Cherry Creek (11 page)

The mention of school has apprehension rising slightly. The idea of being the new girl once again has me dreading the end of summer. I
hate
being the new girl. “What's the school like? Is it big?” I can’t help but inquire.

“Not too big. Trust me, though, you're going to want friends before you start,” she warns.

“It’s that bad?” I ask as my eyebrows shoot up.

Tatum purses her lips slightly as if she's debating on what to say and how to say it. She tilts her head and shrugs a shoulder. “I wouldn't say it's bad. But it's very...cliquish, you could say. Everyone has their own group to hang with. Trust me, you're going to want yours before school starts.”

“And what if I don't? Have a group, that is?” I ask as a hint of concern creeps up on me.

“Oh, honey, we're already working on it. You'll be fine. Just start opening up a little more. Come to the club and play.”

Come to the club and play?
I don't understand these people, and I'm not in the mood to figure out exactly what 'play' means. “Is the school dangerous?” I ask, going back to the topic that worries me the most.

Tatum shrugs carelessly. “No more dangerous than any other school.” She turns away and picks up a red teddy, looking at it intently. “Mm. What do you think?” She turns to face me as she holds it up against her body.

“It's pretty.”
What little of it there is.

Tatum arches her eyebrow. “Aren't you a sales clerk? Shouldn't you be telling me that the color will really pop against my dark hair and tan skin? That the sides ride up to accentuate my small waist?”

I can feel myself flushing. I've been comfortable giving strangers my opinion, but Tatum is different. I feel like she's toying with me, and I'm trying hard not to fall into her trap.

Tatum sighs. “Roman wasn't kidding,” she says with distaste as she puts the scrap of fabric hanging from the padded hanger back on the rack.

“What's that supposed to mean?” I feel my hackles beginning to rise.

“You're
shy,
” she says as if she’s just bit into something distasteful. “You
can't
by shy in Cherry Creek, or the others will chew you up and spit you out.”

“What others?”

“Everyone,” Tatum says with exasperation as she tosses her hair back over her shoulder. “You need to grow a backbone.”

I'm beyond irritated. “I have a backbone, or I wouldn't have cracked my boyfriend's skull open with a baseball bat.” The words are out before I can take them back.

Tatum smiles triumphantly, looking pleased. “
There
she is. I like
her
. You on the other hand, you need to loosen up.”

“Why does it matter to you, Tatum?”

“Because you're Roman's cousin.”

“Are you his girlfriend or something?” I can't help but ask.

“Definitely not girlfriend,” she says with a laugh. She looks momentarily distracted and pulls out a cell phone from her pocket, glancing at the screen. “Time to go. Come out with us one night, and we'll show you what you're missing,” she says before she turns and walks back out of the store, her hips swaying confidently.

The only thing I'm missing is my old life, and I want it back.
I turn away and walk over to a display of bras as the conversation with Tatum plays back in my head. Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon and evening goes by smoothly.

When I get back to the mansion after my shift, I make polite conversation with Adelaide before I explain I'm going to eat up in my room. Much to my relief, she doesn't question it. As I eat, I sit on my bed and search for private investigators in the area. There are two in Cherry Creek. Both claim to be highly experienced and guarantee one-hundred percent confidentiality. The only snag I run into is that I would have to be eighteen to hire them. Since I'm still a minor, that might be a bit of an issue. I'm not about to give up yet, so I sit back and contemplate my options. What if I offer to pay double? Or triple? Would it be enough of an incentive to take my case?

I guess there's only one way to find out. I quickly click on the icon in the corner of the screen to contact one of the investigators about setting up an appointment for tomorrow.

Chapter Seven

When I wake up the next morning, I have a terrible headache. I take some aspirin, then start getting ready for another day of work. After I take a quick shower, I walk into my room with a towel wrapped around me. My eyes land on the laptop sitting on the dresser, and I come to an abrupt halt where I stand. I haven't checked it yet to see if the investigator responded to my inquiry. I clutch the towel to my body as I hurry over and check my email. If I'm meeting with the investigator today, I'm going to want to make sure I look older than seventeen. Sure enough, I have a reply back, and he can meet with me at my requested time. I quickly send off an email confirming our scheduled meeting before I take my time dressing.

