I told you so.
Elsie was dying to say it. The words jiggled on the very edge of her tongue like a spoonful of Jello. The air between Elsie and Ashlock sparked with the unspoken reproach. He avoided her eye as he rummaged in a drawer of his desk.
In her head, she recounted the warning signs she’d provided to him. The last Friday, she had told him she was unhappy with the report on Mandy at the Rancho; that they weren’t doing right by her. And on Saturday, when she’d filled him in on Mandy’s background, Elsie had let him know that Mandy’s pimp, Tony, was responsible for the brutal assault. He’d brushed it aside.
And now they faced another serious mishap: at the hands of a man named Tony.
She couldn’t resist the impulse to speak. But she attempted to phrase it in a more political fashion. No one liked to hear the words I told you so. Perching on the edge of his desk, she spoke in a reasonably pleasant voice.
“I worried that something bad was going to happen.”
He didn’t respond; just kept digging through file folders.
She took a breath and tried again. “When that incident went down at the Rancho Motel, I had a feeling. Something wasn’t right. I could sense it.”
When he slammed the metal drawer shut, she jerked backward and nearly fell off the desk.
Ashlock said, “I’ve got important work to do. I need to get an Amber Alert out. And I have to contact the Feds.”
Elsie’s brow wrinkled. “The Feds always treat us like hillbillies. Why don’t you start with the state highway patrol instead? They worked together on a trafficking case with local law enforcement over in Greene County. I saw it on the news last summer.”
He shook his head. “This is shaping up as a kidnapping. I need the FBI.”
“Okay, but before you call them in, let’s piece this together.”
He reached for his phone; but paused before he dialed. “Aren’t you supposed to be in trial today?”
“The jury trial got canceled. Kind of a wild story, actually. But I’m freed up today, don’t have anything set. So I’m thinking—do you want me to bring Mandy by the PD? To see if there’s any connection between her Tony and Desiree’s Tony? I know it may seem like a long shot, but it’s totally worth following up. Let’s get her on the record, ask whether she’s ever heard of Marvel Modeling. And see if her pimp, Tony, ever did photo shoots of her, or of anyone else. I can run by the BWCO and get her.”
“I need to get on the Amber Alert.”
Elsie nodded. The procedures for an Amber Alert weren’t uncomplicated; and dealing with the FBI always involved a challenge for local law enforcement.
“How can I help?” she asked, briskly.
He made eye contact. “You can head on back to the courthouse and let me get to work here.”
Affronted, she jumped off his desktop. In a brittle voice, she said, “Fine. Sorry to bother you.”
His countenance was tense. With his hand on the computer mouse, he focused on his computer screen. “I appreciate you bringing Breeon and Kim Wickham over here. I’ll check in with you later. Maybe we can eat.”
She grabbed her purse and opened the door to his office. “Maybe.”
Fuming, she walked across the street of the town square and up the stone steps to the courthouse. Ashlock was playing the cop card. She got the message: stick to the courtroom. Let the law enforcement professionals handle the investigation end.
With a flip of her hand, she bypassed the security station at the courthouse entry. The deputy greeted her, and she nodded in response. She’d almost reached the worn marble stairway when she had a thought.
Denny’s.
The people who lured Desiree and Taylor had met up with them at Denny’s. Someone on the staff at Denny’s might have information about the meeting, maybe a description of a suspect. For a bare second, she considered passing her thought on to Ashlock, before discarding the notion. He’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted to work with the FBI, and that the first order of business was the Amber Alert.
But there was nothing to prevent Elsie from cruising over to Denny’s. It was a public place. Maybe she’d show Ashlock that her investigatory instincts were legit.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs just long enough to unearth her car keys. Then she headed for the back door of the courthouse at a fast clip.
In her car, she turned the radio on, tuning in to the primary country music station for the region. If an Amber Alert was issued, there was no way she would miss it. It would be preceded by an earsplitting metallic squeal.
But by the time she pulled into the Denny’s parking lot on the highway, Miranda Lambert’s voice belted through the speaker without interruption.
She marched into the restaurant with a determined step. A young woman in a loose-fitting black uniform met her with a smile. Grasping a plastic menu, she said, “Just one today?”
Elsie shook her head. “I need to talk to the manager.”
The waitress’s smile faded. “He’s in the back. He’s busy.”
Elsie lowered her voice and pinned the girl with a fierce stare. “I’m with the county Prosecutor’s Office. And I need to see him now.”
The girl scurried away and reappeared shortly, accompanied by a man in his thirties, wearing a black shirt that bore the Denny’s trademark on its sleeve.
“Hey, Elsie,” he said, “I’m Dwayne Meyer. We went to Barton High together.”
She beamed at him, though she barely recalled him from school. “Dwayne, thanks for seeing me. I need you to help me with an important matter. You have to check your work records. Tell me who was working here last Thursday in the afternoon.”
He looked reluctant. “How come?”
Elsie squared her shoulders, giving him her no-nonsense face. “It’s police business.”
“I didn’t think you was a policeman. Thought you was a lawyer.”
Give me a fucking break, she thought; but she held her temper in check. “A teenage girl was in your restaurant last Thursday, for an interview. She has gone missing. It’s important that I talk to the server who waited on her.”
He didn’t say anything. Elsie stepped closer to him, clearly violating his personal space. “It’s imperative.”
They were drawing an audience. Two other members of the Denny’s wait staff had wandered within earshot. Even the short-order cook left his station and was peering through the kitchen door.
“Well, what time on Thursday? Before three or after three? We have a shift change.”
Elsie paused, trying to remember; what had Desiree’s mother said?
A woman volunteered, “After three. About four o’clock.”
Elsie looked at her. She was leaning against the cash register behind the manager’s shoulder. Graying hair was pulled back from her face, revealing a forbidding expression. Elsie locked eyes with the waitress, then glanced away.
The woman had a wandering eye: literally. One eye was fixed on Elsie. The other deviated, turning in the opposite direction.
The manager turned to the waitress. “How do you know?”
“I saw them. One of the girls was curly headed, the other black. They was looking for trouble.”
Elsie could hardly believe her stroke of luck. “Can we sit down somewhere? We have to talk.”
The deviating eye spun again. “I’ve got an order up.” She turned on her heel and walked off, leaving Elsie with the manager. In an apologetic tone, Dwayne said, “We’re kind of busy. She’ll go on break later; about one-thirty.”
The waitress reappeared, bearing a large tray loaded with plates of food. Elsie blocked her. With a decided move, she took the tray from the waitress and handed it off to the manager.
Elsie said, “She’s going on break right now.”
The manager turned to the waitress with a befuddled look. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Table eighteen, in the back corner,” she said.
As he walked off with the tray, she added, “I’m keeping the tip.”