Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) (9 page)

“Whadaya want?” She pulled at the door impatiently.

“I’m here to take you to the hospital to see Marcus,” I restated. “Remember?”

She didn’t. I could practically see her mental gears shifting, rewinding, not finding anything, fast forwarding, and finally giving up.

“Well how long have I been waiting for you?” She reminded me of an old lady trying to hide confusion with indignation, but I put her real age at about forty.

“A little while. I’m sorry I’m late. Why don’t we go? Do you have everything?” Her hands were empty. “I mean do you need anything for Marcus?”

She looked down at herself and shrugged. “Huh uh. Marcus don’t need nothing from me.”

I wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but to me, it was sad.

I wish I could say conversation in the car was easy and enlightening, but it wasn’t. Ms. Gomez—Tracy Gomez, I learned—wasn’t as outgoing when she started to sober up, which I assumed was the cause of her relative silence. Or maybe she wasn’t feeling well. For whatever reason, she was frustratingly reserved.

“So Tracy,” I said casually. “Tell me about Marcus. What’s he like?”

She surveyed me, probably wondering why she should trust this straight-laced-looking stranger. Maybe if I’d asked what the
h-e-double hockey sticks
he was like, she’d have been more comfortable.

“He’s a good boy,” she responded. She looked out the window away from me. “An only child.”

“No trouble?”

Her shoulders rose and fell. “Boys. You know.”

“I know, but Marcus got hurt,” I reminded her. “Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Marcus takes care of himself,” she said. “He’s fine.”

No, he’s not
, I wanted to say. That’s why kids join gangs. They need family, and if they don’t have it, they’ll create it, for better or worse.

“It must be so hard to have a teenager in this world,” I said instead. “I can’t imagine.”

Her eyes fell on me.

“What happened to him again?” Maybe that was why she wasn’t worried. She’d already forgotten what happened. I told her about Marcus and hoped it would sink in. “Well, he’s a good boy,” she repeated. “Takes care of me when I can’t work.”

“Oh. What kind of work do you do?”

“Clean houses.” That was ironic. Then again, if I cleaned houses for a living, I don’t know if I’d come home and clean my own. I barely do it now except under threat of mortal embarrassment or injury.

“And how does Marcus earn money?”

“He sells CDs,” she said. “Makes good money and plays them at parties. Something like that. I don’t know.”

My guess was those CDs contained “bonus” tracks—or tokes.

We were at the hospital, but my mind was filled with questions, so I turned into the crowded parking lot, trying for once not to find a space, buying time. I drove slowly and chose my words carefully.

“Does Marcus have a girlfriend? Anyone else who should know about what happened?”

“No. He never talks about girls. Brings ’em home sometimes though.”

“I see. But no one in particular?”

“One girl used to call a lot. But she stopped.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He said she was crazy. She don’t call no more.”

“When was that?”

“I don’t know! I got a bad memory.”

“Well maybe you remember her name? I know some kids at Marcus’s school. How about ‘Beth’?”

“I told you I don’t know.” She clamped her lips shut.

“They said something on the news about gangs. Do you think Marcus could have been shot by a gang member? I think there are gangs at his school.”

“Of course there’s gangs,” she said with an exaggerated eye roll. “They’re everywhere. I told him to
stay away
,” she said. “Now my car’s wrecked. Frickin’ wrecked my car.” Was she forgetting again that her son was injured? I hoped so, because I didn’t want her to be as heartless as she sounded.

I pulled into a spot. “Let’s go find Marcus and see what he says.”

On the way to intensive care, she mentioned the names of some local gangs, which I had to resist writing down immediately. The biggest surprise came from Marcus’s nurse. Marcus was gone. Not discharged. Just moved, thankfully, to another floor because he didn’t need ICU services, which were in high demand.

As we made our way to his new unit, I glanced at my watch: 3:00 p.m.
Tracy would need a ride home, too, and time was running short. My breaking, entering, and stalling had taken longer than I thought.

This time, Marcus’s mom was on his visitor list, but I wasn’t. Before I could ask about joining her, she took off for his room, flip flops slapping down the shiny linoleum hallway. I stayed in the waiting room and considered what to do next. I didn’t want to question Marcus too directly and scare him off, at least not yet, so barging in on them didn’t feel right.

With time ticking away, I crossed the room to a rack of brochures on flu pandemic preparedness and tuberculosis screening—perfect for note-taking or inducing a panic attack. After assuring myself I didn’t have TB and was semi-prepared for “sheltering in place” (depending on how long our family could live on O-shaped cereal and juice boxes), I was ready to call April, take notes on our conversation, and possibly order protective face masks.