I slip on a pair of cream colored dress pants and pull on a delicate, sleeveless blouse in a complimentary shade of coral. Instead of leaving my hair down, I pull it back in a knot behind my head. I study myself critically in the mirror. Maybe I should put on some make-up. I rush back into the bathroom and apply just hint more than I wear on a normal day. When I'm finished, I grab my purse and double check to make sure the credit cards and debit card are inside. If I can talk this investigator into taking my case, it might be wise to have cash on hand to prove I can double his fee. I'll have to hit the ATM during my lunch break.

***

I'm nervous as I approach the glass door that has the investigative agency's name on it. I draw in a deep breath and try to calm the little butterflies dancing around in my stomach. I need to act calm and in control, because he needs to take me seriously. I pull open the door and enter the building once I feel like I have my emotions under control.

The agency is small and decorated in simple earth tones. No one sits behind the reception desk, and I scan it with interest. There's a computer, and a potted plant decorates one corner. I can see a few picture frames, but they are facing the other way. I'm not nosy enough to walk around to take a peek at them. I hear movement and look up as a tall, distinguished looking man steps out of an office doorway across the small room.

“Miss Vauss?” he asks, walking over and holding out a hand. He’s well-dressed and looks coolly professional.

“Yes, that would be me,” I say with a smile as I shake his hand. “Thank you for meeting with me this evening.”

“My pleasure. Let's sit while we discuss why you'd like to hire my agency,” he says, motioning towards the doorway he’d just come from.

We enter the office, and it's a small and windowless room. It has an oddly spacious feel to it though, because it's not cluttered like you'd expect from such a small space. There are two chairs across from the desk, and I tentatively sit down.

The investigator, Mr. Capshaw, settles behind his desk, his blue eyes focusing on me. “Tell me Miss Vauss, is this a private matter or criminal?” He studies me and says, “You look too young for it to be corporate.”

“Private,” I respond. “I need to find my mother.”

He nods. “You are searching for your birth mother? Do you have a name?” he asks as he picks up a pen and opens a drawer to pull out a notepad.

“Yes. I can give you whatever information you need,” I assure.

He glances at me. “You grew up with this woman?”

“Yes.”

“So you know her well, but now she's missing?” he asks with interest.

“She’s disappeared,” I explain. “She disconnected the phone and left no forwarding address when she moved. I need to find her. It's important.”

Mr. Capshaw is silent for a moment as he processes my statement. “Did you have an argument the last time you saw her?”

“No.”

“When exactly was the last time you saw her? What was the situation? Was she acting odd?” he asks as he waits expectantly for an answer.

“We were at the airport. I was getting on a plane to come here. She seemed fine,” I say as I fight the urge to fidget in the chair. Fidgeting won’t make me look calm and collected.

“Have you filed a missing person's report with the police?”

“No. I think she moved out, and it was of her own free will.”

“Then she likely doesn't want to be found,” he murmurs as he rubs his jaw before settling back in his chair. “Was she upset that you were moving?”

“No. She seemed...excited,” I confess, and that's what burns me. Had she been secretly pleased to be rid of me? I have so many questions that I want to ask when I find her.

“Why would she be excited?”

“I don't know.”

“Were
you
upset with her?”

“A little,” I say without thinking.

“Why?”

My mind scrambles for an answer

Mr. Capshaw studies me. “Anything you tell me is confidential,” he assures.

I think I need to just come right out and admit I'm only seventeen. He'll figure it out sooner or later, especially if he asks to see my ID, which he will if he decides to take my case. “She made my uncle my legal guardian. That's why I'm here. I had to move to live with him,” I tell him quietly.

