Lie or Die: A Shelby Nichols Adventure (7 page)

“Because I don’t trust him. When Jackie introduced us, he was thinking – ‘so this is Shelby’ – like he already knew about me. Then, after everyone left, Uncle Joey and I were talking in the conference room, and someone was outside in the hall listening. I caught a glimpse of him as he took off, but we couldn’t catch him.”

“And you think it’s this guy?” Chris asked.

“Probably not…but maybe. You know, now that I think about it, it could have been Rob Felt. He’s been following me all day. Although there was this other guy, Nick, who was really interested in me and what I did for Uncle Joey.”

“Who’s Nick?” Confusion clouded Chris’ mind.

“He took Walter’s place in Uncle Joey’s organization, along with Jimmy, who is Johnny’s nephew.” Since Chris didn’t know who Johnny was either, I answered his unspoken question. “The one that Walter murdered who owned the restaurant?”

“Oh, okay,” he said. “So…do you think whoever was spying on you figured out what you do? That could be bad.”

“I don’t think so, and Uncle Joey said he’d take care of it, so we probably shouldn’t worry.”

“Right,” Chris said, unconvinced. That made one more thing to worry about. Was there any more trouble I could get into? “What else did you do today?”

I decided to leave out the part with the FBI and the gang thing. I didn’t think he’d like hearing about that. I could tell him if it came up, and if it didn’t, he probably didn’t need to know. Especially since I was not going to do it again. Instead, I told him about my visit with Emily, the owner of Novelty Creations, and how Dottie Weir had died about a year ago.

“So the shop is a dead end,” he concluded.

“Not necessarily,” I replied. I went on to explain about my visit with Detective Williams and the shipments of underwear that the police confiscated.

“But if the money wasn’t in the shipment, it doesn’t really matter who picked it up,” Chris said.

“Yes it does,” I disagreed. “What if it was Keith Bishop’s partner looking for the stolen money pretending to be Dottie Weir’s lawyer? If I talked to that person I would know if he was Keith’s partner with my mind-reading ability.”

Chris thought about it for a minute. “Okay, but how would you prove this person is the partner? In order to turn him in to the police, you need evidence for that sort of thing. And if he doesn’t know where the money is, how would that help you find it anyway?”

“Geez…don’t be such a spoil-sport,” I said, hotly. “Wouldn’t it be good to find the partner whether he had the money or not?”

“Of course it would,” he said, agitated. “I just don’t want you to get into trouble with this person.” He was thinking that I would probably give myself away somehow, and end up in a lot worse situation than I could handle.

“Hey,” I smacked him on the arm. “I can keep my mouth shut when it’s called for. And I can tell a good lie if I have to.”

   “Oh, yeah?” he asked, wrapping his arms around me with a tight grip. “What was the last lie you told?”

“That’s not fair,” I wiggled to get out of his hold. It didn’t work. His lips tilted in a wicked smile, and he loosened his arms.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because…it makes me look bad.” He was thinking,
well duh,
and it made me mad. “But I’ll tell you one thing for sure, when it comes to lying or dying, I’ll pick lying every time.”

“Good,” he said, knowing there was more to the story I wasn’t telling. “So what happened today?”

I sighed. Now I had to tell him the truth. “Uncle Joey was worried that I’d use what I knew about him to put him away, and I had to tell him that I would never do that, although, if I got the chance, I might.”

“That’s not lying,” Chris said.

“It’s not?”

“No…it’s self-preservation. It’s being smart.”

“Okay,” I smiled. “In that case I can’t remember the last time I told a lie.” I had him right where I wanted him, and he knew it.

“That doesn’t mean you can lie to me,” he said, backpeddling.

“I don’t lie to you.” It was true. I didn’t lie to him…I just left things out. That’s totally different. “I told you my powers came back,” I reasoned, “even though I knew you wouldn’t be happy about it. That would have been under self-preservation, right?”

“Nope,” he said. “Your powers were never gone. So that means you lied to me twice. First when you told me they were gone, and second, when you didn’t admit you still had them.”

