Gone at Zero Hundred 00:00 (14 page)

“You just have that look,” the man went on to say,
“Wholesome. Girl next door. We’d love it if you would join us for dinner some
evening, so we could talk more about it. Is modeling something you would ever
be interested in?”

“Oh my, yes. You have no idea…” Laney said with more
enthusiasm than even they expected. “Are you for real?”

The woman tilted her head to the side, and smiled. “Of course
we are. Trust me.”

“Tell you what,” the man said, as he pulled an expensive cell
phone out of his pocket. “Let me get the client on the phone, and see if he is
free to meet us for dinner any time soon.” He took a few steps away, and
pretended to make a phone call. After he disconnected from the call, he walked
back over to Laney. “How is Monday? Does that work for you?”

Laney’s eyes lit up.

After chatting for a few more minutes, the couple offered to
pick Laney up Monday evening after she got off of work. They told her they
would make reservations for The Toscana. When they walked out of the store,
Laney was smiling from ear to ear, believing this could be her big break.

“I’m on my way…” She giggled to herself.

At nineteen-hundred-hours the following Monday evening, the
man and woman pulled up to the entrance of the mall in a white Cadillac
Escalade ESV. Laney slipped into the back seat without question. She was
impressed by the expensive car, and the good-looking models she was now
associating with. She was on her way to bigger things. Or so she thought...

They never made it to the restaurant.

They never met with a client.

Laney was blind-folded and escorted into a building, ushered
down a set of stairs and locked in a room with several others. The following
day, the woman called her employer at B.A.B.S., informed them that Laney
accepted another job, and she would not be returning.

There wouldn’t be anyone looking for Laney.

There wasn’t anyone who cared.

Soon, she’d be long forgotten.

Now, she belonged to The Privileged Ones.

WHEN I pulled out of the parking lot
for Sutter P.D., I couldn’t help but notice the blue Ford Taurus carrying two
of Sutter Beach’s undercover officers following me from two cars back. Carter
must have ordered them to follow me and keep me out of trouble. Ah, he was
worried about me.

I pretended I didn’t know they were
there, and headed back to the Grant residence. I was hoping to have a talk with
the maid. The way she responded to the news of Tamara’s death, made me think
she was more concerned than Howard and Aaron Grant. Maybe the maid knew
something. Like why did Tamara leave?

I spotted the media vans as soon as I
pulled onto Vanderbilt Drive. News broke that the housekeeper of a wealthy
attorney had been murdered. The fact that the housekeeper ran away long before,
only made the story more intriguing to the press and tabloids. The way the
reporters were set up in the area; anyone coming and going would have to pass
them first. That didn’t stop me.

I pulled up to the circular drive and
watched them flock like vultures out for a kill. Several questions came my way
when I opened the door. I gave them an innocent smile. “I don’t know anything.
You might want to check with the lead detectives on the case,” I said, and I
pointed toward the Taurus that pulled in behind me.

As I expected, the media flocked in
their direction. They surrounded the car shoving microphones their way. I waved
to the officers and smiled. From the look on their faces, I knew they’d figure
out a way to get a little payback. Cops don’t like dealing with the media, or
being played by an eighteen-year-old.

I KNOCKED on the door, and waited
several seconds before the butler opened the door and peaked out.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, appearing
anxious.  “It’s been crazy all morning, between the phone and the media
pounding on the door.”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said,
apologetically. “Would Howard or Aaron Grant happen to be home?” I was hoping
they weren’t.

“No. They are not expected for some
time.” He spoke more freely without the employers there to watch over him.

“Then, may I speak with you and
Margarita? It will only take a few moments.”

He reluctantly allowed me inside, and
led me down the hall. We passed several large rooms, and entered the kitchen.
Margarita was seated at the counter. She had tissues in her hand, and her eyes
were bloodshot from crying. I noticed two suitcases sitting by the back door.
Were they planning on skipping out? When Margarita saw me, she went into
hysterics, mumbling in Spanish. I couldn’t understand what she was saying and
had to look to Jose for clarification.

“Tamara was like a daughter to us,”
Jose said. “Margarita is taking it very hard.”

I walked over and stood next to her.
“I lost my mother in the same way,” I said to her. “So, I understand how bad
you must feel.”

She took my hands and covered them
with hers.

“Margarita,” I said. “What happened
with Tamara? What made her leave here?”

The minute I saw the horrified look on
both of their faces, I knew I was opening up a can of worms. Jose looked at
Margarita and willed her not to speak, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“It was his fault. He made her
leave,” Margarita said. The pain and anger she was feeling, was clear.

Jose threw his hands up in the air,
and started to pace around the room.

“Who made her leave? Howard Grant…?”

“Margarita, no…!” Jose yelled. The
fear he felt was clear. He glanced out into the hall, anxiety etched into his
features as if he was afraid someone would walk into the home and hear us.

Margarita got to her feet and peered
up at her husband, who was a good foot taller than her. “Jose, we should have
done something a long time ago. Tamara would still be here…”

“I beg you,” Jose replied with desperation.
“The same thing could happen to us. To our family…”

That was all he would say, leaving me
to wonder what they knew, but were afraid to say. Margarita rambled again in
her Spanish dialect in a way I could not understand. Then, realizing Jose could
be right, she slumped back down in her seat.

