No Such Thing as a Free Ride (17 page)

My head reeled. Who
was
this guy? Loving dad or sexual predator? Clearly, the answer was “both.”

Caitlin shot one last glance at Janine and dragged herself into the house.

“Let’s get this over with,” he whispered. “What do you want from me? Money? Just name your price.”

“You really don’t get it, do you? My concern right now, besides for that sweet kid who has the misfortune of being your daughter, is finding Star. So, for starters, I need you to tell me exactly when was the last time you saw her. Time and date.”

“Look,” he said, “Do we have to do this now? Caitlin’s waiting for me.”

“She’s going to have to wait a hell of a lot longer if your ass ends up in jail.”

Garner leaned up against the van, shifting his weight to his good foot. His polo shirt was soaked with perspiration. The creep was trapped between a rock and two very pissed off South Philly girls and he didn’t much like it.

“Okay,” he said finally. “It was the afternoon of the 15th. I had an appointment down town—”

“Where did you take her?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Let me explain how this works, Garner. We’re going to find out one way or another, and I guarantee you that if we have to work for this information we’re going to make sure it’s real embarrassing for you.”

“Oh, Christ. I swear to God I don’t remember the name of the motel. We used to get together maybe twice a week at some dump near the corner she worked. We didn’t go to the usual place that day. She was acting kind of funny, and she finally told me she was afraid of running into her pimp. I didn’t ask questions. We just drove around until we found another motel. Look, I know what you must think of me, but I treated that kid right.”

“
Did you now
? She’s fifteen years old. If it were your kid out there, would you still feel like she was being treated
right
?”

I let the thought sink in for a minute, then, “What time did you drop her back off?”

“I don’t know. Maybe three p.m.?”

“Hmm. My witness says it was at night.”

“That’s impossible. I left town early that evening. I was gone for over a week. I just got back a few days ago.”

“Where did you go?”

He looked like he wanted to rip me a new one, but he answered my question. “L.A. I had business there. I can prove it.”

“Who else has access to driving your car?”

“My wife. But you can’t possibly imagine… look,” he said, “I’m trying to cooperate, but if my wife finds out about this, it will kill her. My wife and daughter mean the world to me,” he continued, choking up. “They’re the innocent victims here. Please don’t involve them in this. I don’t know who took my car. Maybe someone from the repair shop I take it to. It’s in there all the time. Damn air conditioning. Somebody could’ve made an extra set of keys and taken it joyriding while my wife was out that night.”

“And just coincidentally picked up the exact same girl you’ve been having sex with? Listen carefully you freakin’ perv. I’m watching you. And I have friends in the mafia in case you were thinking of leaving town. And they’re watching you too… not to mention the police—and the FBI.” I would have added the Boy Scouts of America, but that would have been overkill.

“I’m planning on checking out your story, so I’m going to need your flight info, the name of the hotel you stayed at in L.A. and a contact number… unless you want me calling your home phone.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Great,” I said, cheerfully. “Oh, there
is
one more thing.”

“I’ve told you everything. What else could you possibly want?”

“Just this.” I raised my leg and stomped on his bum foot with every ounce of strength I had.

Garner doubled over and Janine lunged at him. “And this is for calling me a hooker,” she growled, hammering her spiked heel deep into his other foot.

The pain must have been excruciating, made worse by the fact that he had to suffer in silence or explain to his daughter why the nice lady realtors went wack-o.

“Take care,” I told him. “We’ll be in touch.”

Janine and I high-fived it all the way back to the car.

“Man,” Janine said, buckling herself into her seat. “We should’ve cut off his nuts while we had the chance. Think we should we go back and finish the job?”

“Don’t think I didn’t consider it.” I buckled up, too, and started the engine.

“Brandy, you’re talking about a child molester. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all the permission we need to beat the living shit out of him. And, oh yeah, did you notice how his kid kept staring at me? That was a little weird.”

“Eh. She’s probably just never seen a realtor that was so fashionably dressed. Hey, thanks for coming with me, Neenie. Sometimes I get tired of facing the dregs of the earth alone.”