I dialed the home number her mom, Jen, had given me.

“Hello?” The voice sounded young.

“April?”

“Who is this?” she asked.

“It’s Nicki. From last night. Remember me?”

“A little. My mom told me this morning. And you wrote on my hand, too.”

“Sorry about that. I wanted to make sure we got in touch. I know you’re Beth’s good friend. I’m looking into her disappearance, and I hope you can help me find her.”

“Yeah. My mom said I could trust you.”

“Thank you so much. I know the situation is kind of complicated.”

“Uh huh.”

“So if you have a few minutes,” I continued, “I’ll ask you some questions, okay?”

I looked around to see if I was disturbing anyone or being overheard. The coast was clear. “Let’s start with Beth and Marcus. How did they meet?”

“Well they didn’t exactly meet. They just kinda saw each other in the hall a lot. Then we went to a party, and he was there, and they started hanging out that night.”

“When was that?”

“Maybe a year ago? The beginning of the school year. I remember because we had first period Spanish and he was always at his locker outside.”

“Did he seem interested in her?”

“Yes.”

“So they met at a party and ‘hung out.’ I’m sorry to be ignorant, but these days, what does ‘hang out’ mean? Talk? Make out? Have sex?”

“Jeez! No!” she said. “Beth wasn’t, I mean, neither of us is like that. I guess you could say we’re shy. I couldn’t even believe they eventually, you know, did it.”

A thought occurred to me. “Is there any chance, April, that the sex wasn’t consensual? That she didn’t want to do it, and he forced her?”

She was quiet. “He didn’t, like, rape her or anything. But he talked her into it. Once she did it, it’s like she didn’t know how to turn back. She loved him. It was so stupid. I told her he was a jerk and he never deserved her.”

The anger in her voice made my heart swell. “I can hear how much you care about her. Tell me more about where they hung out. Did they go on dates?”

She laughed. “Uh,
no
. He was too gangster for that.”

“He’s in a gang?”

“Yeah. Everyone knows that.”

“Sorry. Which one is it?”

“C-16.” That was one his mom had mentioned.

“Are gangs at your school violent?”

“Totally. You know who’s in them, and you hear people got hurt, but you don’t know exactly who did it.”

“So where would they see each other?”

“Pretty much at parties.”

“Like where we were last night?”

“Sorta. Like usually at someone’s house,” she whispered. “You know, when the parents are away. Or the parents don’t care. Whatever. There’s usually, umm...”

“April,” I reassured her. “It’s okay. I’m not the police. I just want to find Beth.”

“Usually there are drugs. We don’t do them,” she added quickly. “But they’re there.” She paused. “I’ll tell you something. But you have to swear you won’t say I told you.” She continued without stopping. “I’m positive Marcus is a dealer. He’d go off and do something and always come back with money. Beth didn’t want to believe it because he sold CDs for local rappers too, but I mean he
is
. You hear things, you know? She just didn’t want to admit it.”

“What kind of drugs?”

“Dub bags.”

I wasn’t up on the drug lingo either. Maybe that was what I’d seen in Marcus’s room. “I’m sorry. What exactly does that mean?” I asked.

“You know. Pot. About twenty dollars worth. Two dime bags. A dub bag.”

“Okay. I heard Beth wished she could change him. Is that true?”

“
So
true! It’s like he had a hold on her. Especially once they did it. I tried telling her it was
not
love. He did
not
love her. She finally saw it when she told him she was pregnant. That was it. Over. I was the only one who was there for her.”

“What about her parents? Were they supportive at all?”

“At first, when they thought she was going to keep the baby, but then when she went to First Steps, they were like
hold on, no one’s giving our baby away
.”

“
Our
baby?”

“They said it was part of the family—that she couldn’t give it away without their permission.”

“Did they kick her out of the house?”

“They let her stay, and they gave her money for doctor visits. But they were always trying to change her mind, saying stuff like, ‘Won’t you miss the baby?’ and ‘Won’t you be sad every year on its birthday?’ So mean. I wanted her to live with me and my mom.”

“Why didn’t she?”

“I don’t know. She always said she didn’t want to cause my mom any trouble.”

“Okay. Back to Marcus. When did she tell him about the baby?”

“After about five months. We read online that before three months, you don’t know if you might lose the baby or something, so she waited until it was for sure. She didn’t even tell her parents.”

“So she didn’t see a doctor for the first five months?”

“Right. And she wore big clothes so no one would know. But she took vitamins from the drugstore.”

“Prenatal vitamins?”

“Yeah. She hid them in her locker.”

