The Baby Thief Page 8

  “I just recently met her, but I’d like to think of her as a friend. Why?”

  The girl shrugged. “Just curious.”

  She darted off before Eric could think of a subtle way of asking if anyone had seen or heard from Jenna. He ate his salad, then pulled out the small notepad he always kept in his pocket and began to doodle. The restaurant didn’t seem busy, just a few tables with middle-aged men and women in business suits. The walls were paneled in pine halfway up and had a pale adobe look around the top. Rounded archways separated the three dining rooms, and the furnishings had a distinctive southwestern look, done mostly in greenish-blue and brownish-red. That was his best guess, anyway. Somewhat colorblind, Eric was never sure. He preferred the comfort of vinyl booths and Formica tabletops in places that served breakfast twenty-four hours a day. He hoped the prime rib sandwich would be thick and pink and juicy with a big pile of fries on the side, because he was starved, as usual.

  When the waitress brought his sandwich, which almost lived up to his expectations, she said, “My name’s Stacey if you need anything else.” She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t leave either. Eric decided to press for information.

  “I need to contact Jenna McClure. Can you help me?”

  “It’s against restaurant policy to give out information about another employee.” Her tone was firm, but her expression was playful. Stacey wanted to trade dirt, Eric could tell.

  He leaned toward her and whispered, “Tell me where she is, and I’ll tell you why I’m looking for her.”

  Stacey whispered back, “Tell me who you are and why you’re looking for her, and I’ll decide whether I can tell you anything.

  “My name’s Eric Troutman, I’m a freelance journalist, and I think I’m in love with her.”

  Stacey grinned. “Show me your ID.”

  Eric dug out his driver’s license and press card and handed them to her.

  “How do I know you’re not some irritating reporter who won’t leave her alone?” Stacey handed the cards back.

  “I’ve already interviewed the lady, and I know where she lives. She’s just never there.”

  “Then I can’t help you.” Stacey shrugged. She was going through the all motions before she broke the rules. Stacey wanted to help him, he could tell.

  “I’ve called her twenty times since Saturday—no answer.”

  “Maybe she went to Florence to see her mom, that’s all I can think of. I gotta get back to work now. Good luck. Jenna’s a great person.”

  Stacey scooted off, and Eric wolfed down his huge, but now somewhat cold, sandwich. The Riverside Apartments where Jenna lived were less than a mile away. He decided to stop by and talk to the manager, find out if Jenna had been home in the last few days. Stacey’s suggestion that Jenna had gone out of town to see her mom made sense. Eric suddenly felt foolish for telling Jackson he thought Jenna had been kidnapped. There were so many other explanations for her behavior. Maybe the guys in the van were brothers or relatives. Maybe her mother was sick or in the hospital, and Jenna had to leave town in a hurry and forgot about their date. Eric remembered a few times he’d bolted off on a story lead without telling anyone but his senior editor.

  Once he got out of the mall traffic, the drive to Jenna’s apartment complex took only two minutes. Eric would have bet money she either biked or walked to work. It felt good to know that about her, to counter the nagging feeling he’d become obsessed with a total stranger. He pulled into the wide circular driveway and parked in front of the office.

  Because it was a spur of the moment idea, Eric hadn’t had much time to figure out how he wanted to handle the manager. He considered claiming to be Jenna’s brother in town for a visit, but at the last minute decided on the truth. He sized up the chunky little woman behind the counter as the cheerful, busybody type who wouldn’t be able to resist the lure of a mysterious disappearance. The new office with its tasteful art and “everything at the touch of a computer” didn’t compensate for the basic boredom of her job.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am.” Eric often wished he had a hat to tip with his southern gentleman’s routine.

  “Hello,” she gushed. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can help me find my Cinderella. She disappeared before we had a chance to get back together, and I can’t let her go without making a gentleman’s effort to win the lady over.”

  “You’re giving me goose bumps, young man.” The manager shivered with delight. “You do have a way with words. What’s your name?”

