The Stolen Girl Read online

“It’s the local lingo. Perhaps we’ll have better luck upstairs.” Parker pressed the button and the doors closed again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On the third floor, Miranda marched over to the first apartment with a balcony facing the elementary school and knocked.

  No answer.

  She waited a minute, then knocked again.

  Still no answer.

  “Nobody’s home here.” She moved to the neighboring unit and knocked on that one.

  After several tries, no one came to the door here, either.

  Miranda let out grunt.

  Parker eyed her with his patient look. “Some of the residents are probably at work.”

  “Guess it’s not a great time to canvass this area.”

  “Actually, it’s an excellent time. Those who are working now most likely would not have been home during our timeframe. You’re eliminating them.”

  One way to look at it. But she was glad he was trying to be positive. She needed that.

  Moving to the next door, she tried again.

  After four knocks, she felt her temples start to pound.

  Suddenly a door two apartments down flew open, and a man’s round head appeared.

  Angrily he growled at them. “What in the name of Saint Christopher is all this stomping about and knocking?”

  Bingo. Miranda turned toward the man. “May we speak with you a moment, sir?”

  He grimaced at her as if she’d just announced she had herpes. “What about?”

  “We’re private investigators looking into a local case,” Parker explained.

  The man’s brows disappeared under the sleep mask he had pushed up onto his forehead. “Oh, yeah?” he sneered. “Well, you can tell Angela where to stick it.”

  Miranda glanced at Parker. “Angela?”

  “My wife. Or rather, my soon-to-be ex-wife. She thinks I’m cheating on her. As if I had time for that.” He raised his hands above his head and shook them in a gesture of exasperation.

  Then he turned and went back inside his apartment, leaving the door open.

  Miranda took that as an invitation.

  Giving Parker a nod, she hurried over and stepped inside. “Sir, we’re not here about—”

  “Oh, I know she thinks she’s got me by the short hairs. Thinks she’s going to take me to the cleaners. She’s got a big surprise coming.”

  He took off the sleep mask and tossed it on a nearby table, revealing a bald head encircled with wavy gray locks that fell to his shoulders. His body was short and round, and he wore a loose silky Chinese style outfit in red that made him look a little like a tomato.

  “We’re not here about your wife,” Parker said firmly.

  “You’re not?” The man stared at him, bewildered.

  “Nice place you have here,” Miranda said, trying to put him at ease.

  The furnishings were sparse and had a monotone design, with a small muted gray sofa, a nearby wooden stool painted the same color. Pewter frames on the wall held prints of fruit arrangements and food magazine covers. One of them featured the man, with the headline.

  Miranda stepped over to it and read aloud. “Frost’s Spin on an Old Favorite.”

  “My bone marrow and parsley creation.” He pointed to the picture. “That’s me. Friedrich Frost from Verdier’s on Melrose. Surely you know it.”

  “We’re new in town.” Miranda noticed a thin-legged table against the wall held several empty bottles of wine. Dipping into the cooking sherry?

  With a grunting noise, the man bent down and began to roll up a mat on the floor near a chair across the room.

  “Now I won’t have time for Tai Chi. I finally have my sous chef trained well enough to handle the lunch hour so I can run home for a nap, and look what happens.”

  Nap? “We’re you home yesterday?”

  “What? Yes. Lakshmi’s been filling in at lunch for three days now.” He rose and stuffed the mat into a closet.

  Miranda stepped toward him. “Were you able to nap yesterday?”

  He scowled again. “What business is it of yours?”

  “We’re looking for a lost child,” Parker told him.

  “A what?”

  “A lost child,” Miranda repeated. “She may have been kidnapped.”

  He glowered at her. “So now you’re calling me a kidnapper? I ought to call the police. Who are you two, anyway?”

  With a sigh, Miranda dug in her pocket for a business card and handed it to him. “I’m Miranda Steele and this is Wade Parker. We’re from the Parker Investigative Agency in Atlanta.”

  “Atlanta?” Frost stared down at the card.

  “And we’d very much appreciate it if you don’t involve the authorities.” Parker’s voice was dark with a hint of threat in it.

  Catching the tone, Frost blinked at him. “I don’t know anything about a kidnapped child.”

  Miranda drew in a slow breath. “All we’re asking, Mr. Frost, is whether you noticed a little girl outside from your windows yesterday.”

  “A little girl? Yesterday?”

  “That’s right,” she said.

  “You mean a child from the elementary school across the street?”

  “It would have been between two and two-thirty,” Parker told him.

  Frost frowned. “I was just about to leave then. I drive past the school on my way back to work. There are always kids around. That’s when they get out. They nearly make me late.”

  Miranda scrolled to the photo of Imogen in her phone and held it out to the chef. “And did you see a little girl who looked like this?”

  He studied the picture a long while. “She looks familiar.” Then he slapped his head with his hand.

  Miranda’s breath caught. Was this it? Had they found their eye-witness?

  The chef shook his head. “Silly me. Yesterday there was an emergency with the lobster delivery. Lakshmi swore ten of those little devils had crawled off the back of the truck somehow. I had just laid down and was called back in to handle it.”

