The Green Children: A Sycamore Moon Novel (Sycamore Moon Series Book 3) (5 page)

 

 

 

 

Diego switched off the TV and threw the remote down. At least the press conference explained why his friend hadn't answered his call.

Diego had asked the detective to look into Hazel's disappearance, but he was mired in another family's problems now. Maxim would be playing catch-up with Annabelle's side of things. It may very well resolve Hazel's situation, but Diego couldn't sit idle in the meantime.

Julia needed him. Hazel needed him.

The biker paced back and forth between his living room and bedroom. Eventually, he made it into the bathroom and shaved, sharpening the edges of his mustache and goatee. Dark circles lined his eyes. He splashed cold water on his face to give himself a jolt, but he still looked worn out. He was tired from the long night and the sleepless morning.

He wandered back out to the main room and picked up his keys from the kitchenette bar. Beside them was a school photograph of Hazel Cunningham. Bent and worn from a day in his back pocket, it was the only image he had of the girl. He'd seen other pictures at Julia's, but this one had been the subject of his stares. This one had been burned into his mind.

Hazel was a cute kid. Brunette hair that matched her mom's, light skin with just a hint of freckles. Her eyes were darker, though, yet full of joy. There was something about childhood that prompted adoration from others. Hazel's smile was wide, with slightly crooked teeth, but something about it felt out of place in her expression. Diego studied it at length but couldn't glean any further insight.

A shake of his head helped throw off his stupor. There wasn't time for this. He pulled on a white T-shirt and grabbed his phone again.

"Pendle," answered the gruff voice on the other end of the line.

"Harry, it's Diego. I'm not gonna make it in today."

The biker could easily imagine the look on the man's face.

"This is some kind of joke, right?"

"I'm sorry, man. It's not a joke. It's personal stuff."

"This about that kid?"

"Yeah."

Harry's voice softened. "Yeah, I saw that. It's a fucking shame, I tell you. On Easter, too."

Diego waited with a frown. He didn't know what to say and he hated being beholden to his boss. Harry Pendle wasn't a bad guy. He owned the company and struggled to make ends meet. The tow business wasn't easy.

"You were out there when they found the other kid last night?" he asked.

"Yeah. We searched all around the campgrounds. East and west along the Interstate. North closer to Sanctuary."

"Those woods are huge. It could take a week."

Diego sighed. "That's what I'm saying."

Harry considered for a moment. "Look, Diego, it's a horrible thing. I mean, I hope to God they find this kid, okay? But is this woman your wife or something?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, what's the deal? Is this your kid? I can understand the Good Samaritan thing, but you have real responsibilities. Be neighborly all you want, but do it on your own time."

"That's bullshit, Harry."

His boss scoffed. "I'll tell you what's bullshit. This is your third job this year, and it's barely April. I took you on because you told me you were a hard worker."

Diego rolled his eyes. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to put in a full shift four days a week without asking for favors." Harry waited for a response but didn't get one. "Otherwise," he continued, "you'll be looking for your fourth job."

The biker swiped at the air in frustration. He strolled over to the window and peeked through the mini blinds. The sun was out in full swing. Visibility was perfect. The sky was clear, the wind was blowing—it was a nice day to be outside.

Diego thought of his past experience with outlaw bikers. "Cage" was the word they used for cars. Today, if Diego had to sit in the tow truck all day, he really would feel captive.

"I'm gonna be looking for a little girl," said Diego. "You can fire me for that if you want."

His boss laughed. "Oh I can, can I?" he asked mockingly. "Can I? Thanks for giving me that ability, Diego. I wasn't sure if I had that power
as your boss.
I wasn't sure if I could fire you for not doing your fucking job."

"Thanks for keeping the big picture in mind," said Diego. "Just do what you need to do."

The biker hung up the phone. He didn't know what he needed, but it definitely wasn't this hassle.

 

 

 

 

Diego parked his Triumph Scrambler outside the camping office. His bike was a sleek roadster, black and chrome and sixties inspired. A shotgun holster attached to the frame rubbed against his right leg as he dismounted. In his outlaw days, Diego carried a Benelli M4 semi-auto shotgun. He had a thing for guns, and it was a sweet weapon, but he hadn't been able to replace his lost one yet. After the tragic events of the year before, he didn't know if he wanted to. Now the holster was an empty reminder of pain and loss.

