Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) (11 page)

I paused under a lamp post to scan the community mailbox, which was plastered with ads: a treadmill for sale ($100), a lost dog (a German Shepherd named Rocky), after-school childcare at an Internet café (thank goodness, because today’s kids need
more
screen time), and an upcoming social event for seniors.

I continued walking past mostly dark homes with porch and foyer lights on here and there, casting a soft glow. In one house, a man watched local news on a couch, while in another, laundry hung on a treadmill in the basement. Maybe that was the one for sale?
I should buy it,
I told myself. Despite chasing kids around, doing housework, and generally being on the go, I felt bad about not truly exercising, especially since I was breaking a sweat on this little walk. I hoped fear was to blame. But calling about the treadmill might be a good way to chat with a neighbor and investigate.

When I got to Beth’s row, two homes had lights on, Beth’s and the one with toys in the yard. In the young family’s house, curtains covered the bottom half of the windows, with only a valence over the top, which allowed me to see a heavyset woman with messy red hair and a screaming infant. She was opening the refrigerator.
Probably getting a bottle
, I thought.

Curiosity pulled me out of her sightline and closer to Beth’s home, where a crack in the curtains offered a tiny glimpse inside. In an unexpected surge of resourcefulness, I slipped a sapphire ring off my finger—a birthstone gift from my father—and clutched it as tightly as possible. If anyone asked, I’d say that in the heat of my power walk, it had flown off my finger, bounced off the sidewalk, and landed somewhere on their lawn. I even felt the grass a few times with my other hand, desperately afraid of
actually
losing my ring, when it hit me. What if I knocked on their door, told Beth’s parents I’d lost a piece of jewelry, and talked with them? My heart beat faster than it had on my walk. If only anxiety counted as aerobic exercise!

As quickly as I thought of the plan, I discarded it. I couldn’t interrupt anyone this late at night. But I
could
drop something cheap on their lawn and come back the next day for it, something like the fake gold-and-pearl earrings I was wearing, or at least one of them. I pushed my ring firmly back onto my right index finger and reached up to separate an earring from its back. I peered through the break in the curtains and inhaled sharply. A middle-aged woman was sitting at a round, wood table, head in hands, crying. Now that I saw her, I could hear her too. A stocky, graying man sat across from her, extending his hand across the table, but she didn’t take it. The moment was so personal that I felt they’d sense my presence any second. I turned and dropped my earring into the garden mulch, and then power walked my ass back to the van. There I sat, observing houses, relieved that Beth’s curtains were still, wondering if I’d really have the courage to return for my earring—and hopefully something a lot more valuable.

Nine

I woke to the smell of eggs and coffee. Jack and Sophie weren’t capable of creating that particular aroma, so I knew Mom was up. I looked at the clock and did a double take—8:27! She’d let me sleep in. I couldn’t remember the last time I started the day after eight. I didn’t even know I was capable of it anymore. I felt guilty but persuaded myself to relax.
I’ll have more patience and energy,
I thought.
Everyone wins.

Before I could convince myself to put a pillow over my head and snooze a little more, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and headed for the bathroom.
How odd
, I marveled.
Peeing and brushing my teeth in peace. Maybe I can even take a shower.
I turned on the water, threw my clothes in the hamper, and jumped in. I started off motivated (shampooed and conditioned super fast) but got lulled into enjoying the hot water and absence of worry about the kids and their activities. I took my time scrubbing and shaving. If I could have taken a nap and watched reality TV in there, I would have.

True reality hit me in the form of pounding feet and overexcited screaming downstairs. It was time to emerge from my steamy paradise into the chilly air, but before I wrapped towels around my body and head, I did a quick scale/mirror assessment: 136.
Okay.
Sinking butt and cellulite.
Eww.
I chose not to inspect wrinkles up close. I slathered on SPF 30 lotion instead and hoped for the best.

After choosing an outfit with care (criteria: anything presentable yet stainable, so I wouldn’t erupt if the kids spilled something on me), applying makeup, and drying my hair for as long as I had patience, I stepped quickly downstairs to see what mischief was afoot.

Sophie slammed into me with glee, screaming, “Mommy! You’re up! What took you so long?”

“Hi, Mom,” Jack said. “Grandma made eggs.” He didn’t like eggs, but I did, as long as the chickens were organic, cage free, and vegetarian fed. Not too much to ask.

“Sorry buddy,” I said, deciding to spoil him. “If you haven’t eaten anything, I’ll make you a bagel with peanut butter and fruit. Just be sure to say, ‘No, thank you’ to Grandma.”

“Okay.”

He did so when our trio reached the kitchen, where Mom poured me a cup of decaf and presented a plate of scrambled eggs and strawberries.

“Morning,” she said brightly.

“Mom, this is incredible. Thank you so much for letting me sleep in. It’s a serious treat.”