“That’s only once,” I said, defensively. Not wanting him to get mad about it all over again, I continued. “Besides, I only brought that up to prove a point; that I do tell you the truth, even when it seems hard. And you forgave me remember? So it’s all good.”

Chris was thinking that I drove him crazy, but it was one of those things he loved about me, so he couldn’t be too mad about it. “So what’s your next move with the stolen money?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Go back to the shop? Look around? I think it’s got to be tied up in the shop. Maybe there was another shipment that got lost, or maybe the police missed something.”

“I think there’s a way you can find out who signed for the shipment. The police should have a record. Maybe that person was dumb enough to sign their own name. Usually you have to show your ID to get the evidence released to you. With a name, you can track him down.”

“That’s a great idea!” I smiled up at Chris. “I’ll check it out first thing Monday morning.”

“Just be careful if you find him,” Chris said. He was thinking
don’t do anything stupid
.

“I won’t. I mean…I promise to be careful.”

Chris shook his head, gathered me in his arms, and sealed the promise with a kiss that was so good, I was bound to remember it for the rest of my life.

Chapter 4

The weekend went by fast, with Chris spending a lot of time in his office. The only glitch was Savannah, since we wouldn’t give her a definite yes on the trip, although once she understood her assignment, she warmed to the idea. She even spent time talking to her friend’s mother who was a travel agent. I told her to present her findings to us after she’d done her research, and peace was restored.

Monday morning, I left for the gym, picking up my friend Holly. It was good therapy to talk about our kids and family vacations. Since she’d been to Orlando before, it got me excited about our trip and made it something to look forward to. I got home a little later than normal, but after a shower and quick breakfast, I was ready for the day.

My first stop was the police station to check on who signed for the confiscated underwear. I was disappointed that Dimples was out on a case, but with my badge, it was easy to get admitted to the evidence room. I was a little nervous about being there, since it wasn’t a police case I was working on, but what good was this badge if I couldn’t use it?

Everything was tagged and entered into the computer by case number. I talked to the officer in charge of evidence, and found the entry for the crates of underwear. “Is there a signature for the person who retrieved them?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not that I can see. That means they must still be here.”

“Really? Detective Williams said someone from the family came and got them.”

She checked again. “No…I don’t have a name or date of that ever happening. Do you want to see them? I can take you back.”

“Sure,” I said. “That would be great.”

“Let me just get the ID number.” She wrote down the number on a sticky note and unlocked the door to the room.

Inside, the room was layered with rows of shelves filled with all kinds of things. One side alone had about fifty skateboards all tagged and neatly placed. It looked more like a thrift store than an evidence room.

“The crates should be in the back where we keep the large items,” she said.

I followed her into another section that looked like a warehouse. This was where the big stuff was kept, like bicycles, machinery, tools, and lots of boxes. The numbers on the tags got bigger as we neared the end of the row. The officer stopped, and I hurried to her side, eager to see the crates, but the space was empty.

“They should be right here,” she said, puzzled.

My heart sank. I was so close! Had someone stolen them? The security here was pretty tight. I couldn’t believe just anyone could walk out of here with evidence unless they had clearance. So it had to be someone in the police department. But why would they want a bunch of underwear? And how could they get the crates out of here without anyone noticing?

“Are you sure?” I asked, just to be safe.

She checked her note again. “Unless they got misplaced,” she said. She was thinking it wasn’t likely, and it made her nervous that someone in the department had taken them. It was her responsibility to keep that from happening, but sometimes things got ‘misplaced’ and it didn’t take a brain surgeon to know it was one of their own who did it. But why would anyone want a bunch of underwear?

She started checking the boxes on either side, and I plunged in to help. No underwear in sight. “Maybe someone did pick them up, and it didn’t get recorded,” I said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “That’s a possibility, especially since that’s what you were told. Let’s go back and check the computer again. Maybe I missed something.” She knew she hadn’t, but it didn’t hurt to double-check. “This is so strange.”

As we retraced our steps, I kept an eye out for anything that looked like the missing crates. “What happens to all this stuff if it’s not claimed?” I asked.