“I spent five minutes with the guy and I feel like I have to take a shower. I am used to bottom dwellers—I’ve dated more than my fair share. But that guy really takes the cake. And the worst part is he looked so normal.”

No, the worst part is if he wasn’t going after someone else’s kid, he’d be doing it to his own.

*****

“And then he basically shoved me into the elevator and that was that. I’m telling you, John, there was something about that box that really upset him.”

I’d gone directly from the Garners to meet John at
Party On
, a local party planning store. We were joint-heads of the shower decoration committee; John, because he had more taste than the rest of us put together and me, because, well, nobody else would partner up with me. (They say I’m too “controlling.” Well,
somebody
has to take charge.)

John picked up a gigantic inflatable baby bottle and inspected it. “$19.95. Who buys this crap?”

“We do.” I took the bottle out of his hands and threw it in the cart.

“So what do you think, John?” I asked, heading down the invitation aisle.

“I think this place is tacky. We should start Eddie and Fran’s kid off right with something elegant. Let’s head over to Tiffany’s and pick up some silver baby spoons.”

I gave him a major eye roll. “I meant what do you think about Nick?”

“I know what you meant, but I was hoping to change the subject. Okay, since you asked, and you know I won’t mince words with you, I think you’re looking for things that just aren’t there. You need some mysterious reason for Nick to keep his distance from you, because you’ve never been able to accept ‘no’ for an answer. He flat out told you he doesn’t love you, Sunshine. You want my advice? Cut your losses and move on.”

“Jeez, John, it wouldn’t kill you to mince them a
little
bit.”

“Sorry, sweetie, that’s not what we’re about.”

I started to give him an argument but was interrupted by a high pitched squeal loud enough to shatter glass.

“Omigod, Bran-deeee!”

The greeting emanated from Monica Winiki, formerly, Monica Sargenti, our old high school classmate. She made her way toward us, pushing a double wide stroller down the length of the aisle. Inside the stroller sat an infant and a disgruntled looking toddler, sucking on a lollipop.

“Brandy,” Monica yelled again, stopping to retrieve the items her two-year old had grabbed off the racks along the way. “Stop that, Billy, or Mommy’s not going to get you ice cream.”

“Oh no,” John groaned. “The last time I ran into Monica she gave me a blow by blow description of her C-section. Then she went and showed me the scar.” He shuddered. “Come on, let’s act like we didn’t see her and sneak out the back entrance.”

“No, this will be fun,” I told him, still a little ticked off from his remarks about Nick. “Hey, Monica, I heard you had a C-section.”

Monica reached us and smothered John in her oversized, milk-producing breasts. “John, it’s so good to see you!” Then, she threw her arms around me and repeated the process. “Brandy, I am so happy for you!”

Why? Did she think being on the shower decoration committee was such an honor she had to offer congratulations?

“When are you due?” She beamed and gave me a little pat on my stomach.

“Do what?” I asked, backing away slightly. I should’ve listened to John and bolted while we had the chance.

John broke out in a grin. “Are you holding out on me, Sunshine? Is there a baby Alexander on the way?”

“What? Oh my God, Monica, you think I’m pregnant?” I knew I’d been hitting the Tastykakes a little hard, lately, but did I really look like I was about to give birth?

“Oh,” Monica whispered, sagely. “It’s still early. I understand. I didn’t want to tell anyone either until I was past my first trimester.”

I had to shout to be heard over John’s convulsive laughter. “I am
not
pregnant! Where did you get an idea like that?”

Monica’s face fell. “You’re not?”

I shook my head emphatically. “No.”

John was still busy chuckling at my expense, so I didn’t bother to tell him that the toddler had taken the lollipop out of his mouth and was now rubbing it against the side of John’s pant leg.

“I was at the Ac-a-me,” Monica explained, adding an extra syllable, South Philly style, “and I ran across Mindy Rebowitz. She said she was at the DMV and she overheard your cousin talking about it.” She lowered her voice, and added, “It’s Bobby’s, isn’t it? I always knew you two would get back together.”

John giggled and I thumped him on the arm.