  Miranda’s hopes began to creep away with those lobsters. “And what time was that?”

  “Around twelve-thirty. Long before the school let out.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  As they rode down the elevator, Miranda grumbled aloud. “We’re really batting a thousand, aren’t we, Parker?”

  He was silent a long moment then let out a low sigh. “It was a good idea. And worth the effort.”

  Yeah, right. He was putting a good spin on it, but they weren’t any closer to finding Imogen.

  She was starting to have the same thoughts that were tormenting Olivia. Was the little girl cold? Hungry? Frightened? They had to do something.

  The elevator doors opened, and Miranda saw Holloway and Wesson had finished on the second floor. Their faces told her they’d had no luck, either.

  “Only one person answered the door,” Wesson reported sullenly. “A mother with two young kids. She thought she might have seen something yesterday, but she was too distracted changing a diaper.”

  Bummer.

  Not knowing what to tell her, Miranda led the way outside. She stopped on the sidewalk and studied the row of symmetrical hedges around the building. There had to be something. There had to be.

  Wesson drew in a frustrated breath. “I need to take a walk,” she said, her voice cracking with suppressed emotion.

  And she took off toward the corner.

  Miranda lifted her palms in exasperation the way Chef Frost had.

  Parker’s look was a mixture of sympathy and irritation. “I’ll go after her. Wait in the car.”

  She watched him trot around the corner and up the incline of the next street.

  Well, okay then.

  “We’re going to find this kid,” Holloway said.

  She appreciated his commitment, but she wondered if it was enough. Kids disappeared and were never heard from again every day.

  Why should this one be different? They just might be too late to save her.
>
  Her gaze went across the street to the school again, and the blue fence around it. Shouts and laughter rose from behind it. The kids must be having recess.

  Maybe she should go talk to the teachers. Maybe Vondra Bishop had remembered something.

  Suddenly a bright yellow ball flew over the fence. It landed on the grass, rolled, and came to a stop at the foot of a tree trunk near the school’s front door. The gate opened and a little boy ran out toward the ball.

  When he reached it, he picked it up and caught sight of Miranda and Holloway watching him.

  The ball under one arm, he squinted at them. “Hello.”

  “Hello, there.” Miranda checked the traffic and hurried across the street.

  The boy didn’t run away. He stood on the grass looking very boyish in sneakers, jeans, and a jersey with blue-and-white horizontal stripes. He pushed his shaggy dark hair out of his eyes, revealing a pair of rosy cheeks and a curious smile.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Miranda. I’m a detective.”

  His brown eyes grew bright. “Really? Wow.”

  “And so is my colleague here.” She pointed to Holloway, who had followed her across the street.

  Holloway bent down and held out a hand. “Hi, there, partner. My name’s Curt.”

  “Hi, Curt.” The boy gave his hand a huge shake.

  “What’s your name?” Miranda asked.

  “Kale.”

  “Kale? Like the salad?”

  “Uh huh. My mommy ate a lot of it when I was in her tummy. That’s why I’m so strong. Grrr!” He dropped the ball so he could flex his muscles while he twisted his face into the grimace of the monster he must have thought was intimidating.

  Miranda smiled. “Wow, Kale. That’s something. Do you come out here a lot?”

  “You mean here in front of the school?” With an expression of guilt, he looked down at the ball, picked it up again. “Teacher says it’s okay if the ball goes over the fence.”

  “Okay, but we’re wondering if you could help us.”

  He nodded eagerly.

  “Do you know Imogen Wesson?”

  He nodded again, then frowned. “But she’s not here today. She’s sick.”

  Apparently Vondra Bishop decided not to let the other kids know she was missing. Thank goodness.

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Again he nodded vigorously. “It was right after school let out. She was supposed to get on the bus, but she went this way instead. I called to her, but she didn’t hear me.”

  “Oh?”

  He pointed down at the ground. “I ran over right here, and I saw her with a man.”

  Miranda blinked at the boy, stunned. Had this kid really seen what had happened to Imogen? “Can you tell me what the man looked like?”

  “He had big dragons on both of his arms.” He gave the word “big” an explosive boyish emphasis.

  “Tattoos?”

  “Yeah. Big ones.”

  “What color hair did he have?” Holloway asked.

  Miranda noticed her colleague had pulled a pad and pencil out of his pocket.

  “Red, I think,” Kale said. “Almost blond.”

  “Beard?” Holloway asked.

  “Yeah. He looked tough. He had on a leather vest, too. No sleeves. That’s how I saw those dragons.”

  Holloway made some strokes with his pencil. “Okay. Was his face chubby or skinny?”

  “Skinny. And he had a scar.”

  He asked the boy a few more questions, then bent down to show him his pad. He’d drawn a sketch of the man from the description.

  “Is this what he looked like?”

  Kale’s eyes bugged out. “Yeah. That was him. Only the dragons were red and black. And bigger.”

  Holloway made an adjustment to his drawing. “I only have a pencil, so we’ll pretend about the color of the dragons.”

  Miranda was stunned. Did Holloway just produce their best lead?

  She turned to the boy. “Can you remember anything else about the man, Kale?”

  Kale scratched at his head, then brightened. “He had a car.”

