Back at my office, I take a seat at my desk, dumping my purse in the bottom drawer. I take a healthy sip of hot coffee and say good morning to Dad before gesturing to Mitchell. “Lay it on me.”
“Carmen Ramon didn’t show up for work this morning. She’s a secretary in an office building on Main Street. Apparently, there was a big meeting this morning, and Carmen was going to help her boss make a presentation to the higher-ups. She was supposed to be there at 6:00 a.m. When she was late, her boss called her cell. She didn’t answer, so he asked one of her coworkers if they’d heard from Carmen. The coworker was directed to go to Carmen’s home since she’s friends with Carmen. Carmen’s car is in the driveway, but Carmen wasn’t home.” Mitchell blurts it all out, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees.
“How old is she?” Dad asks, his pen and pad out.
“Forty-five, but in the picture I saw of her, she looks more like she’s in her early thirties. Pretty woman.”
“Like Maggie,” I say.
Mitchell nods. “Yeah, well attractive women are often the prey of kidnappers.”
“No.” My senses are saying there’s more to this. “I think Carmen was kidnapped like Maggie, meaning by the same person.”
“You think the two cases are related?” Dad asks.
“I know it.”
Mitchell gets to his feet. “Want to come with me to talk to Carmen’s coworker then? She’s going to meet me at Carmen’s house so I can look around. I’d love to have your help.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re parked behind Carmen’s car in the driveway. Without knowing why, I walk right up to her car. My senses are leading me, and I’m not about to stop to question them. Mitchell knows better than to interrupt me in moment’s like this. I reach for the driver’s side door handle and tug. To my surprise, the door isn’t locked. I pull it wide open and am immediately bombarded with a foul odor.
“What is that smell?” Mitchell asks, covering his nose. “It’s sweet but sour and rotten smelling at the same time.”
I peer into the car. In the middle console where the cup holder is located sits a red fruit. I reach for it. “This. I’m willing to bet this pomegranate is rotten inside. It’s been left in the car for who knows how long.”
“But that would mean Carmen has been gone for a while, too,” Mitchell says.
“When was the last time anyone saw her?”
He shrugs. “She lives alone. Let’s go talk to her friend. She should be inside.”
I take the pomegranate up to the front door of the colonial, not willing to part with it just yet. Thankfully, the odor isn’t as strong out in the open. “Big house for someone who lives alone,” I say as Mitchell rings the doorbell.
“The property is in Carmen’s parents’ names. I think she lived with them. My guess is they either retired and gave her the house, or they aren’t alive anymore and she inherited the house.”
A woman in her forties opens the red front door. “Detective Brennan?” she asks.
“Yes, I’m Detective Mitchell Brennan, and this is my partner, Piper Ashwell. She’s a private investigator assisting me with this case.”
The woman nods in my direction. “Won’t you both please come in?” She steps aside to let us pass.
The interior of the house is nice but seriously dated. I’m going with Carmen’s parents were the last to decorate it. We follow the woman to the living room off to the left of the entryway.
“Can I get either of you something to drink? I haven’t looked in the refrigerator, but I’m sure Carmen has something in there.” She looks frazzled. “Oh, where are my manners? Ms. Ashwell, I’m Colleen McDonald. I work with Carmen, and we also happen to be best friends.”
She extends her hand, and I don’t attempt to read her. Instead, I focus on not allowing myself to read her. The worry she’s feeling about her friend’s safety tells me all I need to know about her.
“Pleasure to meet you, Colleen. And Detective Brennan and I don’t need anything to drink. We just have a few questions for you, and then we’ll be on our way.”
Colleen gestures to the oversized couch, and Mitchell and I sit down. She takes a seat in the matching armchair.
Mitchell takes out his phone. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
“Not at all. Go right ahead. I just want Carmen found. I still can’t believe she’s missing. It’s surreal.” She’s practically wringing her hands in her lap.
“I assure you we will do everything we can to find her and bring her home safely as quickly as possible,” I say.
“Thank you.” Colleen swallows hard.
