At Elsie’s suggestion, she drove Bree in her car, leaving Ashlock to ferry Kim across town. She thought it best to separate the two women, before a war broke out. And she wanted a private moment with Breeon, to broach a touchy topic.
As she studied on the best way to ask about Taylor’s modeling escapade, Breeon looked around the interior of Elsie’s car, wrinkling her nose with distaste.
“Why does it smell like smoke in here? Are you leaving your car unlocked? Smells like some hobo’s been camping out in your backseat.”
Elsie shook her head. “I took an assault victim for a ride, she had a cigarette.”
“Why are you letting someone smoke in your car?”
“I wanted her to talk. It’s that girl I took to the center, the one I told you about. Mandy. And she did finally open up. She told me a little bit about her pimp. His name is Tony.”
She took her eyes off the road, glancing over at Breeon, to gauge her reaction. But Breeon didn’t appear to be listening. The pulled up to a red traffic light, and Breeon sat forward in her seat, groaning at the delay. “God, will we ever get there?”
“Breeon. Breeon, did you hear me? The guy who beat Mandy up at the Rancho hotel: his name was Tony.”
“Yeah.” The light changed, and Breeon pointed at the windshield. “Drive.”
As Elsie drove through the intersection, she persisted. “And Kim Wickham just said that the so-called modeling agent was Tony. Same name.”
Breeon’s head snapped to face Elsie. “Are you trying to make me lose my mind?”
Elsie spied the school building, and swerved toward the entrance. “No.”
“Because I’m barely hanging on right now. Elsie, don’t plant a false seed with me, telling me my daughter is tied up with a pimp. If you’re suggesting that, you’d better have proof.”
Elsie parked her car beside the middle school building, an antique brick structure on the west side of town. Nearby, the windows of the new high school sparkled in the late autumn sun. Repeated attempts to tear down and replace the middle school were defeated by taxpayers who believed the old school was built to last into the twenty-first century.
As soon as Elsie cut the engine, Breeon’s hand fumbled for the latch on the passenger door. Under her breath, she said, “I’m getting to the bottom of this.”
As Elsie dropped her keys into her purse, she protested. “You’re the best mom, Bree. Whatever’s going on, it’s not your fault. Don’t do this to yourself.”
But Breeon slammed the door shut and took off for the school entrance at a run.
They met Ashlock inside, conferring with the principal. Desiree’s mother was nowhere to be seen.
The principal, a middle-aged man whose necktie rested on a large belly, had his hand on the telephone receiver. “Ms. Johnson, Ms. Arnold,” he said, nodding at Breeon and Elsie.
“Mr. Samson, I need to talk to my daughter,” Breeon said.
“Yes, ma’am, the detective told me.”
He picked up the receiver of a landline phone and pushed four digits with his other hand. “Marge Arnold? Please send Taylor Johnson down to the office.” After a pause, he said, “Now, ma’am. Not after the test. Right now.”
Elsie pressed her lips together, imagining her mother’s response to the principal’s command. Marge Arnold didn’t like it when administrators interfered with class time.
To Ashlock, Elsie said: “Desiree’s mom? Kim Wickham?”
He cut his eyes at Breeon, then leaned toward Elsie and said, “She’s sitting with the girls’ counselor right now. Seemed like the best idea.”
Elsie nodded. They sat in strained silence, watching the principal check his email on his laptop, until Taylor appeared in the doorway.
When she saw her mother in the office, along with Elsie and Ashlock, Taylor’s eyes widened.
“Mom?”
Breeon rose from her chair and seized her daughter in her arms, clutching her tightly to her chest.
Mr. Samson cleared his throat. “Will you need me to stick around for this meeting? I’ve got a conference call, but I can—”
“No, sir. Thank you. We just need a private space.”
The principal didn’t mask his relief. He ushered them into the vice principal’s office. “Mr. Adams called in sick. I’ll shut the door so you all won’t be disturbed.”
Once the door clicked behind him, Ashlock turned to Taylor.
“Take a seat, Taylor.”
Two straight-backed chairs faced the desk. As Taylor and Breeon sat, Breeon scooted her chair close beside her daughter and took her hand. Ashlock sat in the principal’s empty seat.
Elsie leaned against the office door with a queasy stomach, wishing she’d thought to stop by the bathroom.
Ashlock said, “Taylor, we’re looking for your friend Desiree. She’s missing.”
Elsie couldn’t see Taylor’s face, but the girl’s shoulders began to shake.
He said, “We need you to tell us about your modeling shoot. About a woman named Dede, a man named Tony.”
The shaking had become palsied. Elsie heard Taylor say, “I don’t know.”
Breeon’s head was almost touching Taylor’s. “Don’t know what?”
“Anything.”
In a trembling voice she said again: “I don’t know anything.”
Ashlock leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Taylor. “Didn’t you and Desiree go together to an appointment last Friday night?”
Taylor dropped her head. After a pause, she whispered, “Yes.”
“In Barton?”
“No. Out of town.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. It was dark.”
“How did you get to the out-of-town appointment?”
“A woman picked us up. She drove us.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“Denny’s.”
“What was the woman’s name?”
Taylor didn’t answer. After a moment, Ashlock prompted her. “Was it Dede?”
Taylor nodded.
“Last name?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Can you describe the woman? Dede?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.” She paused before answering again, in a fierce whisper. “I can’t.”
“How far did she take you out of Barton?”
“Can’t say.”
“How many minutes did the drive take?”
She sniffled, rubbing her nose with a shaky hand. “Thirty. Maybe.”
“Could it have been longer?”
“Yes.”
The strain of the unproductive interview was starting to show; Ashlock’s features tensed. “Or shorter? Than thirty minutes?”
“Sure. Could have been.”
His jaw twitched. Elsie tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t look up. “Did a man or woman take photos of you? Or of Desiree?”
“Nobody took pictures of me.”
“What happened? Where did you go?”
“I don’t know. It was late, I was tired. I fell asleep.”
Her head remained bowed. Taylor repeated: “I don’t remember anything.” Her voice dropped to the barest whisper. “Leave me alone. Everybody, just leave me alone.”