I was relieved and thankful. “Good for her. When she told Marcus, where did she do it?”

“At school. In a bathroom.” She sighed.

“How did he react?”

“He punched a door and left. Jerk. That was the last they talked. At least that I
know
about.” Her tone was accusing. I wondered if all her blame was placed on Marcus, or if she thought Beth shared some of it.

“You sound angry,” I said.

“Well
duh
.” She took aim at me. “Someone took my best friend. Am I supposed to be happy?”

“I understand. But when you said the last time they talked was five months into the pregnancy, you didn’t seem convinced of it. Do you think there was another time they talked? Like recently?”

“That’s the problem—I don’t know!” I pictured her eyes tearing up or rolling at me. “I mean obviously if he took her, then they saw each other again.”

“You’re right. But what about another time? Did she keep going to parties? Were there other times they were in the same place?”

“She stopped going to parties because she couldn’t drink and she was embarrassed about getting fat. But I always got this feeling. Like if he ever,
ever
called and tried to make up with her, she’d do it in a second.”

“And keep the baby?”

“No. She just wanted to be with him.”

“Did she say all this to you?”

“No. I just felt it.”

Something occurred to me, but I didn’t want to offend her, so I tried a non-confrontational approach.

“Oh, April, I almost forgot. Do you have access to Beth’s computer passwords? I think it might be really helpful.”

“You mean like for Internet access?”

“No, like for Facebook and stuff.”

“Oh. No. Why?”

“Those sites can be really important in cases like this. Tell you what. Could you do me a favor? Check out her pages and see if anything stands out to you.”

“Like what?”

“Absolutely anything. Maybe a person or comment that’s unfamiliar or odd. Anything that catches your eye. Then email me. Do you still have my address?”

“Yeah. But I already looked at her pages and talked to our friends. There’s nothing.”

“Okay. Well please get in touch anytime you think of something about Beth. I appreciate it so much.”

Sensing time was up—in part because I couldn’t imagine Marcus and his mom carrying on a long, meaningful conversation—I finished by getting April and Beth’s cell numbers and email addresses, surely the most important contact information for any teen these days.

The drive back to the Gomez house was uneventful because Tracy slept most of the way. If private investigation didn’t work out, maybe I could start a designated-driver chauffeur service. I managed to get a recap of her conversation with Marcus, which was loving and easy to summarize: They were both glad he didn’t die. As we pulled into her driveway, she didn’t invite me in, and she got out with the car running, barely giving me time to say goodbye.

In my last half-hour of free time, I raced home, played Janet Jackson extra loud, and became what I nicknamed the “whirlwind,” a cleaning maniac that defies explanation since I’m always too tired for housework. Janet thrust me through the kitchen, dining room, and living room, leaving only the hidden spaces (cabinets, closets, drawers, etc.) a disaster. Hopefully Mom would incorrectly perceive our home as well maintained. At the very least, dancing through the house helped me burn off steam.

Finally, I made the same old rushed drive to camp, second-guessing everything I’d done that day, including little things, such as whether I left any embarrassing items out at home. When Jason was alive, it would have been the condoms, but there was no use for those now. The most personal item I could think of was my credit card bill, which I paid online, so there was no risk of exposing my Target, Toys “R” Us, and Whole Foods overspending.

Once the kids were in the car, we picked up drive-thru snacks (a multi-stop challenge for health nuts) on the way to the airport. Sophie chose a fruit-and-nut combo, Jack got trans-fat-free French fries, and I got a cup of pinto beans. Just enough time was wasted to put us on schedule for Mom’s five o’clock arrival at Dulles. We circled past the pickup area repeatedly until we saw her waving us down. All she had was a carry-on duffel, which was great, since I’d forgotten to empty the trunk.

“Hi, Mom!” I greeted her. Being at Dulles reminded me of my dad, but I was determined to smile through it.

Mom was tan from a few days in the Florida sun, her trademark pink lipstick and favorite Lily dress extra colorful against their new backdrop.

“You got some sun,” I said as I gave her a hug.

“Well, it’s Florida,” she said, smiling. “I couldn’t help it.” She slid into the front seat with her bag and turned to look at the kids. “How are my little sunshines?”

“Good,” Jack answered.

“You’re babysitting?” Sophie asked.

“I am,” she said. “And I have a few surprises from Florida.”

“How exciting,” I said. The kids would love that.

“Are you all ready for your PI class?” she asked.

I looked down at myself and then tilted the rearview mirror for a glance at my face, which needed touching up.

“Almost,” I said before the truth hit me. “Oh no!” I’d forgotten to do my homework.