“Can you tell us the last time you spoke with Carmen?” I ask.
“I think it was Friday night. We had a late meeting at work. There was this big presentation set for today, and our boss was being such a pain in the ass about it.” She covers her mouth, and her gaze falls on the phone in Mitchell’s hand. “You won’t play this recording for anyone else, will you?”
“The only person who might hear it is my father, who works with me at my PI agency,” I say.
“Oh, okay, good. My boss is a dick, but I need my job. Carmen lucked out with this place. It was her parents. They left it to her in their will. It’s paid off, so that’s one less living expense Carmen has to worry about. I live in a tiny apartment that costs almost as much as my college tuition.” She laughs. “The things we do to say we live in a wealthy area, am I right?”
The pomegranate in my left hand feels unusually warm, making me wonder if it’s been inside the car since Carmen returned from work on Friday night. “By any chance, do you remember if Carmen brought this pomegranate to work on Friday?”
“Pomegranate?” Colleen sits forward in her chair. “I’ve never seen Carmen eat one. She hates anything with seeds.”
Another fruit clue? Is this really possible? And if so, why a pomegranate this time instead of an apple?
“Is that what I’m smelling?” Colleen asks, her nose wrinkling.
“How did Carmen seem when you last spoke to her?” Mitchell asks, getting back on topic.
“Annoyed. Mr. Sherman—that’s our boss—was in such a foul mood. He treats his secretaries like trash. And yes, he has several because God forbid the man does any menial work himself.” She puts her hand on her chest in mock horror.
“So you didn’t talk to her at all over the weekend?” I ask.
“No. I had a christening to go to for my nephew. We had to fly to Atlanta for the weekend. I just got back late last night.” Her brows pull together. “Now that I think about it, it is weird that I didn’t hear from Carmen all weekend. Usually when I have family obligations, she sends me texts to help me get through them. My husband’s side of the family can be more than a little trying at times.”
That could mean Carmen was abducted any time after she got home from work on Friday night.
“Do you know if she happened to have a date this weekend?” Mitchell asks.
“Not that I knew of. She usually tells me when she’s seeing someone new. But like I said, work last week was intense. We didn’t have much free time to talk. We were both exhausted each night by the time we got home. I slept on the plane ride Saturday morning, and I probably would have slept through the christening, too, if my husband would have let me.” She gives a small chuckle, but it’s sad. “When Carmen didn’t show up this morning, I was convinced she’d overslept. Mr. Sherman told me to come here since he had to cancel his meeting. I’m sure he wanted me to catch her slacking off so he could fire her. As if I’d ever rat her out that way. The man is an idiot.” She reaches out with her hand. “You’re sure he’ll never hear this recording?”
“You have nothing to worry about,” Mitchell tells her.
“Mrs. McDonald, is there anything else you can think of that might help us find Carmen sooner?” I only add “sooner” to keep her from breaking because her emotions are all over the place right now.
“Actually, yes. Carmen usually gets up early to go for a morning run before work. Since we were supposed to be at the office by 6:00 a.m., I can’t be sure if she did or not, but there’s a trail at the end of the road. It leads to a park. That’s where Carmen runs. It’s possible something happened to her on her morning run.” Colleen rubs her arms as if trying to hug herself.
“Thank you, Mrs. McDonald. You’ve been very helpful,” Mitchell says, standing up.
I stand as well, and after we both shake Colleen’s hand and Mitchell gives her his card, we head back outside.
“Want to check out that trail?” he asks me as we get into his Explorer.
“Definitely.” I click my seat belt and hold up the pomegranate. “But first, it’s time to read this. If Carmen doesn’t eat seeds, she’d never touch a pomegranate, which means our kidnapper left it.”
“This is the strangest case. I mean, you’re reading fruit.” He backs out of the driveway and turns toward the end of the road where the trail is.
I clear my mind and transfer the fruit to my other hand.
The gloved hand places the pomegranate in the middle console.
“Aged forbidden fruit.” He laughs at his own joke. “Still so tempting.”
