Laugh or Death (Lexi Graves Mysteries Book 6) (10 page)

"You heard?" I asked, guessing that somehow
, he already knew about last night's armed robbery.

"Yep. I wanted to call, but, you know..."

"No problem. As you can see, I'm fine." I brushed a hand over my body, pointing out the clear absence of bullet wounds. "But I am hungry and maybe you could offer me some perspective on my case?"

"Let's walk and you can tell me about it."

"So," I said, when I finished filling Maddox in on the case, omitting the details of the wager I made with Solomon, "how am I supposed to find a missing woman?"

"Funny you should be investigating a missing woman."

"Hardly funny," I countered. "Getting confusing, actually."

"No, no, I meant it's funny because my caseload is currently a string of missing women. I'm trying to find out if they're connected
, and how."

"Can you ask them? No, stupid question, of course you can't," I backtracked when Maddox gave me a look. "Are they all still missing?"

"Either missing or dead. What makes it harder to connect them is that each woman is from a different jurisdiction. We didn't even have any dots to connect until some cop had a beer with his cop buddy fifty miles away and they both came up with the same missing woman story. Except, it's not the same woman, just the same MO. Word gets around, and I ended up with a bunch of case files on my desk."

"Lucky."

"Yeah, that's what I said. I'm trying to pull the cases together with a solid connection, but it's not easy."

"But you're the FBI."

"I'm a little cog in the machinery that is known as the FBI."

"But you have shiny credentials. Do I have to call you 'special agent' now?"

"Yes. All the time," Maddox deadpanned.

"Okay, Special Agent Maddox, can you give me some insight on how to track a woman who seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth, but knows her name
, even though she's supposed to have amnesia?"

"Let's get a coffee first." Maddox pointed to the coffee shop
where we arrived just as an appealing waft of my third favorite liquid spilled out. "We'll call it my consultant’s fee."

"Thank heavens the FBI are cheap," I said, smiling as I reached for my wallet.

"For that, you get to buy me a sandwich too."

I rolled my eyes
, but purchased two sandwiches and two coffees before we parked ourselves at the table in the window, taking chairs opposite each other.

"You know I can't say much," Maddox
began, motioning discreetly to the few people present. I was pretty sure I was the only one interested in what he had to say, but I didn't want to burst his special agent bubble.

"What can you tell me?"

"I can tell you that the best thing to do right now is go back to basics. Work with what you know. You've had eyes on her once, right?"

I nodded. "For a few seconds
, but she slipped away."

"You've got two options here. Either wait for her to contact you because she knows you're looking for her. Or..."

"Or?" I prompted.

"Or, like I said, go back to basics. Work with what you know. She's working a low income job so she probably doesn't have much money
or many belongings. She took a bus here, but not to a train station, so you could surmise she either can't leave town, won't leave town, or she's got someone here she trusts who will help her lie low a while."

"Nancy didn't appear to have
many friends."

"That doesn't mean she doesn't have any at all."

"I can't go back to Pretty Paws. The place burned down along with Nancy's apartment."

"That's interesting in itself. Nancy might
be hoping you think she went with it. She might think she bought some time."

"I guess. There's no way she could know for certain that I tracked her here."

"Here is good. This is a start. Look around, Lexi, where would she go from here at that time in the morning?"

"I was doing that when I ran into you!" I
replied, just so he didn't think I hadn't learned a thing in my time as a PI. Truth was, I was still a novice and had to learn how to trust my instincts, but Solomon believed in me and Maddox did, too. Lily thought I was amazing. Hell, I thought I was pretty damn cool, but that wasn't really important right now. "I'm looking, okay?" I said before doing just that. I saw traffic passing by on both sides of the street, busy as usual since it was the fastest route downtown. There were strips of various boutiques, a cleaner’s, a bar and a few other business structures.

"I don't see anything that stands out."

"Then maybe this is simply an area that enabled Nancy to get somewhere else."

I took another look around, this time noting a traffic camera a little
further down the street. She could have gotten another bus, but it would have been easier to go to the bus terminal. I had another idea. "Maybe Nancy got a ride. I'll get Lucas to hack the..."

"Lalala didn't hear that." Maddox stuck his fingers in his ears and winked.

"Even if it's true that someone picked Nancy up and took her somewhere, it's not much of a lead. I might not be able to find her if I can't get a look at the license plate."

"You know
, some people just don't want to be found. You can't solve every case. I learned that at MPD. That's why we have a cold case backlog. Some mysteries can't be solved."

"I need to solve this one. It's not just finding out if Nancy is okay and reuniting her with Leo. It's everything. It's so much bigger than just the two of them. It's lost love, Maddox, it's hope."

"You're such a romantic. This is just another case, Lexi, no matter what you think of the people involved. Don't let your emotions lead you astray."