  “Eric Troutman, freelance journalist.”

  “I’m Dottie.” She extended a plump little hand. “Who’s the lucky lady? Does she live here at Riverside?”

  “Jenna McClure. Do you know her?”

  Dottie brought her hands together. “Of course I know her. She’s a wonderful person.” Suddenly, her delight vanished. “What do you mean, disappeared? Has something else happened to that poor girl?”

  “What do you mean something else?”

  “Didn’t you hear? The restaurant was robbed last week. Jenna could have been killed.” The little manager’s eyes blinked rapidly. “They put a gun to her head.”

  Eric nodded. “I was there. That’s when we met.”

  He told her the whole story, keeping back only the fact they’d slept together. Their lovemaking had been the most intimate and tender experience of his life, and he wasn’t ready to share it with anyone.

  Eric paused for a moment to let the manager absorb it all, then said tentatively, “What I’d like you to do is open her mailbox and see if she’s picked up her mail in the last few days.” He really wanted to get inside her apartment. He’d know in a glance if Jenna had been home recently. But he didn’t want to push for that yet.

  “I don’t know if I’m supposed to, but I don’t like the sound of this.” Dottie looked distressed. “I’ve never seen Jenna with anybody that drives a gray van. Most of the people she hangs out with are from the restaurant.”

  “Does she have any family around here?” Eric asked as he followed Dottie out to the dozens of silver mail units in front of the complex.

  “Not that I know of. I’ve heard her mention visiting her mother at the coast, but not recently.”

  Their conversation in the coffeehouse came back to him. Jenna said she’d grown up with only her mother. So much for his theory that the guys in the van were relatives. “Did she say anything about leaving town?”

  “No. I haven’t seen her much lately. I think the robbery shook her up pretty badly.” Dottie picked through a bundle of keys that was bigger than her fist, finally selecting one and opening a mailbox on the lower left corner of the unit. It was crammed full. Dottie pulled out the pile and quickly sorted through it. “There’s nothing personal here. Just an EWEB bill and a bunch of junk mail. Now what?”

  “Will you open her apartment for me? Let me glance inside to see if she’s been home in the last few days?” Eric crossed his mental fingers.

  “I can’t do that.” Dottie looked more upset by the minute. “I don’t believe she’d go off for more than a few days without telling me. Besides, it’s in the rental contract that tenants have to notify me of any prolonged absence. Jenna just isn’t like that. She’s a responsible person.”

  “You can look inside yourself,” Eric pleaded. “I’m sure it would be all right. It’s your duty as a manager.”

  “I should call Geronimo’s to see if she’s been at work.”

  “I was just there. One of the waitresses told me Jenna was on a leave of absence, whatever that means.”

  “Oh dear.” Dottie looked about to cry. “She could have moved out and not told me. That happens sometimes.”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  “You’re right.” The little manager abruptly turned and marched down the circular sidewalk surrounding the common green. Eric followed.

  Jenna’s apartment was as Eric remembered, a collection of contradictions. The living room was perfectly clean and
uncluttered while her bedroom had clothes and books scattered everywhere. The kitchen had every imaginable counter-top appliance, but the living room didn’t even have a TV. Eric checked the bathroom and kitchen sinks. Both were bone dry. Nobody had used any water in the apartment recently. A quick look in the hall closet revealed Jenna had left without her matching set of luggage. Neither Eric nor the manager knew enough about Jenna’s wardrobe to determine if clothes were missing, but they agreed that if Jenna had gone somewhere, she’d packed lightly.

  The bathroom bothered them the most. Toothbrush, deodorant, shampoo, everything a person would use on a daily basis was there on the countertop. A magazine was open on the floor.

  “I think we should call the police,” Dottie said as she bent down to see what Jenna had been reading.

  “I talked to a detective yesterday. He’s a friend of mine.” Eric picked up the deodorant. It was a generic, unscented brand. “He seemed to think I was overreacting.” The soap by the sink was the clear, see-through kind. He picked it up and sniffed; also unscented.