“We hold auctions, and sell it back to the community. You can get some really good stuff for cheap. Especially the bicycles and skateboards, but we have cars, boats, and even houses.”

“Wow, that’s nuts. Do you have auctions very often?”

“It depends, but usually when we need to clear out space. As you can see, it gets pretty crowded in here.”

“Do you think that’s what happened to the crates?” I asked.

“Maybe, but it should have been marked on the computer. We keep very meticulous records so things don’t get lost.” She couldn’t figure it out. Someone must have made a mistake. Maybe they were picked up, and it wasn’t recorded. Or maybe they were scheduled for auction, especially if they’d been here for a long time. That made the most sense to her.

We made it back to her desk, and she checked the computer again. “That’s strange,” she said. “On this column it says they were brought in and labeled. This column has the tag number, but this column has a check on it. That usually means they were released, but there’s no signature of who signed for it. Maybe someone picked them up after all, and just forgot to record the name. You said they belonged to a business?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Then maybe you should check with them, and see if they know who picked it up.”

“Yeah…okay.” I sighed, discouraged they weren’t there.

She was eager to close the books, and decided that was what happened. It made sense to her, and explained why they were gone, better than if someone in the department had taken them. She’d also double-check to see if they’d already been auctioned off, or on the schedule for the next auction.

I managed a smile. “Thanks for your time. If you happen to find out where they are, could you call me?” I handed her one of my cards. “I’d really appreciate it.”

“Sure.” She took the card and wrote ‘underwear’ on the back, hoping that would help her remember.

“Thanks.” I sure hoped they hadn’t been auctioned off. I took the long way back upstairs where the detectives had their offices. Without a name, I didn’t have much to go on, but I could still check with Emily at Novelty Creations, and see if she had any records of the shipment being picked up. 

Passing by the detectives’ offices, I caught a glimpse of Dimples and decided to stop by and ask how his date on Friday went. With his back to me, I was hoping to ‘hear’ something about me so I could surprise him again, but he was thinking of a time-line in an urgent case he was helping with.

I hated to interrupt, but I also felt funny leaving without saying something. I mean, what if he saw me? Wouldn’t he expect me to say hello if I was there? I took a few steps in his direction. Right then, the police chief stepped out of his office, and headed straight for Dimples’ desk. He was thinking of asking Dimples how the case was coming, and hoping he was making progress since the story was big news, and the press kept calling for updates. They needed to find some answers quick. Maybe this was the type of thing Shelby Nichols could help with.

Me? He was thinking about me? I stood there, not knowing what to do, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was one thing to play a joke on Dimples, but quite another to do it to the police chief. That’s when I caught the ‘missing child’ part, and knew I couldn’t hesitate.

“Hey,” I said. They both turned to me, and I gave a little wave. The police chief’s jaw dropped open before he gathered his wits and snapped it shut. “What’s up?” I asked.

“Hey Shelby,” Dimples answered, more used to me showing up unexpectedly.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but is there something I can help you with?” I asked.

“Yes,” they both answered. They glanced at each other, then the police chief motioned me over.

“We’ve got a little girl missing,” he explained. “Last anyone saw her was about an hour ago. She was at a friend’s house and left to go home, but she never made it. Her mother called it in about…” he checked his watch, “twenty minutes ago.”

That meant that she’d been gone for almost an hour and a half, and I had a bad feeling, but it didn’t stop me. “I need to talk to everyone involved.”

“Let’s go.” Dimples didn’t hesitate, and the police chief nodded his thanks.

We hurried to Dimples’ car, and pulled out into traffic with the siren loudly blazing. “Tell me about the case.” I yelled over the noise.

“She lives in an apartment complex over by Lincoln Park. Right now we’ve got about twenty men knocking doors.”

“Does the friend live in the complex too?” I asked.

“Yes.” He was thinking the odds were pretty high that someone in the complex grabbed her as she walked by, or lured her into their apartment. He just hoped she wasn’t already dead.

My stomach clenched. I did not want that to happen. If there was anything I could do, I had to do it. Dimples pushed on the gas, and I was grateful when all the cars pulled over to let us pass. It was sliding through the red lights that gave my heart a workout. By the time we pulled up to the complex, it took me a minute to peel my hand off the handle above the door.

