Slightly Irregular (26 page)

“Let’s open the ticket first,” I suggested.

Jane ripped along the perforated lines and unfolded the form. “Illegal parking. And her car was towed by Lawson’s Towing.”

“When?”

“Sunday at three-oh-five p.m.”

“Now we have to call the police,” I insisted. “What have I done?” I felt tears well in my eyes. “She was supposed to meet the tiara woman at one.”

“But she sent us a text after three,” Jane reminded me. “After the car had been towed.”

“And I got an e-mail,” I added. “And she talked to Vain Dane. All that happened after three as well.”

“Maybe her car wouldn’t start,” Liv suggested.

“Then she would have called one of you for a ride. She wouldn’t just leave it on East Ocean. She knows the trash trucks come once a day and the streets are narrow.” I sniffed as I tried to keep my composure. “I definitely think we should call the sheriff’s office.”

Liv dialed and then said, “Yes, I’d like to report a missing woman.” Then a pause, and then, “Rebecca Jameson. She’s twenty-nine, five-six, red hair, green eyes. No one has seen her since Sunday afternoon.” Then Liv’s brows pulled together. “No, it is not voluntary. She left her makeup and toothbrush and allowed her car to be towed.” Then, “Fine, we’ll come down and fill out a report.”

“Why?” I asked when Liv snapped her blinged-out clamshell phone closed.

“They won’t send a detective because they don’t consider a missing adult a big deal.”

“Then let’s go to them.”

Liv rubbed her forehead. “I have a meeting at nine with a client.”

“Nine p.m.?” Jane asked.

“The groom works long hours. He’s a yacht broker, and his business is open until eight.”

“Then Finley and I will handle it,” Jane said. “C’mon, Finley. I’ll drive.”

After locking up, we went down in the elevator. I got into the passenger side of Jane’s Escalade. Not an easy task in high heels. I had to hike up my skirt to grab the leather strap above the window so I could reach the seat.

“It’s weird that both Ellen and Becky would go missing less than two weeks apart.”

“Anything happening at work?” Jane asked.

“They do contracts. Real estate mostly. Hardly a hotbed for nut jobs.”

“She took her purse, Finley.”

“Unless her purse is in her car at Lawson’s tow yard.”

“We can have the detectives look there.”

We went to the Pine Trail satellite office of the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office and parked, then went inside. The place smelled of stale coffee and cherry deodorizer. I’d take some stale coffee. My caffeine level was plunging. I went to the glass window, and a uniformed man slid it open.

“May I help you?”

“We’d like to file a missing person’s report.”

“Is the missing person a minor?”

“No, she’s twenty-nine.”

“Take a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”

Jane leaned close to me and whispered, “They don’t seem to be overly worried. Maybe we’re overreacting.”

“I’d rather overreact than not react at all.”

Nearly thirty minutes later a middle-aged man in a white short-sleeved oxford shirt, striped tie, and khaki pants opened the veneered doorway. “Ladies? This way.” As we stood, he raked his fingers through is salt-and-pepper hair.

We entered the office, where phones were ringing and there was a din of conversations sometimes punctuated with laughter. It was a small office with maybe a half-dozen employees, including the guy at the front. Most of the space was divided with temporary walls creating three-sided cubicles. There was an office at the far end of the rectangular
room and another room next to the office that had a plaque that read
INTERROGATION
.

“I’m Detective-Sergeant Michael Wilkes.”

Jane and I attracted some attention from the male officers. It was probably Jane, since she had on a black leather miniskirt and a red corset top. You could see the black lace of her bra and a whole lot of cleavage. Add that to four-inch stilettos, and that was Jane in a nutshell. She was the Erin Brockovich of accounting.

“I’m Finley Tanner, and this is Jane Spencer.”

“Right here,” the detective said when we reached his cubicle.

Jane and I each took a seat opposite the detective. “May I get you anything?”

“Coffee for me,” I said.

