Finder's Fee (10 page)

“That's me. I'm afraid the interview is off for the day. I'm sure you understand.”

“Actually, this would be the perfect time for the interview. We could show how a woman executive of Ms. Find's stature deals with an emergency like this.”

“I'm afraid that won't be possible,” Terri said. She started to turn.

“Wait a minute. We had a deal. It costs the station a lot of money to send me and a camera tech out. You can't just brush us off.”

Karen watched Ms. Find's administrative assistant frown. There was something else in her face; something that said a dark secret was hidden behind the mask. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but you did get a story. Granted it wasn't planned, but you were here at just the right time. I don't see
any other television media. Do you? It looks to me like you got a scoop.”

She may look a tad mousey but there's a little hint of fire in her
. “Is Ms. Find here?”

“No.”

Unlike buildings in major cities, the Find, Inc., building didn't have basement parking. Karen returned her gaze to something she had seen earlier: a series of parking stalls with aluminum poles. One post bore a small sign that read: J. FIND. In the stall sat a late model silver Lexus.

“Isn't that her car?” Karen nodded in the direction of the vehicle.

“I parked it there.”

“You drive your boss's car, or are you just using her parking place?”

“Ms. Find is not in the building. The appointment you had with her must be postponed. Please call again and I'll see when Ms. Find can fit you in.”

“Wait — ”

Terri Penn didn't wait; she didn't look back.

“Weird,” Cindy said. “Of course, they just had a bomb scare. I suppose I would shy away from the media too if I was a bigwig like Judith Find.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Karen wasn't convinced. Her reportorial instincts were chiming like Big Ben. “There's something wrong with the picture.”

“Like what?”

“Like why Find's right-hand woman is leaving the building when everyone else is going in. I'd think that there'd be a ton of calls to make, people to direct and the like.”

“The deputy told us the incident happened on the top floor. Maybe the lady was involved and just needs a little time to herself.”

“Maybe.” Karen stood with the mike cable in her hand, mired in one of those moments field reporters often faced: walk away or barge in. She needed a story — a big story to show her skills to the bigger markets. Being timid might be the sure way to spend her entire career at KTOT.

Conflicting thoughts covered her mind like ocean foam on the beach. She watched as Terri Penn moved past the car in Judith Find's slot, walked another fifty or so feet and slipped into a blue Volkswagen Jetta. The engine started and the car drove slowly away. As soon as it had left the parking lot, Karen said, “Get the camera.”

“I just packed it.”

“Stop complaining, Cindy, and grab the camera. We're going to interview Ms. Find.”

“But she's not here.”

“So says her guard dog, but I know when I'm being lied to. She's here and if she isn't, something else is afoot. Let's go find out what it is.”

“Okay, lady, but if you get in a fistfight with some bruising security guard, you're on your own.”

“You'd probably ask him out.”

“Maybe. At least I'll know that he has sound judgment.”

The lobby was wide and as ornate as one would expect for a business based on interior design. Sandstone tile complete with fish fossils covered the floor; plants and small trees — real, not silk, Karen determined — filled every corner. A sitting area boasted sofas, heavily cushioned chairs, and tables made from expensive-looking wood. Karen knew nothing of interior design but she was pretty sure this stuff didn't come from the local furniture store.

A curved reception desk stood at the gateway to the elevators. A twenty-something blonde with just the right amount of makeup on just the right kind of face wearing just the right kind of women's business attire sat behind the smooth, mahogany desk. She looked a little flushed, something to be expected of a person who had just endured a bomb scare. Learning that it was nothing more than a phone mishap would take some time to seep into the mind and to settle a pounding heart.

Karen approached and offered her biggest smile. “Wow, what a morning,” she said glancing at the name plate on the desk.

“You can say that again.” The receptionist's voice was clear and lilting. “I've never been so scared.”

“Good thing it turned out to be a false alarm.”

The girl knew how to be friendly. “Don't I know you?”

Good
,
a viewer.
“I'm Karen Rose with KTOT News and this is Cindy Chu, ace camerawoman. You must be Darla Allison. I was told you'd be the first person I would see.”

“That's it. I've seen you on television. It is like so cool to meet you.” She stopped suddenly and reined in her youth speak. “Are you here because of the scare?”

“We did a piece on that, but we have an appointment with Ms. Find. It was set for earlier, but with everything that happened we had to wait.”

“Of course.” She looked at the computer monitor and typed in a name. “I have to verify the appointment. No one is allowed on the top floor without permission.”

“Certainly. I understand. You can't be too careful these days. We have the same rule at the station.” They didn't but Karen thought a little common ground might go a long way. She waited as Darla punched in the name. Her fingers flew
over the keys — clearly a woman who had done this countless times.

Karen learned a long time ago that time passes slower for the devious. She feared that Terri Penn had canceled the appointment but hoped that she had forgotten in all the excitement. Cindy cleared her throat nervously.

“Here it is.” Darla opened a drawer in front of her and removed a plastic card with a magnetic strip. She swiped it through a device next to the computer monitor that reminded her of a debit card reader in a fast-food joint. Darla watched the screen for a moment then smiled. She handed the plastic card to Karen. “Use the elevator closest to the lobby. Once inside, you'll see a slot just above the floor buttons. Slip this in face up and remove it. The elevator will take you directly to the executive floor.”

“Thank you. You've been a big help.”

“It is a pleasure meeting you.” She smiled unveiling a row of perfect teeth that must have cost her parents a fortune.

Ten steps later, Karen and Cindy entered the elevator and watched as the doors closed.

J
udith's father had been a big fan of Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa. Hardly a week went by in which she wasn't exposed to the aggressive rhythms of the big band drummers. She thought of them as she stood at the door waiting for someone
to answer the bell. She thought of them because neither man at their best could match the pounding of her heart.