“How old are you Miss Vauss?” he asks, his expression turning suspicious.

“I'll be eighteen in September.”

He shakes his head, setting his pen down. “I'm sorry. I can't legally take this case.”

“I'll pay you double!” I blurt.

“I can't help you.”

“Please! I'm desperate. I really need to find her,” I plead.

His eyes are apologetic as he says, “You need to be eighteen to hire a private investigator. Come back in three months.”

I rub my aching temple and look at him with disappointment. “I don't want to be here for another three months. Do you know if there might be someone else who'd be willing to help me track her down?”

He sighs, his expression betraying his reluctance to help me. “You can try Sheffield,” he says after a brief hesitation. “He takes just about any case, but you being a minor is going to be an issue for him, as well,” he points out.

I recognize the name as the other private investigator in Cherry Creek. “Thank you,” I say sincerely.

Mr. Capshaw shakes his head. “He may turn you down. He should.”

“It's worth a try,” I say as I rise to my feet.

He nods, standing up. “His office is a few blocks over on Dunhill Street. He should be there, he tends to put in late hours.”

I thank him again, then walk out of the agency and back onto the sidewalk. Since it's a nice evening, I’d decided to walk here instead of driving the three blocks from the store. It’s only another few blocks to Dunhill, so I make my way briskly down the sidewalk while hoping that Sheffield is indeed working late.

When I arrive at the doorway that announces Sheffield Investigations, I see that it lacks a closed sign. Feeling determined, I cautiously step inside. The office is much smaller than Capshaw's. The walls are painted an ugly pea green, and a large man sits behind a cluttered desk. It's a one-room office space, so I'm guessing this is Sheffield.

He looks up from where he's typing on his computer. When he sees me, he struggles to his feet. “Can I help you?”

I decide upon seeing him that honesty is the best policy with this man. He looks rough around the edges, and he has at least a three days growth of a beard. His belly hangs out, and his shirt just barely buttons over the protruding roundness of it. I can see why Mr. Capshaw suggested I try him. Sheffield looks shady. Under normal circumstances, I'd be leery of his type.

“I need to hire an investigator,” I say simply.

His beady, blue eyes flicker over my outfit, and I know he's sizing me up as a rich girl. I sure hope it works in my favor. “Have a seat,” he offers, motioning to a chair across from his desk. At his request, I walk further into the room and carefully sit down. Sheffield sits back down behind his desk, his hand running through his rumpled, dark hair. He looks at me expectantly, “So tell me, why did he turn down the likes of you?”

“Pardon?”

“Capshaw. I'm guessing you went to him first. I have a tendency to get his leftovers,” he says with dry humor.

Time to just get it out there. “I don't turn eighteen until September, but I need an investigator now.”

Sheffield shakes his head. “I can't accept a case from a minor.”

“What if I don’t legally hire you? What if it's a favor?” I ask boldly.

“Darlin', I don't do favors.”

I cross my leg over my knee and look at him steadily. “I'll pay you triple your normal fee for this 'favor.'” Sheffield's eyes narrow. “I can give you half now and half when you find my mother.”

“You got a name?”

Triumph flares within me, but I hide it. “That and more. I lived with her for seventeen years. I don't think she'll be too hard to find, but I don't have the resources to search for her myself.”

Sheffield rubs his double chin thoughtfully. “You pay in full today, and I'll find her.”

This causes my eyes to narrow. “If this if off the books, how do I know you'll follow through and find her?”

“You don't. If paying in full doesn't work for you, you'll have to find someone else that will take your case.”

At this point, I don't have a choice. I have a willing investigator, so I'll have to trust him to do the job. At least it's not my own money I'm using. “We have a deal.”

After filling out the necessary paperwork with information on my mom, I walk back out of his office twenty minutes later—my purse a whole heck of a lot lighter. It's going on seven, and I'm hungry. I decide to grab something to eat at a little diner I'd passed as I'd walked to Sheffield's.