My legs shook when I stood, but I managed to keep up with Dimples. “We need to start at the friend’s place, and take the route the girl would have walked,” I said.

He nodded, and found an officer to take us there. He introduced me to Officer Wilcox, mentioning that I was there at the Chief’s request. There were uniforms everywhere, and Wilcox was thinking they had already covered that ground twice, and knocked on all the doors between, but he was willing to do it again to find her.

“What’s her name?” I asked him.

“Shayla,” Wilcox said.

“Did her friend say anything to you? Did she know if Shayla went straight home?”

“No, she was afraid to talk to us, but her mother told us they often played at one house or the other. It’s just a few minutes’ walk between apartments, and they do it all the time.”

That ruled out the friend’s house, and I didn’t want to waste time questioning them when she was probably somewhere else. “Is there someone you suspect right now that you’ve already questioned?”

“Yes,” he said, surprised that I’d asked.

“That’s where I want to start,” I said. “The first one on your list.”

He nodded, and took us to an apartment on the second floor toward a young man who was leaning over the railing, watching our progress. He wore a white sleeveless t-shirt that showed off a tattoo, and puffed on a cigarette. He eyed me with distrust, thinking I looked like one of those caseworkers for the social services department. It reminded him of all the foster homes he’d landed in, and how alone he’d felt.

He was barely eighteen and on his own, and he liked his independence. If they thought he had anything to do with that girl’s disappearance it would ruin what he’d tried to make of his life. This couldn’t be happening, but he supposed he should expect it. He understood that he fit the mold of a messed-up kid, and he was always getting blamed for things he didn’t do.

Sure, he saw those little girls playing together. He liked watching people, especially children, because they were always laughing and having fun. But he’d never hurt them. Never. Children should be protected. But he didn’t think the cops would ever believe him. They had their minds made up, and it was hopeless to even try and reason with them.

I glanced in his eyes, and saw the vulnerability before he covered it with a glare of defiance. “Hi,” I said, putting as much warmth in my voice as I could. “Is there someone…anyone that you’ve noticed around here…that would grab a little girl?”

He took a step back, visibly shocked that I didn’t accuse him of the crime. He’d been so focused on himself that he didn’t think about who could have done it. Now his thoughts raced. “You know, there is this guy, he’s an older dude, and I’ve seen him talking to those girls now and then. He gives them candy.”

“Where does he live?” I asked.

“Just over there.” He pointed to an apartment that wasn’t anywhere close to the route Shayla would have taken to get home.

“Thanks,” I said.

I started toward the apartment, with Dimples and Wilcox trailing behind. Wilcox was amazed that I believed the kid, but if what he said was true...it was the only lead we had.

“Let me talk to him,” Dimples said. His instincts told him we were on the right track, and he didn’t want me to get hurt if anything happened.

“Okay,” I agreed. “But just remember that no matter what he says, if I say she’s in there, then you’ve got to believe me.”

“I will,” he said. “Wilcox…follow my lead.”

“Yes sir.” Wilcox was a bit confused, but didn’t question Dimples’ authority.

We arrived at the door, and Dimples rang the doorbell. A man opened the door a crack. Seeing the uniform, he took off the chain, and opened it wider. His brows drew together in concern. “Can I help you?” he asked. He had expected the police to come, but not this fast.

“Yes,” Dimples answered. “We’re asking everyone if they’ve seen a little girl. She’s about seven years old, and her name’s Shayla. She’s been missing for a couple of hours.”

“Yes, I heard about that,” he said, his voice dripping with concern. “I can’t believe something like this would happen here. Can I help? I would be glad to knock on doors with you.” He was thinking that no one would suspect him if he joined in the search.

“Where is she?” I shouted.

“What are you talking about?” His thoughts turned to the closet in his bedroom.

“She’s in the bedroom closet!” I shoved him out of the way, and rushed into the apartment, my heart in my throat. I couldn’t tell if he thought of her as dead or alive, and dread tightened my stomach.