She couldn't find the right word to describe the situation: surreal, abstract, confusing, enigmatic. She settled on
madness.
What better word would convey the nonsensical behavior of flying in a corporate jet from Ontario to Fresno so she could stand on the porch of a 1920s bungalow home to ask questions of whoever lived here about the abduction of a boy? Yup, madness was the word of choice.

“Nice place.” Luke rocked on his heels, his hands behind his back as if waiting in line at a Taco Bell. “Well kept. Someone put a lot of time into this house.”

Small talk, the result of nerves. Apparently he didn't feel any more at ease than she did.

“Arts and Crafts style if I'm not mistaken.”

“California bungalow. It was a popular style until the Second World War. Should we ring again?”

Luke knocked on the aluminum screen door. It rattled loudly.

“Ease up, Conan. We want them to answer the door, not run out the back.”

“I didn't knock that hard.”

Judith decided he was right, but it still sounded like he had shaken the foundation. Her nerves were getting the best of her. “Maybe no one is home — ”

The door opened a crack. “Who are you?” A woman's voice. Judith could see enough gray in the dark hair and wrinkles around the one eye that peered at them through the narrow opening to know that a woman on the north side of prime barred the door. The eye was bloodshot.

“My name is Judith Find and this is Luke Becker. We were hoping we could — ”

“Judith Find? The television lady?”

“I've done some television and commercials for our products.”

“I'm not interested in buying anything.” The woman started to close the door.

“We're not selling anything,” Luke interjected.

“This isn't a good time.” Again the door began to close.

“We know. That's why we're here.” Judith took a quick breath before letting the next words tumble from her mouth. “We're here about Abel.”

The door closed.

“What now, fearless leader?” Judith asked Luke.

Luke extended his hand to bang on the screen door again, when the sound of the chain lock being unlatched worked its way past the jamb. Slowly the door opened again, this time more than a crack. The woman stood on the other side of the screen. “Do you know where he is?”

“No, ma'am, not yet.” Judith could hear the hurt in her voice. The timbre testified of a throat raw with weeping.

“You're not with the police. What do you want?”

“Only to help.” Judith hoped her sincerity could make it past the screen. The woman was Judith's height; her hair mussed and unattended to. She wore a thin pink robe over a flannel gown. Judith could see no makeup and didn't expect to. Before her stood a woman displaying every sign of depression: lifeless eyes, downturned mouth, slumped posture. The woman was in mourning for the loss of someone dear.

As Judith studied the woman, the woman studied her and did so in a way that made her feel naked before the grieving woman's eyes.

To his credit, Luke said nothing. Better to let woman bond with woman. Judith appreciated his discipline. “May we come in?”

The woman turned and walked into the dark house leaving the door open. Judith looked at Luke who offered only a shrug. Judith pulled open the screen door and stepped in, holding the door just long enough for Luke to take hold of it. Once inside, she closed the door. It seemed the polite thing to do.

The interior showed the same concern for maintenance as the outside. Judith immediately looked at the floor and saw hardwood strips laid in the traditional staggered pattern. Unlike the picture, this flooring was oak and looked original to the house.

The woman had moved to a sofa that looked freshly plucked out of the 1950s. A rocking chair was nearby as well as a love seat that matched the sofa's flowery upholstery. The home was clean and orderly except the area around the couch. A small, walnut coffee table with turned spindle legs held several dirty glass tumblers, one empty box of tissue and one box that appeared half full. Clumps of wadded white tissue lay on the table and a few on the floor where they had fallen. A bed pillow rested against one arm of the sofa and a wool blanket at the other. The woman had been sleeping here.

“If you don't know where Abel is and you're not with the police, then why should I speak with you?”

“We're trying to help,” Judith said.

“How can you help? You sell furniture or something, don't you?”

“Interior products,” Judith corrected. “But I'm not here because of my business. We're trying to find Abel.”

“Are you with them?” She spat out the last word like a person spits out a rancid piece of meat.

“Who do you mean?”

“You know.”

“Ma'am,” Luke began, “we're not with anybody but ourselves. All we want to do is ask a few questions.”

“Then how do you know about Abel? He's special. The world doesn't know about him. You must be with them. What did you do with my boy?” Tears flooded her eyes and she reached for a tissue. It struck Judith as a well-practiced motion.

Judith spoke in low tones. “Ma'am … I'm sorry, I don't know what to call you.”

She examined Judith through wet eyes. Events had almost crushed the woman but she still showed the signs of a mother's strength. “You really are her, aren't you? The lady I see in the television commercials.”

“Yes, ma'am. I really am Judith Find. What's your name?” Judith recalled the computer document that listed the abducted boy's name as Abel Palek, but she had a feeling that this woman was not the boy's mother. She certainly didn't have his purple eyes.

“Ida Palek. My husband is … was, Ed Palek.”

“Was?”

“He died two weeks ago. I buried him two days before … before …” The stern shell she had been showing gave way.

Judith and Luke exchanged glances. It communicated well enough. “I'm so sorry, Mrs. Palek.”
Husband dies and two days later an abduction takes place in your home.
Judith felt sick but she knew what to do: she let the woman cry. When her Allen died, she did her share of weeping. There were days when she thought she'd be crying the rest of her life, but time changed that. Now she hurt without the tears.

Judith reached out and touched Ida's knee. “I lost a husband. I know it hurts.”

“You're not going to tell me that the hurt will go away, are you? Everyone kept saying that. ‘Give it time,' my friends said, ‘then things will get better. The hurt will stop.' I don't believe them.”

“I wouldn't tell you that.” She leaned back. “The pain changes. It becomes manageable. Life resumes, but there will always be the pain of the loss.”

Ida dabbed at her eyes. “How did your husband die?”