"Having emotions helps me understand."

"Having too many will cloud your judgment," Maddox countered before taking a large bite from his sandwich. He gave it a cursory chew, then swallowed. "How have things been?"

"Pretty good."

"Glad to hear it."

"How long have you been home? I thought you'd call."

"A few weeks, and I'm sorry, I should have. I guess I didn't want to disturb you, what with you being ‘pretty good’ and all."

"You'd never disturb me. I'm
always pleased to see you."

Maddox grinned and ran a hand through his hair. He'd grown it out a little
so it waved through his fingers. There was a time when I really enjoyed running my fingers through it, but since we were just friends now, that was probably inappropriate.

"Okay, tell me about your case. How many missing women have you got?" I asked, partly to change the topic
, and partly because I thought it might help me understand what was going on with Nancy.

"Fourteen missing, presumed dead. Eight definitely dead."

"All the same perpetrator?"

"Seems that way. There's enough to tie the deceased
together, and similar pattern markers to suggest several of the missing could be as a result of the same culprit."

"How long have they been missing? Why do you think they're dead?"

"The oldest murder was ten years ago. The missing are anywhere from nine years to six months. The time missing, along with the bodies we do have, are why they're presumed dead."

"That has to be rough on the families."

"You have no idea. I've spoken to some of them. It's sad."

"My guy is pretty cut up and it's only been a few months."

"Not knowing does something awful to people." Maddox finished his sandwich, dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin and dropped it on the plate. "It's not easy to find a body either. We have to rely on good citizens to stumble across the worst thing they'll ever see in their lives. It's our lucky day and their worst."

"You don't have any hope of finding the missing women?"

"Hardly any. I read the police reports when they first went missing. No one really looked for these women after the trails went cold. They're not even proper police reports. These are small towns. No big, experienced police departments. They don't have the manpower to handle large-scale investigations and they don't have the know-how to keep the public engaged."

"So why didn't they call the FBI?"

"Each one of them thought they had an isolated case until our two lucky cops sat down and had a beer together."

I sipped my coffee, musing over how sad that was. To
be missing and have people abandon all hope of finding you. At least, I knew if I ever went missing, everyone would come looking for me. The thought of that warmed me far more than the coffee did. "What do you think happened to them?"

"The deceased
were definitely stalking-to-murder cases. The missing show a similar pattern, but I won't know more until I get out there and talk to the families and friends. I'll be out of town for a couple days."

"Will you call me when you get back? That is, uh, it would be good to catch up on the case. Hopefully
, I'll have something to report by then."

"I'm sure you will. Thanks for the sandwich. I'd stay longer
, but I better get back." Maddox got onto his feet and I also rose. For a moment, we stood there kind of awkwardly, until he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. I think he might have sniffed my hair, but that was okay because I sniffed his cologne. It was new and pretty nice. "Missed you," he said, softly.

"Missed you, too."

We held each other a moment longer before he let me go, stepping back. He patted his pockets and seemed assured that nothing fell out. "One last thing," he said before leaving, "there's something wrong with this amnesia angle. Try putting that aside, and you've got a different case altogether."

"What do you mean?" I started to ask, but he'd already gone, leaving me alone with my coffee, wondering if Solomon really w
ere right. Nancy Grant didn't seem like a woman with amnesia at all. She seemed more like a woman on the run.

Chapter Nine

"Lucas saves the day! Again!" Lucas said, summoning me with a hooked finger over to his monitor.

"Not exactly saving the day," I murmured, leaning over to see what he pointed to. "What have you got?"

"Saving your bacon," he replied softly. I debated cuffing him over the head the way my mother did if any of her five kids turned smartass, but decided against it. Lucas was really too useful to offend. "It didn't take me long to hack or find. Your hunch paid off. Nancy was picked up by this vehicle at seven am, ten minutes after she got off the bus."

"Can you get me a license plate?"

"I certainly can." Lucas held up the sheet of notepaper on which he'd written the plate number and I plucked it from his fingers. "I tried to get a screen shot of the driver, but I don't have a clear view. I'm pretty sure it's a woman though. Sending it to the printer now."

"You are an angel," I told him, ruffling his hair before leaning over to catch the photo print the printer spat out. "A total bacon saver."

"Knew it," he said, smiling smugly as he logged out of the system he illegally entered an hour before. His screens resumed their swirling screensaver mode and he leaned back in his chair, placing his arms behind his head.

"Are you going to tell me what you're working on for Solomon?" I asked.

"Nope."

"Aww. Why not?"

"It's not a fair competition if I tell what each of you is working on."

"I assumed you already told Solomon what you've been doing for me."

"I tell him what I've been doing in a ‘looking at bus cams’ and ‘hacking traffic cams’ way, but not my results or what I've found. You can rest easy and solve the case, okay? My money is on you."