The biker wasn't completely unarmed, of course. He still packed a trusty knife that had kept him safe on many occasions. Whenever Diego went into the wild, the blade was always sheathed to his forearm under the sleeve of his riding jacket, but for now he left it on the Scrambler. It had its own spot, a custom slot built into his exhaust, hidden in plain sight.

Diego wandered the grounds with a suspicious eye. He hoped he wouldn't need to use any weapons to get Hazel back, but he would if it came to it.

Quiet Pines was a large, multi-use luxury campsite. Deluxe wood cabins took up a third of the property. Lacquered to a smooth glaze and ornamented with high roofs, the cabins had all the comforts of a fine hotel. Full electricity, plumbing, spa tubs, porch swings. It was about the furthest thing from camping that Diego could imagine, but the area was littered with pine trees and the air had the healthy smell of nature.

Individual sections were available to less extravagant campers as well. Cars and trucks parked adjacent to picnic tables and tents. Each site had its own fire pit, and each large section had its own facilities building with bathrooms and showers.

Finally, a row of RVs had their own parking spots, complete with full plug-ins. Power, water, waste management—it was all available to paying customers.

Whatever happened to sleeping bags and campfires?

At the end of his tour, Diego returned to the office where he'd parked and headed inside. A large man sat at a desk crowded with paperwork.

"Which lot are you?" he asked.

Diego furrowed his brow. "Sorry?"

"What's the lot number of the campsite you're staying in?"

Now Diego understood. "Oh, no. I'm not camping actually. I'm here about the girl that's missing."

The sweaty man peered at Diego and nodded. "I remember you now. You were with the police yesterday."

It was lucky the manager remembered him. The biker bowed his head and exaggerated his South American accent. "Diego de la Torre. Nice to meet you."

The office manager didn't raise his hand to meet Diego's. "But you're not a police officer yourself," he said matter-of-factly.

So much for his good luck. "Not exactly, but I'm working with them. And with Julia Cunningham."

"Poor lady. You know something like that's never happened here? We run a very safe site."

"You can't control everything. It's not your fault."

The man nodded and leaned back in his chair, finally giving his full attention to Diego. "I'm Charlie Charles. Twice the name, twice the fun."

Diego's eyes widened. "I can see that."

"Twice the girth, too!" Charlie cracked into a boisterous laugh and Diego hoped the man was referring to his belly. "Sit down, sit down."

Diego took a seat and decided to get through this quickly. He didn't feel like listening to bad jokes while an eight-year-old was lost.

"I checked around the grounds," started Diego. "Everyone looked pretty normal. Was there anyone staying here who felt off to you?"

The office manager chuckled. "We're in Sycamore, son. Nobody would be here if they weren't just a little bit different."

Diego tilted his head and waited for a real answer.

Charlie waved his hand dismissively. "The police interviewed everyone yesterday. Since you're working with them you should have that info." The man gave Diego a wink.

"I'm more concerned with whether the police could have missed anything. Did they account for everybody?"

Another chuckle. "There's not much place to hide. The cars and RVs are all parked by their lots. I know for a fact the deputies talked to every renter. I went site-to-site with them, giving them the names of each guest."

"You have contact information for every single person on the grounds?"

Charlie shook his head. "Just the renters. The ones paying me the money. We have a limit on the number of guests in each lot, but we don't make them register or anything. I trusted that follow-up to the police." The man's face darkened. "I wish there was more I could do for that girl. I have two daughters myself. Can't imagine what the mother is going through."

Diego's thoughts fluttered to Julia. He'd spoken with her on the phone this morning but was hoping to avoid seeing her in person until there was better news. Perhaps it wasn't realistic, but the thought of seeing her smile again was all he thought about. First he had to free her from this terrible burden.

"You are helping by cooperating, Charlie."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. I know a lot of the locals, the repeat customers, but it was so busy and my memory's not that great."

"I saw quite a few empty lots out there."

Charlie slapped his desk. "Something about a child abduction in broad daylight that'll kill business. Besides, it's Tuesday. Easter weekend is over and it's back to the grind. Not all of us outdoors folks are the types with nine to fives, but plenty of normal families come out. Trust me, it was a full house this weekend. Six cabins, ten hook-ups, and sixteen sites. All thirty-two lots were occupied. I even had to deny an RV entrance. Can't remember the last time that happened."

Diego perked up. "When was this?"

"On Easter Sunday, late at night. We're staffed twenty-four seven. I was there that night. Red came by looking for a plug-in, but I had to turn him away. We were full."

"Red?"