“Water would be nice,” Jane answered.

The detective left for a minute and came back with two Styrofoam cups. He’d also brought powdered cream, sugar, and an artificial sweetener. I was good with straight black. Well, I was until I tasted it. It was strong enough to melt the fender off a midsize Toyota. “I’ll take that cream after all.” I sprinkled the creamer into the cup, then picked up the swizzle stick and tried to stir it into the tarlike coffee.

Detective Wilkes reached into a drawer and pulled out a pad with forms on it. “Name of the person you suspect is missing?”

“Rebecca Jameson.”

“Date of birth?”

Jane answered. It took almost twenty minutes for him to take down the most rudimentary information. He seemed almost bored as he asked each question.

“So, Ms. Jameson was overwhelmed at work?”

I shook my head. “More like super busy. Becky doesn’t get overwhelmed.”

“Is there any other reason you can think of that would cause Ms. Jameson to want to disappear?”

“I don’t think she’d want to disappear. I think she met the person from eBay for me, and something went terribly wrong.”

“But the cash from the transaction was placed safely at your residence?”

“Yes.”

“And you did receive a text from Ms. Jameson?” he asked Jane.

She nodded. “Late Sunday afternoon. Here, I saved it.” Jane dug her phone out of her purse and scrolled through her text messages, then handed him the phone.

“Is this Ms. Jameson’s phone number?” he asked, pointing to the identifier at the top of the message where the date, time, and source of the text were listed.

“Yes.”

“And you received an e-mail?” he asked me.

“Uh-huh. And before you ask, yes, it was sent via Becky’s private e-mail account.”

“Ms. Jameson called her superior and informed him that she would be out for a week or more?”

I nodded. “You’re making it sound as if Becky chose to go missing.”

“It does seem that way. A lot of adults opt to disappear.”

“Wouldn’t she take clothes and toiletries?” I argued.

“Maybe she planned on buying new when she arrived at her destination.”

“What about the fact that one of the partners at my firm went missing nearly two weeks ago?”

“Again, that woman communicated her intention to quit her job, correct?”

“Correct. But that doesn’t mean the two things aren’t related,” I said.

“Do you have any reason to think the two women are together?”

“Becky isn’t a lesbian, if that’s what you’re trying to get at,” I said.

“Sometimes people aren’t always open about their sexuality.”

“She was my college roommate. Trust me, she’s not gay.”

The detective rose. “Thank you for coming in.”

“That’s it?”

“We’ll see what we can find out, and we’ll keep you abreast of any developments.” He had moved close to the entrance of his cubby.

“You can check out the car. And maybe dump the local-usage details from Becky’s phone for the last three days,” I practically pleaded.

“We will do what we can,” Detective Wilkes insisted without a discernible trace of sincerity. “But without sufficient probable cause that something has happened to Ms. Jameson, we do have an obligation to respect her wishes to check out from her own life. Somewhere around two hundred thousand adults go missing every year. Any adult has an absolute right to disappear. But as I said, we’ll check out these leads.”

“What about …” Jane hesitated. “What about dental records?”

“That would be premature,” the detective said. “We have absolutely no indicators that Ms. Jameson is in any danger.”

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Jane muttered as we walked through the lighted parking lot to her car. “He didn’t seem to give a single shit.”

“He was rather blasé about the whole thing.”

“I think we should call Liam,” Jane suggested rather adamantly.

“You call him,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll help, but I’d rather not be the one to ask. I’m already into him for three wishes, remember? You’re the one he got naked.”

I watched as Jane’s shoulders slumped. I immediately felt bad for my caustic remark. “Sorry. I’m just tired. I know Liam was just getting you out of that bar before some weasel could take advantage of your intoxicated self.”

“Thank you. He really was just looking out for my welfare.”

“I know.” A long silence followed. My mind was racing along with my heart. I had an idea, but I didn’t dare tell Jane because I knew she’d tell Liam and then I’d probably get some long lecture from them both. Better to have Jane distracting Liam while I made a slight detour for the cause. “I’d still like it better if you called him.”