  You could learn a lot about a person in their bathroom, he decided. Jenna didn’t seem to have any curlers, blow dryers, or other hair gizmos, meaning her curly hair was probably natural. The amount of make-up seemed minimal too. Eric realized Dottie had been talking to him.

  “What if she was kidnapped? Did you file a missing person report?”

  “Not yet. Do you have her mother’s name or address in her rental application?”

  “Only if she used her for a reference.” Dottie twisted her hands nervously. “Should we look through her address book for it?”

  “Maybe we won’t have to.” Eric headed back to the kitchen where he’d seen a cordless phone. Next to it was a list of names and numbers with “Mom” right on top. Eric picked up the phone and started to dial.

  “Wait!” Dottie grabbed his hand. “You can’t just call her up and say ‘I think your daughter’s missing, have you seen her?’ If Jenna’s not there, her poor mother will worry herself to death, and we don’t know anything for sure.”

  “You’re right.” Eric set the phone down. He hadn’t thought about how Mrs. McClure might react. He could get around that. The survey ploy usually worked. “I have an idea.” He dialed the number again. A woman’s voice answered on the second ring. The voice was high-pitched and uptight, completely unlike Jenna’s warm, friendly alto.

  Eric jumped right into his spiel. “Hello. This is Michael Fish with KVAL. We’re conducting a survey to find out what your favorite programs are. Do you have a minute?”

  “I don’t watch KVAL. That guy that does the weather is a weirdo.” Mrs. McClure seemed irritated.

  “What station do you watch?”

  “I like the Discovery Channel. Most of that other stuff is garbage.”

  “Are there any other viewers in your household?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about guests? Will anyone in your household be watching one of the three major networks tonight?” Eric remembered Jenna didn’t have a TV and might not watch even if she was at her mother’s.

  “Well,” Mrs. McClure pretended to consider the question. “I’d have to say no. I’m going out to play bingo, and the cats haven’t figured out how to turn the TV on.”

  The dial tone buzzed in Eric’s ear. He turned to Dottie. “I don’t think Jenna’s at her mother’s.”

  “Are you going to file a missing person report or should I?” Dottie twisted the rings on her fat little fingers and blinked back tears.

  “I will.” Eric wanted to say something kind, but couldn’t think of anything that sounded sincere. He was just as worried as Dottie. “I’m going to copy some of these names and numbers. The police might want them for their investigation.”

  “Do it quickly, please. I want to get out of here. It feels creepy to be in the apartment with Jenna gone.”

  Eric wanted to snoop more, but he pulled out his notebook and copied the list, skipping entries like Tsunami Books and Dr. Lovell (dentist). He did another quick tour of the spacious apartment, hoping to see something obvious he’d missed, like airline tickets or travel brochures. Nothing caught his eye except a large collection of plants in a front bay window. “Will you water the plants if she doesn’t show up?”

  “Sure.”

  They stepped out of the apartment and Dottie locked the door as the wind blew rain under the covered upper balcony. Eric zipped his jacket and hurried down the stairs behind the manager. He wanted to get downtown and file a missing person report. It was possible Jenna had gone AWOL, but he didn’t think so. The fear in his gut was real now, a physical presence that didn’t go away when he tried to think about something else.

  He and Dottie exchanged phone numbers and promised to call each other if they heard anything. Just as Eric stepped out of the office, the sky opened up, and the light rain exploded in a downpour, the first of the season. He ran for his Firebird, the only car in the lot that hadn’t been made in the last decade. The engine fired right up as it always did. He wondered how Jenna felt about his car. She hadn’t said anything when she rode in it. He wondered what kind of car she drove, if she even had one. He wanted to know everything about her. Starting, of course, with where in the hell she was.

  Jackson was on the phone when Eric entered the Violent Crimes Division, so Eric wandered over to Rob Schakowski’s desk and read over his shoulder as the detective keyed in an assault report with thick fingers. His crewcut and barrel chest made him seem out of place in front of a computer.