“Well, you’ve been busy, and you deserve it.”

“You’ve also been busy,” I said.

“Jack, can I get you anything else?” She raised an eyebrow at me. “He doesn’t like eggs?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Sorry.” He was a picky eater. As long as he ate the basics each day—with slight variations among them—I didn’t mind, but with company, his rejections made me self-conscious. “I’ll make him a bagel with peanut butter,” I said. “And I’ll share my strawberries.”

“Yum,” he said, plucking one from my plate. Sophie announced she’d already eaten an omelet with cheese and red peppers. Even her taste buds reflected her daring personality.

“I have to leave soon,” Mom said. “I’ve got a mani-pedi this morning. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” I said. “We’ve got plans too.”

I wanted to see someone about the treadmill and retrieve my earring, and the kids were coming along.
Actually
, I couldn’t help thinking,
they’ll probably make this easier.

“Hop in, guys!” I told them after Mom left in a taxi that had parked behind our van and saved us the drive to her condo and back.

They obeyed and peppered me with questions about our pre-camp destination. It was unusual for us to get anything done before I dropped them off. I’d made a ten o’clock appointment to see the treadmill, packed camp supplies, and sunscreened everyone with Mom’s help. We were right on schedule.

“We’re going to a new playground,” I announced. “And I’m going to talk to someone about a treadmill.”

“Like the ones at Auntie Kenna’s work?” Sophie asked.

“Exactly.”

“Why are you talking to someone about a treadmill?” Jack asked.

“Because I might buy it,” I said. “And get some exercise once in a while.”

“Weird,” he said. Yup. It was.

“Anyway, I need you guys to behave when I’m talking to people, okay? No interrupting unless it’s an emergency.”

“Like if I have to go to the bathroom?” Sophie asked.

“Yes. If you really have to go. But you went before we left, right?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Me too!” Jack said.

Phew.

Traffic flowed and I knew the route by heart now, so I concentrated on argument-prevention through creative storytelling (Batman and Super Teddy save a stray cat!) and careful music selection (Alvin and the Chipmunks).

By the time I parked near Beth’s, I had to refocus on serious issues. What would I ask (other than how can I get this enormous treadmill home)? My stomach churned. While unbuckling the kids and helping them out of the van, I took a moment to savor their relaxed expressions. How sad that youth can never be fully enjoyed. By adulthood, life’s poundings finally make you appreciate innocence.

I stopped to give strict reminders about guest etiquette.
Ask before touching other people’s things. If you want to say something that could hurt someone’s feelings, tell me privately.
Long ago, after broadcasting gems such as, “He looks like a wolf” (he did) and “Is that a lady?” (I wasn’t sure either), the kids had learned two guidelines:
whisper
or
wait
. Every once in a while, they slipped up, but for the most part, they rocked.

While I let Jack ring the doorbell, I squinted toward Beth’s house, several rows away with a maroon sedan in front of a closed garage. My glance was interrupted by a woman’s enthusiastic greeting as she opened the front door.

“Hi! You must be here about the treadmill.” She looked fifty-ish but had more energy than I did, kind of like Kenna, which made me envy and admire her—and want the treadmill even more.

“We are.” I held out my hand to shake hers. “Hi. I’m Nicki.”

“And I’m Gina. Come on in.”

“Thanks.” I ushered the kids into the foyer. Normally I would have introduced them and removed their shoes, but she was moving so quickly all we could do was follow.

“It’s in the basement,” she explained, starting down carpeted steps. “I joined a health club, so I don’t need it anymore. And I have grandkids now, so we need more room.” She threw a smile at Jack and Sophie.

“How many grandkids do you have?” I asked.

“Two little girls, three and five. I raised three boys. So, I finally got my girls!”

We arrived at a guest bedroom with a sturdy looking treadmill, not the clothes hanger I’d seen in someone else’s basement, and Sophie immediately hung on its handrails.

“No, Hon,” I said. “That’s dangerous. And we have to take good care of this.” Maybe getting exercise equipment wasn’t such a good idea.

“There’s a safety mechanism,” Gina said. After Sophie stepped back, Gina got the treadmill going faster than I could imagine running. Then she pulled a red string, yanking a magnet off the control panel and stopping the machine cold. “See?” she said, swinging the magnet in the air. “This has to be attached for it to work.”

I’d have to hide that string where the kids would never find it. Not that such a place existed.

“Cool,” I said. “Only $100 for this? It looks pretty nice.” Some negotiator I am.

“It is. But it’s got to go. I promised my grandkids a playroom, and this is going to be it.” She hit the treadmill for emphasis. “Tell me,” she said to Sophie. “What toys do you suggest for little girls?”

“Hmm.” Sophie scrunched up her face in serious thought. “A pretend kitchen?”

“She loves kitchens,” I said.