“I will. As soon as I drop you off at your car.”

The gravel road leading
up to Lawson's tow yard was pitch-black. The only light shone like a beacon up ahead. Floodlights bathed the area immediately around the fenced and razor-wired
lot. As soon as I drove within a hundred yards of the place, I heard the chilling sound of two dogs barking.

“I hate guard dogs.”

I kept reminding myself that this was all for Becky, hoping to bolster my courage. Leaving my high beams on, I exited the car and went directly to the padlocked gates. A slightly rusted sign explained that the yard was open from seven a.m. through seven p.m., and that cash was the only acceptable form of payment to release cars from impound.

“Jesus!” I screamed when a fierce-looking black dog threw himself at the chained gate. Reflexively, I took a step backward. “Bad dog.”

It continued to snarl and growl. “Bad, bad, scary dog!”

The growling stopped. The fear coursing through my veins did not. The dog shadowed me as I walked along the fence line. It took only a matter of seconds for me to spot Becky’s BMW. It was in the front row. However, I had to find a way past the dogs and into the car, since I didn’t have any hope that Detective-Sergeant Wilkes was going to get his happy ass in gear any time soon.

I got back in my car, turned around, and headed back out east on Okeechobee Boulevard. I went into an all-night Walgreens and purchased one of those things that puncture glass—whatever it’s called. My next stop was the McDonald’s drive-through, where I purchased sandwiches and a large frappe to go.

I drove home, took off my dress and heels, and slipped on yoga pants, a top, and some barely used tennis shoes. There was no way I could accomplish my goal in four-inch wedges. Jane had gotten me the yoga outfit as a present and an incentive to
join her sweaty yoga class. I’d passed on the class, but kept the outfit because it was comfy. And black, an added bonus because it was good camouflage. I went to my computer and did a Google search. I smiled when I found the answer I was looking for on Ask.com. I went to my medicine chest and grabbed my secret weapon: Xanax.

I thought about calling Tony, but decided it would be better if I put that off. As an officer of the court, he couldn’t sanction what I was about to do, so keeping him out of the loop was crucial. I’d tell him when and if I found a significant clue.

Armed with my implements, I drove the twenty minutes back out to Lawson’s. I’d already had one very unpleasant experience with a dog, and I didn’t intend to repeat it. This time I came prepared.

Taking a long sip of my coffee for fortification, I tried to ignore my shaking hands. Hell, my whole body was shaking. Breaking and entering wasn’t exactly one of my strengths.

Dressed for the part, I parked my car with the lights shining on my target and grabbed up the McDonald’s bag. This time both dogs showed up at the gate, trying—and succeeding—to intimidate me. I was intimidated, but I was more worried about Becky.

Opening the bag, I unwrapped the first of a dozen cheeseburgers, added a Xanax, and then placed it on the gravel. I did the same for a second one. “Good doggies,” I cooed as I let them get the scent through the chain link. They stopped snarling, so I figured my plan might just work. And since I’d checked, the Xanax wouldn’t harm them in any way, so if I got caught, no one could tack on a cruelty-to-animals charge.

Like a minor-league pitcher, I threw those sandwiches as far away from Becky’s car as possible. The dogs raced after them, fighting between themselves before each got his own sandwich. While they ate, I climbed up about three feet, the McDonald’s bag clenched in my teeth. The dogs had finished their sandwiches and started running toward me, barking wildly.

I was ready. I tossed two more Xanax-laced burgers in the distance and bought myself enough time to reach the top of the fence and carefully negotiate the razor wire.

“Geez, don’t you guys chew? Aren’t you getting sleepy yet?” I asked when they came racing back for more. I unwrapped two more of the prespiked sandwiches, threw them, and off they went. I jumped the five feet to the ground and made a dash for Becky’s car.