  “Hey, I thought you weren’t into this crime stuff anymore,” Schak said without looking up. It was after three, and Eric knew from experience that the detective was pushing to get this paper work done before the four-to-midnight crew came on duty.

  “It seems to be following me around.” Eric noticed that the people in Schak’s report all had the same last name. “Domestic violence or family squabble?”

  “Both.” Schakowski grunted, then said, “The guy was beating on his wife, and his brother tried to stop him. So the guys get into it, and it’s still a fistfight at this point. Then the wife attacks the brother with a knife and puts him in the hospital. Now the kids are at grandma’s, and she’s an alcoholic”

  “Sorry I asked.”

  Eric walked over and slouched in a chair next to Jackson’s desk. In a moment, Jackson hung up the phone and looked over at Eric. “Tell me you found the woman and everything is okay now.”

  “No.” Eric sat up. “I went to her apartment, and she hasn’t been there. It doesn’t look like she packed anything to take with her either.”

  Jackson let out a big sigh. “Women always do this to you, my friend. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Remember Amber? She got so in touch with herself after knowing you, she ran off to Reno to be a black jack dealer. And Suzan? She moved to Alaska.”

  “Her mother was sick!”

  “What about Kori?”

  “What about her?”

  “Never mind.” Jackson rubbed his forehead. “Tell me about the apartment.” He looked up suddenly. “By the way, how did you get into the apartment?”

  “The manager.”

  “Some ridiculous story about being a long, lost brother?”

  “I didn’t have to lie. The truth of this situation is enough to alarm a normal person.”

  Jackson shrugged. “Tell me all of it.”

  Eric summed it up. “Jenna hasn’t been to work, and I don’t think they’ve heard from her. She isn’t at her mother’s, and that’s the only family she has. She hasn’t been in her apartment and didn’t take anything with her. All that stuff women usually drag around with them is still there—make-up, lotion, hair stuff, all of it. Her luggage is still in the closet, and her drawers are full of clothes.”

  Jackson said, “She could be staying with a friend, another woman who has all that stuff.”

  “Maybe.” Eric felt deflated. “C
all the restaurant. Tell them you need to question her again. I’ll bet they have no idea where she is.”

  “What’s the number?”

  Eric rattled it off. He’d called there a few times recently. Jackson asked for the manager, then held his hand over the mouthpiece. “Go get us some coffee. Bobbie always brews some of the good stuff about this time of day.”

  Eric knew the front desk clerk well. He’d spent a lot of time on the phone with her over the years. She always brought her own fresh-ground coffee to work and charged fifty cents a cup for it.

  “Hey, Eric, good to see you.” Bobbie filled two ceramic mugs with coffee.

  “Thanks, Bobbie. You remembered how much I hate Styrofoam.”

  “It hasn’t been that long. Besides, you’re the only one who brings my mugs back.” Her phone rang, so he headed back to the Violent Crimes area.

  Jackson was keying information into his computer. “You’re right. They haven’t seen or heard from her.”

  “What now?”

  “You should fill out a missing persons report, but don’t get your hopes up. We’re understaffed and underfunded as usual.” Jackson looked up. “People do a lot of strange things after they’ve been victimized. It’s called post traumatic shock syndrome. Why don’t you ask around some more, talk to her friends? I’ll bet she’s hiding somewhere, licking her wounds.”

  “What if I’m right? She could be dead before you decide to do anything.” Eric was almost shouting now.

  Jackson looked a little hurt. “We’ll do what we can. Think about it. Why would anyone kidnap her? Is her mother rich? Has there been a ransom demand?”

  “People get kidnapped for other reasons than money.”

  Neither of them wanted to speak about such horrors out loud.

  Finally, Jackson said, “File a missing persons report. I’ll ask for the case.”

  The phone rang, and the detective picked it up. He listened for a moment, then responded in an excited voice. “What’s the address again?” Jackson scribbled something, then slammed down the phone. “Let’s go, Schak! I’ve got a lead on the clown and the cowboy.”