“Even real ones,” Sophie added. It was true. Sophie would cook and try new foods—real or pretend—any day.

“That’s a fun idea,” Gina said. “A kitchen.”

“I bet there are neighborhood kids to play with, too,” I said. “Nothing’s more fun than kids.”

“Definitely,” Gina said. “This street’s a zoo on summer nights. Full of bikes, scooters, and those little pretend cars.”

“Lucky,” I said. “Our street is way too busy for that. And the teens drive too fast.”

“We don’t have that problem,” she said. “I guess I take that for granted.”

I saw my opportunity and seized it. “I did hear something really surprising,” I said. “That a teen from your street is missing.”

“Yes,” she said. “I think maybe it was her choice though.” She looked at Jack and Sophie as if measuring her words. “She was...with child.”

“That’s so sad. Did you know her?”

“Just by sight. But I think about her family a lot. I don’t know them, but I left them a note passing along my support, and other neighbors did the same.”

“That’s nice. Did they respond?”

“No. But I understand,” she said. “It must be awful.” She paused. “So what do you think about the treadmill?”

“I’ll take it,” I decided. “My only problem is getting it into my minivan. I doubt we can lift it.”

“My husband and I can get it into your trunk if someone can help you unload it.”

I mentally volunteered Andy. “That would be great. Can I come back for it later?”

“You’ll have to. My husband won’t be home ’til five.”

We walked upstairs to leave, and I mentioned our plans to visit the tot lot down the street. “Do you need water or anything?” Gina asked. “It’s so hot.”

“We’ve got supplies in the van,” I said. “But thanks anyway.”

We waved goodbye and carried snacks and drinks to the playground, which was shaded by a thick, leafy tree, thanks to a brilliant landscaper or community planner. I sat under it and let the kids run free. Meanwhile, I stared at the back of Beth’s house, seeing it for the first time.

A wide deck with a two-level staircase rose above a small yard that looked essentially useless in the deck’s shadow. The deck itself, though, was beautifully decorated with flower boxes, a stainless steel grill, sea-green furniture, and a privacy screen to block the neighbor’s view. Security-wise, the deck provided another entry point and shielded the basement sliding glass door from view. I wondered if the yard was lit at night.

There were no signs of movement in the house, but I thought someone must be home, based on the car in front, a Honda Accord. I’d tried to memorize its license plate as we walked by.

After a few swigs of water and ten minutes of watching the kids, hoping bugs weren’t crawling out of the grass and up my shorts, I was literally antsy. In addition to being bored, I knew if I didn’t get the earring thing over with, I’d lose my courage, and anyone home might leave. Plus, I had to get the kids to camp, and that was good motivation.

I gathered our belongings and called out to them.

“Guys. Let’s get ready to go.”

“No!” they screamed.

“Not yet.” Jack added.

“I’m sorry. But guess what, when I walked by someone’s house, I think I lost an earring.”

“What?” Sophie’s interest was piqued. “I can find it,” she said with confidence.

“Let me show you where to look,” I said.

We trudged around the side of the house, and I pointed to a section of mulch where the earring hadn’t fallen. It wasn’t time to find it yet.

“Start here,” I said. “It’s a shiny gold hoop with a little pearl—a round, white thing—on it. I’ll knock on the door and tell them to keep an eye out for it. Okay?”

“You’re going to knock on the door?” Jack said with surprise.

“Yeah. Just for a second. You guys stay here. And yell if you find it.”

Keeping them in my peripheral vision, I reached toward the doorbell and pushed it firmly, despite how much I wanted to pull back and run, screaming
Follow me!
at the kids. I’d given the situation some thought the previous night, but now I felt totally unprepared—so unprepared I wanted to forget becoming a PI altogether. It was ridiculous and insane—the most uncomfortable I’d been since childbirth. Or maybe since realizing my husband was cheating and gone forever. Or maybe since finding out my father died. Okay, wait a minute, maybe today’s situation wasn’t so bad. I could
do
this. I didn’t need to run home to my comfy life managing kids and laundry.
I had to find Beth.

Since I was still waiting for someone to answer, and my determination had risen dramatically, I rang the doorbell again. My reward was a shift in a curtain, a glimpse of a woman with wet hair, and an impatient call from inside: “Just a minute.” Oh dear. She’d probably been in the shower.

She opened the door in a thick, white robe and matching slippers. Her hair was dripping wet but combed, and her face was red and shiny, as if she’d exfoliated and moisturized. My instinct was to hug her—the mother of a missing teen—but of course I resisted.

“Hi,” I said. I sounded hesitant even to myself.

She peered around me at my kids. “Hi,” she said, looking back at me. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I was on a walk, and I think my earring fell off in your yard. I wanted to let you know in case you find it.”

“Oh. Okay.” She looked annoyed. I didn’t blame her. “What does it look like?”