When Elsie left Kim Wickham at the rock house and returned to her office, she spent the remainder of the day in fruitless efforts. She tried to nail down Marvel Modeling on the internet; but all of her searches revealed nothing. Even Google turned up no website by that name.
Haunted by the image of Kim Wickham huddled over a miniature beauty pageant crown, Elsie had called the FBI office twice again in the afternoon; but she managed to communicate only with recorded voices. She even reached out to the U.S. Attorney’s Office; but couldn’t punch a hole through that iron curtain either.
“Fucking Feds,” she muttered as she slammed her landline office phone into its cradle.
Elsie also made repeated attempts to follow up with Ashlock. But though she tried to contact him by phone and text, she hadn’t communicated with him since leaving his office that morning.
After five o’clock, she started her car and headed for Ashlock’s house. After all, he had mentioned eating dinner together when they parted that morning. She didn’t need a formal invitation, she thought, as she pulled into Ashlock’s driveway. Elsie hurried to the front door, anxious to compare notes on Marvel Modeling. She hoped to hear that Ashlock had experienced more success than she. Surely he had.
She pressed on his doorbell, not easing up till the door flew open. Burton stood there, a “WTF” look on his face.
“Is your dad here?”
“Yeah,” he said, as Elsie walked past. “He’s in the kitchen.”
When she appeared in the kitchen doorway, Ashlock looked up in surprise. “Hey, Elsie. I wasn’t expecting you.”
He stood over the stove top. Two hamburger patties were sizzling in a cast iron skillet. A can of Van Camp’s pork and beans sat on the counter nearby, beside a bag of salad.
“Seems like you mentioned it earlier, at the PD. I guess it was a maybe,” she said.
She looked pointedly inside the skillet before aiming an inquisitive glance at the chef. Ashlock shrugged, unapologetic. “I’m afraid I’m cooking for two tonight, Elsie. I’ve got another can of beans in the cabinet; and we’ll share our salad, if you’re interested.”
But not your burger. That’s true love, she thought, slightly miffed.
She leaned over the vinyl kitchen countertop and lifted the bag of salad to inspect it. Tossing it down, she said, “My mom won’t buy those bagged salads. She thinks they’re dangerous.”
Ashlock flipped the burger patties without answering. Elsie went on.
“She said that somebody found a dead bat in one of those bagged salads. Marge wouldn’t feed a bagged salad to her worst enemy.”
When he spoke, his voice was sharp. “Maybe I should feed my son a cold McDonald’s.”
She swung around, regarding him with a challenge in her eye as he tended the stove.
“Ouch,” she said.
Elsie waited for him to speak. To take it back. When the silence stretched to the point where it became almost hostile, she broke it.
“I didn’t hear an Amber Alert. Didn’t get it on my phone either.”
She could see him exhale. He pushed the frying pan off the hot burner. “Well, we’re still working on that.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He turned to face her, his expression grim. “There are strict requirements for an Amber Alert. Our situation with Desiree doesn’t fit all of them.”
“Why not?”
“For an Amber Alert, there has to be an abduction.”
Their eyes locked.
“She was abducted.”
“Not precisely. She went with them voluntarily.”
“So what? They are holding a minor, without her parent’s knowledge or consent. She has been kidnapped.”
“For an Amber Alert, we need a description of the vehicle and the abductor. No one can provide that.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Ashlock didn’t respond. Elsie said, “I can provide a description of the abductor.”
“You’ve never seen the abductor.”
“I believe I have. I saw a woman who matches the description of the person who met the girls at Denny’s. I saw her at the Rancho, in the parking lot. She’s the same woman the Denny’s waitress saw interviewing the girls.”
“You don’t know that. Not for certain.”
“Jesus, Ashlock. Did you get my texts? Did you read them?”
He reached for a bag of hamburger buns. “We’re taking care to follow the procedures correctly. We haven’t had this situation before. We’re talking to some law enforcement people in the bigger counties, for guidance.”
“Who’s this ‘we’?”
“Me and the sheriff.” He paused, and added. “It’s been just twenty-four hours.”
“So you’re waiting for tomorrow? What the hell for?”
“The sheriff wanted to wait for the twenty-four-hour mark.”
“The sheriff is a dumbass.”