I brightened. "Really?"

"Sure if that helps."

"Thanks oodles, Lucas," I sighed, my smile dropping. So much for our tech geek's vote of confidence. "Tell me what tasks Solomon has you running."

"That I can do. He's had me breach a hotel firewall and check into the background of a man."

Apparently
, Leo Chandler's every move was being monitored at the hotel and Solomon was picking through his history with a fine-toothed comb. I had to assume that so far, everything added up because he didn't say otherwise. That lifted my spirits. I might not have been winning the bet yet, but neither was Solomon.

I thanked Lucas for his help and left the quiet risk management floor, returning to the PI office
, which now seemed so much smaller and worse equipped. It didn't take me long to log into my laptop and run the license plate through the DMV program I wasn't supposed to have access to, returning with a not-so-surprising name.

"Joelle Brennan
. Well, what do you know?" I said to the screen. "Why did you pick up Nancy and where did you take her?"

"Um, gee, I don't know," said a high-pitched voice behind me.

I looked over my shoulder and stuck out my tongue, which wasn't especially clever, but still felt appropriate. "Very funny, Fletch."

"I thought so. What's eating you? Why are you talking to yourself?" asked Fletcher. I used to think of him as a tough nut. He was a few years older than
I and ex-CIA. Since his CIA days, he walked with a limp, but smiled a lot more now than when I first met him. He mellowed towards me too. I might have even called us almost friends.

"This woman, Joelle," I said, nodding at Joelle's unsmiling face on the screen, "claims to know nothing about my missing woman case
, but I just got traffic cam footage of her car picking up my mystery woman."

"So she's lying. People do."

"I wish they didn't. It would cut my legwork in half if I didn't have to chase red herrings back and forth."

"Take your evidence and get over there. Tell her what you know and make her squeal."

"You have such a colorful way with words."

"Squeal like a piggy," Fletcher continued.

"Nice. But you know what? I am going to get some answers," I decided, gathering my purse and the evidence Lucas collected for me. "I'm getting the runaround and I want to know what's going on."

"Have a great day!" Fletcher ended faux-cheerfully, stepping around me to walk to his own desk.

"I will," I said, feeling more than determined to counteract his sarcasm with my cheerful, ambitious attitude as I headed out. From the depths of my purse my cell phone rang like a theme tune. I scrabbled for it, saw it was my mother, and returned the phone to my purse to deal with later.

I dropped my purse on the passenger seat and checked the printout of Joelle's license one more time.
Her residence was listed as an apartment in West Montgomery, a few blocks from the building I once shared with Lily. It wasn't the cheapest part of town, and I wondered how Joelle could afford the rent on what, I could only assume, was a minimum wage salary. I aimed for the apartment, figuring I was likely to find Joelle there since her place of employment was now in cinders.

Thanks to light traffic
, I was parked outside shortly afterwards, trying to work out which windows were Joelle's. Unfortunately, there was no way to tell, and even as I watched, I couldn't see any signs of life in any apartment. Curtains remained unmoved, and no shadows passed the windows.

Before I could steel myself to climb out of the car and demand some answers, my phone rang,
and my dad's photo flashed onto the screen.

"Hi, Dad," I answered brightly since it was a rare occasion
for my father to call. Usually, my mother made all the social calls, but since I apparently already committed myself to our next family dinner, and baking a cake, and avoided her call, I hadn't heard anything from her.

"Help," he said, "I think I've been kidnapped?"

"What?"

"I'm in Banana Republic. Your mother is
‘smartening’ me. What does that mean? Why am I wearing such luxurious pants? Can you rescue me? She's coming!" The phone cut off and I looked at it blankly for a moment. With a deep sigh, I wondered what the hell I was getting myself into. but I called my mother.

"Hi, Mom. How's it going?"

"I'm having a fabulous day. You're alive. Your father is getting a new wardrobe. He looks so dashing!"

"Really?"

"I'll send you a photo. Did you know cell phones take photos?"

"Yes, they have for years."

"What else do they do that I don't know about?"

"Um, all kinds of stuff. Calend
ar, instant messaging, video. Mom, where are you?"

"At the mall. I'm sending you a photo now. Tell me what you think!" The phone cut out
, but a moment later, a photo of my terrified-looking father flashed onto the screen. He wore a smart pair of black pants, a blue shirt and a navy sweater vest. Aside from his expression, he looked pretty nice.

My cell phone rang again. "I didn't mean to hang up on you. I have a smartphone
, you know. It's very clever, but not clever enough to stay on and send a photo at the same time. Doesn't your father look nice?"

"He does," I admitted. "But do you think he's enjoying himself?"

"Heavens, no, but he's worn the same clothes for ten years and he needs to buy new ones. Plus, we're going on a cruise."

"Does Dad know?"