Jose looked at me with a look of
sorrow. “I’m sorry. Nothing we say will bring Tamara back. We have family to
think about. Please…”

I kept looking at both of them,
hoping they’d change their mind. “I understand, Jose,” I finally said. But, I
didn’t. How could I? Tamara Marquez was murdered, and these two knew something.
They were just too afraid to share it. As I headed toward the door, I suspected
that was the last time I would be seeing them. They had their suitcases packed.
I suspected they would be gone by the time Howard and Aaron Grant got home.

IT SEEMED like forever since I spent
any time in the firehouse, but a lot had happened in the last two days. When I
looked around, I could tell somebody had been in the office. Papers were
shuffled around on the desk. I ran upstairs to check. Nothing was missing, but
the phone was moved. I thought of calling Carter to tell him somebody had been
there, but changed my mind. He would just yell at me for not having Cody with
me.

I needed to do some thinking.
Somebody busted into my pickup looking for something. Now, they went through
the firehouse office. What in the heck were they looking for? I slid down the
fire pole and headed over to the mechanical bull.

Back in the day, the mechanical bull
was used by cowboys to practice for rodeos. Speed and safety factors weren’t
issues. There were a lot of injuries from people flying off the machine. That
changed. They worked on fixing the timing mechanisms, and they also added
air-bags. I set the timer and speed. Then, I climbed on, and slipped my left
hand into the leather grip. My boots held firm to the sides. When the machine
started to spin, I waved my right hand back with my body, to constrict my abs,
and hit the on button. The machine started off slow; then got into a rhythm.

What were they looking for?

What was I missing?

I repeated those thoughts over and
over in my mind, as my body whipped around. It wasn’t long before I was
dripping in sweat, and blood was rushing to my head giving me a rush of
serotonin. I felt flushed. And that’s when it dawned on me. I hit the stop
button, and waited until the machine slowed to a halt. I jumped off onto wobbly
legs that felt like I just spent three hours on a horse. I waddled up the
stairs to my room, opened the closet door and turned the knob on the safe,
using the three-digit combination. I didn’t have the patience to pick the lock.
When I heard the click, I opened the door.

And there it was. The envelope my mom
handed me on the day that she died. There was nothing written on the front. I
ripped it open. Inside, there was a scribbled note. It looked like it was
written in a hurry, so it was barely legible. Several photographs tumbled out,
along with a smaller envelope. I looked to see who signed the note. Tamara
Marquez.

“OMG, the Package! My eyes watered.
It was the mysterious package she was referring to. I walked like a zombie back
down the stairs, and sat at the desk.

I tried to decipher the scribbled note.
On it, Tamara said there was a key, along with an address to her apartment
inside the smaller envelope. She hid a box in the wall behind a tile in her
bathroom, underneath the toilet. Then, she scribbled the same two things I saw
in my mom’s file: The Humidor and The Blue Sky.

At the bottom of the note it said:
Help us!

I was overwhelmed. This kind of stuff
was way over my head. She went to my mom for help, an experienced investigator.
I doubt she expected two eighteen-year-olds to be helping her…

I couldn’t help but wonder if I would
have checked the safe before now, would I have been able to stop what happened?
My fingers shook as I scattered the photos on the desk. There were four black
and white photographs. The first two were fuzzy, and it was dark, but I could
tell it was a party. I recognized some of the guys. A few of them were city
employees for Sutter Beach. They were standing with young women in skimpy
dresses, who definitely weren’t their wives. Then, I noticed another person I
recognized: Aaron Grant.

The last two photos had me freaked,
mostly because I didn’t understand. There were four young women dressed up as
if they were mannequins on display, only the look in their eyes was vacant, or
sad, or maybe they were drugged. They had to be my age, or younger. I couldn’t
help but think they were screaming out: I don’t want to be here.

Who were they?

Were they in danger?

Were they at the party against their
will? If so, how did they get to be all dolled up?

What the heck was going on?

While I was going back and forth with
the scenarios, something dawned on me. Somebody broke into both the pickup and
the firehouse. I assumed they were looking for the photos. I mean what else
could it be? Then, that meant they knew Tamara contacted me. How? Were they
following her? Is that how somebody knew we were meeting at the coffee shop?
Was she killed because of the photos? I gathered everything up into the
envelope and tucked it into my backpack. I wanted to get to Tamara’s apartment.
What else did she want me to see?

THE BUILDING where Tamara had been
living was across the street from the park where Cody and I met for kickboxing.
It was a well-kept white-stucco Spanish style, with terra-cotta tile roof and
matching shutters. There were four one-bedroom units. I parked on the street
out front, put the photos inside the trunk of the rambler. As I headed inside,
I checked the names on the mailboxes. Tamara’s apartment was on the second
floor to the right.

I trudged upstairs. As I stepped
toward her door, I noticed it was slightly ajar, and crime scene tape was
across the door. So, the police had already checked it out. I put my boot up to
the door and nudged it open; then ducked under the tape. Wood was shattered on
the frame around the lock. Did the cops do that? Or did somebody else force
their way in? Were they still inside? I knew I shouldn’t go in, but my stubborn
personality pushed me forward.

I stepped into the living room. It
was ransacked. Everything that had been standing was knocked to the ground.
Pictures were shattered. Cushions on the furniture were slit open, and there
was a putrid smell. Milk had spilled onto the carpet and soured.

I took two steps down the hall toward
the bedroom, and stopped. A shadow moved across the room inside. My heart
pounded. I inched closer, and peered around the corner of the door. I saw a
man, dressed in all black with a ski-mask to hide his face. He was rifling
through the belongings in the room.