  “What kind of a car?”

  “A big one.”

  “A van?”

  “No, just a car.”

  A large sedan. Maybe an older model. “What color was it?”

  Kale frowned. He didn’t remember that detail. Then his face brightened. “It was kinda brown.”

  “Dark brown?”

  He shook his head.

  “Tan?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Tan. And it had a dent in the side. It was even bigger than the one my mommy got when she went to the grocery store. I saw it when he opened the door.”

  Miranda glanced at Holloway. “He opened the door of his car?”

  Kale nodded. “When Imogen got in with him.”

  Miranda drew in a breath. “Imogen got inside his car?”

  He nodded again.

  “Where did they go?”

  “He drove off that way.” He pointed down the street.

  “Did you tell anyone about it?”

  “No, I forgot. I thought it was her dad. Imogen said he was in a motorcycle gang.”

  A teacher’s stern voice rang in their ears. “Kale? What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be playing with the other children.”

  Kale spun around and froze. “I went to get the ball. Then these two detectives talked to me.”

  Vondra Bishop stepped across the grass to the group. “Hello, detectives.” She turned to Kale. “Why don’t you go back and finish your game with the others.”

  “Okay, Ms. Bishop. Bye, Miranda and Curt.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye,” Holloway said.

  Kale picked up his ball and ran back through the gate.

  The teacher lowered her voice. “Is there any news?”

  Miranda snatched Holloway’s sketch from his hand and held it up to her. “Have you seen this man around here lately?”

  Ms. Bishop frowned at the picture, then shook her head. “No, I haven’t. He looks dangerous. Where did you get that from?”

  “From the description Kale just gave us. He said he saw Imogen get into a car with this man yesterday after school and drive off down the street.”

  Looking shocked, Ms. Bishop studied the picture again. “I’m sorry. I’ve never seen that man before.”

  Miranda handed the pad back to Holloway. “If you do see someone who looks like that, give me a call.”

  “Yes, of course I will.” And she headed back toward the gate.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Miranda peered toward the end of the sidewalk near the apartment building and saw Parker and Wesson were just coming around the corner.

  As Ms. Bishop returned to her students, she headed back across the street with Holloway at her side.

  “Where did you learn how to draw like that?” she muttered to her colleague as they stepped off the curb in unison.

  Holloway shrugged. “I took a couple of classes when I was working in the recruiting office in Georgetown back home. Thought about becoming a police sketch artist.”

  She never would have guessed. “I’m impressed.”

  He gave her a sideways look. “Just trying to help. Janey’s really upset about all this.”

  But she’d meant her compliment. And she knew Holloway cared about the lost little girl.

  As they neared Parker, she could see Holloway had been right about Wesson’s state of mind. Her eyes were red. She and Parker must have had a good talk. Miranda was glad she had something positive to tell them.

  “We got a lead,” she called out before she reached them.

  Wesson blinked at her, stunned. “You did?”

  “We found a little boy outside the school gate over there. He saw Imogen get into a car with a man. And it turns out Holloway here is quite the Rembrandt. He drew a sketch of t
he man from the boy’s description. Show ’em, Holloway.”

  Looking embarrassed, Holloway pulled the sketch from his coat pocket and handed it to Parker.

  Wesson leaned over to study it. “That’s not Livvy’s ex. Who is this creepy-looking guy?”

  “That’s what we need to find out.”

  “Excellent work, Detective,” Parker said to Holloway.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “But what do we do with this?” Wesson wanted to know.

  Miranda nodded toward the Navigator. “We take it to Olivia.”

  ###

  Twenty minutes later they were back at the salon. They parked in the back and used the rear entrance to avoid any movie stars or nosey clients. In the break room with the door closed, the team huddled around the table while Olivia stared down at Holloway’s sketch.

  Bewilderment riddling her pretty face, she pushed the paper away from her as if it were poisonous. “I’ve never seen this person before.”

  Miranda didn’t blame her. The image Holloway had drawn gave her the creeps, too.

  But she slid it back, forcing her to look again. “Are you sure it isn’t Axel?”

  Olivia shook her head. “Axel’s hair is dark brown. You said the boy said this man’s hair was light red.”

  “Maybe he dyed it.” Funny a beauty salon owner wouldn’t think of that. But she was under a lot of stress.

  “The face isn’t right. Axel’s face is more square.”

  “Maybe he lost weight?” They were getting nowhere.

  “It isn’t Axel,” Wesson snapped from the corner. “I already told you that.”

  “One of his buddies, maybe?”

  Olivia stared up at her with her blue eyes growing watery again. “What are you saying? Where did you get this picture?”

  “Holloway drew it.” Miranda caught Parker’s stern look.

  He was right. She had to let Olivia know what they’d learned. She hadn’t told her that yet.

  Okay. Do it fast. Like pulling off a Band-Aid. Quickly she explained about the little boy at the school and what he’d seen yesterday.

  Olivia’s hands flew to her face. “You mean my baby got in the car with this horrible-looking man? Oh, my God!”

  Wesson rushed over to her sister and put her arms around her. “It’s okay, Livvy. We’re going to find this guy. We’re going to find Imogen.”