When nothing else comes to me, I open my eyes. Mitchell is parked and staring at me.
“Same guy. Same message. Except I’m guessing he’s younger than Carmen because he referred to the fruit—that we also know symbolizes these women—as ‘aged forbidden fruit.’”
Mitchell nods. “That definitely does make it seem like he’s younger than she is. Okay, so we’re looking for a male under the age of forty-five, who wears gloves.”
“Easy peasy, right?” I get out of the Explorer and walk right over to the garbage can at the entrance to the trail.
“Wait,” Mitchell says, coming after me. “There might be fingerprints on that.”
“There are. Mine. And the person who stocks the fruit in the produce aisle. The kidnapper wore gloves, though. He didn’t get a single print on this fruit.” I toss it into the garbage can.
“Hey, why didn’t you try to read anything of Carmen’s while we were at the house?”
“I didn’t get the feeling anything happened to her there.” I look at the trail entrance. “This seems more likely, which means the kidnapper knew Carmen’s routine. He could have waited for her somewhere on the trail and taken her without anyone else seeing.”
Mitchell gestures for me to go ahead. “Then let’s go look for signs of a struggle.”
The problem is, Carmen could have been taken on Saturday morning. A well used trail wouldn’t show much after a few days. And that means I have to rely on my senses to pick up on something.
The only people on the trail, given that it’s a Monday morning, are mothers pushing strollers and elderly people trying to get some exercise. Before long, we find ourselves trapped behind two old ladies who are walking so slowly they make sloths look like sprinters.
“Pardon me,” Mitchell says, trying to get their attention.
The woman in front of him turns around and nearly falls in the process. I’m not sure either of these women should be out here on their own like this. Mitchell catches her and doesn’t let go until she’s steady on her feet again. “Ladies, this path is a little uneven. Are you sure this is where you want to get your morning exercise?”
The woman pats his cheek. “Such a handsome young man. Shirley, isn’t he handsome?”
“Peg, I think he’s spoken for.” Shirley hitches her thumb in my direction.
I wave off the comment. “Oh, no, Peg. He’s not spoken for at all. Please be my guest.”
Mitchell widens his eyes at me as Peg squeezes his bicep.
“So strong, too. I think he might be right about this trail. Perhaps he can escort two eighty-five-year-young women back to their house.”
I stifle a laugh.
“You live around here?” Mitchell asks.
Peg smacks his arm playfully. “Fresh little thing, trying to find out where we live.”
Mitchell eyes me, silently pleading for help.
“You go on ahead, Mitchell. You can catch up with me when you’re finished.”
“I would’ve guessed you had a strong sounding name like Mitchell.” Peg’s laying it on thick, and I’m loving every second of it.
“Mitchell, be a dear and offer Peg and Shirley each an arm to see them safely home. And don’t you go spending too much time at their place. We do have work to do, you know.” I wag a finger at him and quickly turn around before I burst out laughing.
With how slowly Peg and Shirley move, I know it will be a little while before Mitchell returns. I can’t afford to waste time, no matter how funny Mitchell’s current predicament is, so I start along the trail again. I make it all the way to the park without finding so much as a mark on the trail from a sneaker dragging across the dirt and rocks. Maybe Mitchell was right about me reading something of Carmen’s back at the house. I just really felt like this trail had answers for me. How could I be so wrong?
I sit down on a bench at the end of the trail and look up at the sky. It’s a beautiful day, despite the slight bite in the crisp air. I’ve always loved fall weather. It smells so fresh. I breathe deeply and place my hands beside me on the bench.
Carmen is seated on the bench, breathing heavily after her run. Her chest rises and falls in quick succession. She lifts the water bottle in her left hand and takes a large gulp. Her breathing becomes even heavier after she swallows.
“New best time,” she thinks to herself.
She starts to smile when the gloved hand reaches around her from behind. The sweet smell of chloroform hits her nostrils as a white cloth is brought over her nose and mouth.
My head lolls back against the bench as my world goes completely dark.