"I might have mentioned it. I sent him an invite from my phone to his. Isn't that clever? I don't even have to let him know what we're doing, I just send a meeting request."

"That's romantic."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that, darling. Are you still joining us for dinner?"

"Wouldn't miss it. How long are you and
Dad shopping?"

"Until he choose
s a few nice outfits. Yes, yes, the coral, not the salmon pants."

"What?"

"Not you, Alexandra. I'm talking to the sales assistant. I have to go. I'm very busy. You'll have to tell me about your life at dinner. Don't get shot." My mother hung up and a moment later, seven more photos of my father, captured in various states of fear, pinged onto my phone. I browsed them all, frowning at the checked pants and taking a sharp intake of breath at the toxic-yellow cardigan. My mother's taste in men's fashion could be fairly counted as hit-or-miss.

I sighed again and called my father back. "Don't worry," I told him. "You'll be out of there soon."

"When? What are the terms of my surrender?"

"Pick four outfits and tell Mom she's got great taste. Get the navy sweater vest set and the black pants, the white shirt and the red sweater, the green check
ed shirt and the jeans and the navy suit."

I heard
rustling of hangers and some frightened breathing. "Okay, I got all of them. Are you sure? Will this sate the beast?"

"Yes, but then you have to take her to lunch. Whatever you do, do not buy anything in coral or yellow."

"No coral, no yellow. Lunch. Got it. Why am I buying this stuff?"

"For your cruise."

"I'm going on a cruise?"

"Dad, check your calend
ar." I rolled my eyes at the small flap mirror as I checked my mascara (perfect) and lip gloss status (needing more).

"On the fridge?"

"On your phone."

"Got it." Dad paused. "How did it get on there?"

"Steve," I heard my mother yell before there was more rustling.

"I have to go," said Dad. "She might take photos again. I don't know why. Who does that?"

"Everyone, Dad. I've already seen them. Remember, no, coral, no yellow," we chorused. My father hung up and all I could do was shake my head and apply another slick of pink gloss.

All the door buzzers were unmarked,
and the door was locked. The lobby appeared unmanned as I expected. I hit the sixth door buzzer and waited for Joelle to answer. "Hello?" came her voice through the speaker above the buzzers.

"Joelle? It's Lexi Graves. I need to speak with you."

"No, you don't," said Joelle.

"Yes, I do. It's about Nancy."

"I don't know anything about Nancy."

"Yes, I think you..."

"Go away," Joelle cut in. "I don't want to talk to you." The speaker went dead.

I tried pressing it a few more times
, but even if it irritated Joelle, she didn't answer. I gave up buzzing, but waited in the entryway. The thing with PI work was that no matter how it always looked glamorous and fun on TV shows, in reality, it was a lot of waiting around and watching and waiting some more. I could only wish I had an upcoming segue to spring me right into the middle of the action again.

As I waited, I looked around, thinking. Despite her current lack of employment, unless Pretty Paws
was temporarily mobile, I had to assume that Joelle no longer had anywhere pressing to go. However, she would still have to leave her apartment some time, I decided. She probably had to go out to buy food, or run an errand. Fortunately, I spotted her car, parked in front of the building, so it was most likely Joelle would exit via the front. Then I could hopefully catch her and try and squeeze a few answers out of her.

I decided I'd drive my car around the block,
hoping Joelle might see my defeated exit without realizing that I was simply circling around and parking out of sight of her building. I had an additional stroke of luck when another resident descended the stairs and pushed the door open.

"Oh, thank you," I breathed, grabbing it
and opening it all the way. "Can't find my keys."

"Didn't want to call the super, huh?" the guy nodded, knowingly. "Unbelievably crabby guy."

"Unbelievably," I echoed, smiling broadly as I entered before giving him a cheery wave. I took the stairs to the top floor and found apartment six at the end of the hallway. I knocked and waited. After a moment, the door opened. As soon as Joelle saw me, she prepared to slam it shut. Unfortunately for me, she slammed it on my foot, which was encased in a really nice pump.

"Joelle, I just need to talk to you," I told her, wincing
at the sudden pain that shot up my right leg.

"I already said I don't want to talk to you.
I don't know how you got in, but if you don't leave, I'll call the police."

"Sure, whatever," I said,
gritting my teeth. "Call Detective Graves, any one of them, and they'll vouch for me." The pressure on my foot lessened slightly.

"Detective Graves?"

"Sure. There're three of them and they're all my brothers."

Joelle looked me up and down. "How come you're not a detective?"

"Have you seen the footwear? C'mon! Listen, I know you know where Nancy is."

"I don't!"

"Drop it. I know you picked her up at seven am yesterday morning." I tugged the traffic cam printout from my purse and thrust it at her. "That's your car and that's Nancy. I need to know where she is."