Ashlock ignored that observation. He slid the patties onto buns, opened the can of beans, and dumped the bagged salad into a bowl.
Elsie stepped closer. “The sheriff is a moron.”
He peered over her head, into the living room. “Burton,” he called. “Supper.”
Elsie persisted. “What about the FBI?”
“I’ve been in touch. They said to keep them advised.” He pulled a spoon from a kitchen drawer and dished cold beans onto two plates.
Elsie watched, horrified. “Aren’t you going to heat those beans up in a pan?”
He dropped the spoon into the sink with a clatter. “If you just want to criticize my parenting, I wish to God you wouldn’t show up at suppertime.”
Elsie held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I would never criticize your parenting. You’re a great parent. Your cooking, on the other hand, is kind of terrible.”
Burton entered the kitchen. As if on cue, he said, “Burgers. Excellent.”
As the boy dished salad onto his plate, Elsie whispered to Ashlock. “Ash. I’ve got the solution: the Amber Alert. Taylor can describe the driver, the woman. So can Brigitte Clifton, a waitress at Denny’s. And I can describe the vehicle. I saw it at the Rancho, that first day.”
“What vehicle? What are you talking about?”
“I knew you hadn’t paid enough attention to the texts I sent you today.”
“There were about fifty, seemed like. And in case you weren’t aware, I was busy.”
Growing animated, Elsie explained that she’d seen a red-haired woman in the car with the Alabama plates at the Rancho Motel. Ashlock listened; but when she was done, he shook his head.
“You’re still trying to tie ‘Mandy Candy’ to this out-of-county deal with Desiree Wickham? You’ve got no factual basis for that, aside from red hair. A lot of people have red hair. Don’t even have to be born with it.”
“I’ve got a feeling.”
He laughed at that; but with resignation rather than amusement. “Elsie, honey. As a lawyer, you know better than anybody. A feeling, an instinct, a hunch? That’s not probable cause. Not for a search or an arrest or nothing.”
Ashlock picked up a bottle of ketchup, squirted it on his burger, and forked some salad onto the plate. Eying the dinner, Elsie said, “That looks like a meal at the Fyre Festival.”
He looked up, his brow wrinkled. “What are you talking about?”
She waved it off. Ashlock didn’t keep up with trending news on Twitter. As he joined Burton at the kitchen table, she followed behind.
“Give me the FBI agent’s contact info.”
He looked up from his burger, wary. “What for?”
“I want to talk to him. About the sex trafficking angle.”
Ashlock’s jaw tensed. “We don’t have sex trafficking in Barton.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because if we did, I’d know.”
“Then how do you explain this whole deal? The meetings with Taylor and Desiree, and Desiree’s disappearance?”
“It didn’t happen in Barton, in McCown County. It happened someplace else.”
“What do you mean? The girl was picked up at Denny’s, in McCown County.”
“I know that. But it could be argued that she went willingly from McCown County to another location, where she has been held against her will—and we’re still trying to figure out where. That’s why the FBI needs to be in charge.”
“‘It could be argued’? What are you, the public defender?”
“Back off, Elsie. I’ve never issued an Amber Alert before. I’m going to get it right.”
Burton was following the exchange with rapt attention. Ashlock pointed at the boy’s plate.
“Eat,” he said. Then he bit into his own burger.
Elsie listened to the chewing for a few moments, trying to devise an argument that would persuade Ashlock to accept her point of view. When the eating continued, she jerked her purse onto her shoulder.
In a steely voice, she said, “I’m leaving.”
Ashlock nodded, swallowing. “See you later.”
“Just so you know. I’m going to do some investigating on my own.”
She turned on her heel, ready to depart; but Ashlock launched out of the kitchen chair and caught her by the arm before she reached the door.
“Elsie, that’s not your place. Stay out of this. Don’t muddy the waters.”
She jerked her arm out of his grip. “I told you, I’ve got a feeling about this.”
He leaned in so close that their noses almost brushed. “Stop playing goddamned Nancy Drew.”
“I’m not playing. I’m going to follow up on it.”
As he watched her leave, Ashlock said, “Elsie. I’m warning you. Goddamn it, you can do more damage than six tornadoes.”
Once she was outside, starting up her car, she turned over his statement in her head. And decided that it was a compliment.
Whether Ashlock intended it that way or not.