore Drive and she pulled to the side of the road, letting him get ahead of them. She killed her lights, then drove on, slowly.

  “This is a cul-de-sac,” Rylee said quietly.

  “Use the binoculars.”

  “It’s hard to see anything. He’s stopped at a gate. Looks like he’s punching in a code.”

  Finn stared through the fog and the fading twilight, trying to make out Peterson’s car.

  “Okay. He went inside. The gate closed behind him.”

  Finn let out a deep breath, becoming aware of how tense she’d been. “It’ll be full dark soon. We wait, then drive close enough to get the address.”

  “Locked gate. Fence all the way around. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Kind of a fancy place for a clubhouse. Expensive. Huge house.”

  “Judging by the names on the list and the amount of debt that’s been racked up, this place isn’t out of the question.”

  “Let’s see who owns it. We’ll go from there.”

  Finn was about to drive on when she saw headlights behind them. She put her hand behind Rylee’s neck, pushing her down. She did the same, ducking her head low as the car passed by them. Their heads bumped as they both sat up at the same time.

  “Sorry,” she murmured.

  The red taillights brightened as the car stopped at the gate. She grabbed the binoculars from Rylee’s lap, focusing them on the license plate.

  “BXQ1872.”

  Using her phone for light, Rylee scanned the spreadsheet they’d made with pertinent information on all the members.

  “Yes! It’s on here. It’s O’Leary,” Rylee said excitedly. “This has got to be the place, Finn.”

  “Or maybe it’s someone’s house and these guys are visiting. Or it’s a dinner party or something. Let’s don’t jump to conclusions.” She looked in the mirror, seeing no headlights coming from behind them. She crept closer to the gate, still leaving her lights off. “Write the address down. We’ll research it when we get home.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “I’m only familiar with South Bay Park because I know I could never afford to live there,” Dee said as she bit into an eggroll. “I love these. Great choice for dinner.”

  “Chinese food was Rylee’s suggestion,” Finn said before shoving a forkful of rice and shrimp into her mouth. “She says we need more vegetables.”

  Dee smiled at that, noting the quick glance shared by the other two women. “So the house is owned by Jose Hernandez? He’s not on the list. Is he significant?”

  “Actually, yes,” Rylee said. “He’s Carlos Hernandez’s uncle.”

  Dee raised her eyebrows. “Should that name mean something to me?”

  “Oh, I forgot. Finn hasn’t told you yet.”

  Dee turned to Finn. “Told me what?”

  “A couple of days before Rylee found the flash drive, Brett Peterson hired me. Surveillance on his wife. Suspected an affair.”

  “Really? Coincidence he hired you or what?”

  “Unlik
ely, but then again, who knows? We followed Lori Peterson—the wife—to a rather rundown apartment complex in Aransas Pass. She went inside one of the units for about an hour. Then back home. The renter of that particular unit is Carlos Hernandez.”

  “And she’s having an affair with him?”

  “No, we don’t think so,” Rylee said. “Lori Peterson is high society. Carlos…not so much. He’s also twenty-one. She’s thirty-six. Nothing about it adds up. So I did a background check on young Carlos. He works for his uncle—Jose Hernandez— who owns a cleaning service. That cleaning service has a contract with Peterson’s father to clean their office.”

  Dee put her fork down, her mind racing. She looked at Finn. “What’s going on? What does this have to do with our case?”

  “At first, we thought maybe he hired me to see my reaction.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If we’d seen the list—the members—and he’s on it, then my reaction to him showing up in my office may have given that away.”

  “That would mean he’s involved, if he knew that Daniel Frazier had this information to begin with.”

  “Right. It could also mean that all of the members knew Frazier had the info and was going to expose them.”

  “There’s also the possibility that he wanted us to follow his wife for another reason,” Rylee added. “From her reaction to being at the apartment, she didn’t go willingly. And today, after she came out of the apartment, a black Cadillac drove up and a young child—most likely the Petersons’ youngest—got out and ran to Lori. She scooped the kid up and took off. We followed her home.”

  “Lori’d also been punched,” Finn added. “She had a black eye.”

  “What the hell’s going on? You think the kid was snatched?”

  Finn nodded. “That’s what it looked like to us.”

  Dee ran a hand through her hair. “So the Petersons’ kid is abducted and they don’t call the police. They call you.”

  “On the pretense that he suspected an affair. Now, did he hire me specifically because of Daniel Frazier and all this mess? Or did he hire me because his father recommended me and he was genuinely worried about his wife’s safety? For all we know, he may not be aware that Daniel Frazier hired me. None of them may know.”