It took me twenty minutes to finally convince Monica that there were no babies on the way, Bobby’s or otherwise. Thank God I nipped it in the bud before any real damage was done.

My phone rang at that precise moment.

“Brandy?”

“Oh, hi, Mom. What’s—”

“I’m going to be a
nonna
!”

I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying. Oy.

It took another twenty minutes to convince my mother that there were no babies and, therefore, no “shotgun” wedding in my near future. But by that time, the store had closed so we decided to call it a day.

“I’m making stroganoff tonight,” John informed me, as he walked me to my car. “You want to come over?”

The offer was tempting, but I just wanted to get home. Ever since leaving Cynthia Mott’s office, I’d had a weird feeling that I was missing something, only I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

“I’ve hit a wall trying to find that missing girl, John. I’ve got to work tonight.”

“I don’t get it,” John said, shaking his head. “Eric’s been offering to give you real assignments and you’ve turned them down. You said you needed time to recuperate from everything that’s happened to you lately, maybe get some skills under your belt. Why the sudden change of heart?”

I thought about it for a minute. “I guess that’s your answer right there. For all of her foul-mouthed attitude, Crystal got to my heart. She trusts me and I’m not going to let her down.”

John hugged me to him. “Did I ever tell you you’re my hero?”

“Oh man, you’re not going to start singing
Wind Beneath My Wings
, are you?” I said, turning beet red.

“You never could take a compliment, Sunshine.”

*****

As I pulled onto my street, I spied Mrs. Gentile out on our shared porch. She was standing on a step ladder running a hand vac over her screen door. I figured I should offer to help her, although I couldn’t see a speck of dirt and anyway she doesn’t like me. Still, it was the neighborly thing to do.

I climbed out of the car, calling to her from the sidewalk. “I’d be very happy to vacuum your screen door for you, Mrs. Gentile,” I offered, mustering up my somewhat meager enthusiasm.

She glared down at me from her step ladder. “I don’t thinks so, Missy,” she said all huffy. “You do a piddley little favor for me and the next thing you know you’ll be expecting me to babysit while you go out on the town.”

“Um, did I miss something here? Babysit who?”

“You and Bobby DiCarlo’s “
love child
,” she said, making a face and the universal sign for quotation marks.

I sighed. Neighborly or not, I wanted to push her down.

*****

Rocky, Adrian and I sat on the couch watching television. Well, technically, only the cat and the dog were watching. I was reading over my notes and checking for stray sounds in the house. Even with the alarm system reactivated and the extra patrol cars circling the neighborhood, I couldn’t shake the feeling that any moment now Bunny would come bursting into the house wielding a six-inch blade and skin me alive.

I tried concentrating on Star, resolving to check out Garner’s story in the morning, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the girl in the photograph on the bulletin board at New Beginnings. What had Cynthia Mott told me?
She had been found with a hypodermic needle sticking out of her vein.
Suddenly I knew why it sounded so familiar. Nurse Morrison had told me a similar story about a girl who had O.D.’d in Camden. That girl had been pregnant… like the girl I’d found in the alley. I picked up my pen and started writing.

Girl #1 (Sunny) was found approximately a year and a half ago. She was young, white, made her living by hooking and died of what appeared to be a self inflicted overdose.

Girl #2, according to Nurse Morrison, was found dead about a year ago. She was also young, white, had also overdosed and had recently given birth.

I sat back and strained my brain for another memory. Something to do with DiCarlo. In a moment I had it. I picked up the phone, disregarding the fact that it was after midnight and he was an early riser.

“Yeah?” he said into the phone, his voice groggy with sleep.

“Bobby, remember about three months ago when my parents were in town and my mom had everyone over for dinner?”

“I remember. In fact, I’m still trying to digest the meal. But why are you calling me about this now?”

I ignored the slur on my mother’s sub par culinary skills. “You had to leave early that night. Someone found a body in a dumpster. You told me later it was a teenage hooker and that she’d O.D.’d. Do you remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. Why?”

“Was she a white girl?”

“Brandy, what’s this all about?”