"He's a regular. An old man. I see him two or three times a year, maybe. He lives in his motor home hereabouts. Moves around as it suits him and visits the local campgrounds to resupply and use the facilities. Most of these guys do that. It's not a problem as long as they pay."

"Do you have his name and address?"

"Sure," said Charlie, "but it's a waste of time. Like I said, Red was in and out that night. I don't know where he ended up, but he was long gone before that girl went missing."

"I'd still like the address."

Charlie sighed and lifted his heavy frame from the chair. He plodded over and opened a file cabinet. "I didn't get his information that night on account of turning him away, but I'll have some paper on him somewhere." The office manager leafed through months of documents and chatted to pass the time. "The old man's a character. A little loopy, but likes to keep to himself. He'd probably be a true hermit if he could, but electricity and plumbing are too damned convenient. I know he stays by Williams a lot. They've got a few RV clubs by the train station." Charlie shook his head and chuckled. "Red likes trains or something. Always going on about them. A bit embarrassing for a grown man. Ah. Here it is." He dropped the paper on his desk.

Diego grabbed a nearby pen and notepad and copied down the information. "It just says 'Red.' And this is a PO Box."

Charlie shrugged. "What do you expect when his house is an RV?" The heavy man leaned forward and planted a finger on the address. "You see? Williams, Arizona. I bet he's train-watching as we speak."

Diego sighed. He could probably tap Maxim to run down the information, but he was hoping for something he could move on immediately. Once again, he pictured Julia's smile.

"How will I know if I've found him?"

The office manager laughed again and returned to his seat. "He's easy to spot. He's an old man with a metal leg." Diego shot the man a curious look and he explained. "It's not really a metal leg, but one of those braces, you know? Clamps to the thigh and calf and bends at the knee. It's for support. I figure he was in Vietnam or something but never asked. He seems a little self-conscious about it."

Diego nodded, hoping for something more. "Okay, so the police have thirty-two names of people they've interviewed, and Red makes thirty-three. Anyone else?" The biker wondered if Maxim had access to that list.

"Well, actually," said Charlie, stumbling on his words, "there were thirty-one groups interviewed."

"What do you mean? You said this place was full."

"Yes. It was, Easter night. But first thing in the morning one of my campers packed up his tent and checked out. Lot twenty-four." Charlie shook his head. "Damnedest thing. He'd given a down payment on one more day but left first thing Monday morning. Said he needed to leave immediately. He didn't even argue when I said I couldn't give him a refund on such short notice."

Diego almost jumped from his seat. "Did you tell the police about this?"

"No. I guess I should have, but it slipped my mind. I was swamped. But again, this young man checked out at sunup, 6 a.m. or so. He looked like he was in a hurry, but it didn't have nothing to do with that girl. I saw her and her mom leave their cabin hours later."

Diego rubbed his hand through his hair and pondered the timeline. Charlie noticed him struggling and leaned forward.

"Lookie here. If the police don't think it was any of my campers, I don't think it was any of them. The mother and daughter hiked into the forest, outside my grounds. I understand you're trying to be thorough, but I don't want you badgering all my guests. It's bad enough they were here when it happened. And many of them aren't the type that like the police, or whatever you are. And those other two? They were long gone. It couldn't have possibly been them. And I'm telling you, nobody strange was hanging around the property."

Diego hissed in frustration and looked out the window. Scattered groups of campers wandered the grounds, readying for hikes or loading up their cars.

"Was the early riser alone? He'd been staying here, so you should have his name and address, right?"

The office manager sighed heavily. He stared forward at his desk as if he was having second thoughts about his unconditional assistance. "Are you sure you're working with the police?"

Diego's black eyes bored into the man. "Just think about eight-year-old Hazel Cunningham out there. We're probably passing the twenty-four hour mark right now."

Charlie pressed his lips together and winced. It wasn't long before he reached for a clipboard on his desk. He found the man's name on the second page.

"Jason Bower. It was just him, alone. That's normal for the mountain men, but you could tell this one grew up in the city. He asked me questions about how to pitch his tent and wasn't prepared for the cold. He had to buy extra blankets from me." Charlie raised his eyebrows as he read the address. "Well, look at that," he said, sliding the clipboard to Diego. "He's a local too. He lives just ten minutes away, in Williams."

Diego clenched his jaw. Both men the police hadn't interviewed were just down the Interstate. That suited the biker just fine. He had a tank full of gas and knew how to track people down. And if they didn't talk, well, he knew how to do other things as well.