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Cecily reached for her purse and shoved some bills on the table. “I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder in the general direction of the woman behind the counter.
Outside, she scanned the area for the mom with her toddler, spotting her jogging down the sidewalk, calling after the skateboarder who rounded the corner and disappeared. The woman slowed, and Cecily caught up.
“What happened?” Cecily asked.
The woman paused long enough for a few deep breaths. “That punk. He took my purse. I’ll bet he sliced the strap, because it was over my shoulder.”
Cecily gave herself a virtual head slap. She’d been watching for something like this, and she’d totally missed it as it played out right in front of her eyes.
“Did you get a good look at him? Or any of them?” she asked.
The toddler kicked his feet in his stroller, as if he wanted to go for another run. The woman picked him up and clutched him to her chest. “No, I was watching the dog.” She kissed the boy on his forehead. “It’s only a purse. It’ll be a major hassle canceling my credit cards, but I never carry much cash. As long as Cam isn’t hurt—well, that’s the important part, right?” She gave the child another hug and a kiss, then put him in the stroller.
“You should call the police,” Cecily said. “Report the theft.”
“Not until I call my credit card companies. I don’t have enough information to give the cops, and it’s more important to make sure that punk doesn’t start using my cards.”
Which, given Cecily couldn’t offer much in the way of a description, either—and she kicked herself for that—made sense. But she could try.
“I’m Cecily Cooper,” she said. “I live up in Pinon Crest, but if you want me to be a witness, you can call me.” She hunted for her business card case and a pen, and wrote her cell number on the back of a card—her last one, she noted—before handing it over.
The woman perused the card, her eyes widening. “You work for the Sheriff’s Department?”
“I’m a dispatcher, not sworn, and it’s not El Paso County, but if I can help, I will.”
“Jasmine Ellsworth.” The woman pocketed Cecily’s card. “I doubt it’ll get that far, unless you got a good look at them.”
“Not good enough,” Cecily said. “They were a team, though. Three kids on skateboards. One comes in close, another one bumps, and the third grabs your purse. Or the second one is the grabber, and number three gets your attention so you don’t notice. Maybe there have been other reports. Every bit helps.”
“Too bad they don’t need a description of the dog,” Jasmine said. “That I could give them. He was cute.” Cam started to cry, and Jasmine frowned. “His snacks were in my purse. I’d better get him home. It’s almost nap time. Nice talking to you, and I’ll be in touch if it comes to that.”
Cecily watched the twosome leave, Jasmine’s voice as she offered reassurances to her son fading into the distance. The café door opened, and the woman who’d been behind the register stepped out. “Everything all right?”
“Not exactly,” Cecily said. “Some kids on skateboards stole a woman’s purse.”
“Here? In front of my café? This is getting out of hand.”
“It’s happened before?” Cecily moved toward the door and the woman stepped aside to let her pass. Her half-eaten lunch, now cold, was where she’d left it, along with the cash, but her appetite was gone like Jasmine’s purse. She sat, trying to collect her thoughts, keeping an eye out in case the kids came back in search of another victim.
“I’m going to call the police. Right now.” The café owner went to the phone. Cecily listened as the woman—Madura Gupta—explained what had happened. “No, I didn’t see it. One of my patrons was sitting by the window. She went out and talked to the victim.” A pause. “Yes, hold on.”
Madura brought a cordless handset to Cecily. “They’d like to get your statement.”
Cecily introduced herself and described the threesome as best she could, along with Jasmine’s name. “Yes, three of them. Late teens, early twenties. I only caught a glimpse of them as they skated by. I’m sorry I can’t give you any more. Does this happen often?” After all, Madura had said things were ‘getting out of hand,’ which meant this couldn’t have been the first time.
“I wouldn’t say often,” the officer said.
From his tone, she thought he might be trying to downplay any street crimes. After all, this area relied a lot on the tourist trade. She explained her position with the Sheriff’s Department, hoping it might open a door.
“We’ve had our eye on things,” he said. “Nothing consistent. Primarily panhandling, which we try to keep reined in. This is the first one on that block, but there’s about two square miles where there are a lot of new businesses. It’s as if the local low-lifes are testing the waters.”
“Would you be willing to answer a question for me? It may or may not be related,” Cecily said.
“I’ll try.”
Cecily wasn’t ready to bring Grady into the equation, but she figured she might be able to confirm whether her homeless contact’s story had any basis in fact. She repeated what the man had told her. “In light of what just happened—a trio of young people working together to pull off a purse-snatching—might this be part of a crime ring?”
A pause. Cecily braced herself for the inevitable brush-off, which the officer delivered in a polite but firm tone. “I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss any ongoing investigations.”
She wasn’t a sworn officer, and this cop had no reason to relay information. Maybe she could give his name to Andy. The fact he’d referred to an ongoing investigation had to mean something.
She thanked the officer and stepped to the counter to return the phone.
Madura reached for the handset. “Would you like another order of samosas? Yours are cold, and I will be happy to provide fresh, hot ones.”
Thinking it might be an excuse to ask Madura what she’d meant about things getting out of hand—firsthand information often trumped red tape at a police department—Cecily accepted the offer. “Would you have a minute to tell me about any crimes in this neighborhood? It seems very nice, and I wouldn’t expect panhandlers and pickpockets.”
Madura called in Cecily’s order and picked up the coffee pot. “I have a moment, yes.” She walked toward Cecily’s table, frowned at her half-empty coffee mug and grabbed one from the next table. After filling it with fresh coffee, she placed it in front of Cecily and sat. “We have been open six months. Things are not wonderful, but they are not bad. If there is crime, then people will not come. We are far enough away from the museum so they must want to come three blocks away for our food. If they are beset with crime, they will not make the journey.”
Cecily noted the frustration and worry coming through the lilt and cadence of the woman’s words.
“Do you have a neighborhood merchants’ association, or a network where you share information?” Cecily asked. “What about security cameras?”
“No cameras, no. This area is all older buildings, part of an urban renewal project. We’re all on tight budgets, and until about a month or two ago, a very safe place to be. I will have to give cameras extra consideration now. As for an association? We have nothing formal, but we talk, yes. It has been around the expensive shops where this activity takes place. This is the first time it has happened on my block.”
Kids out for mischief or an organized ring, Cecily wondered. Either way, they’d take advantage of the lack of cameras. Automatically, she wondered if there’d be any potential candidates for Helping Through Horses. She’d deal with that later.
A server brought a fresh plate of hot samosas, and with the spicy aroma, Cecily’s appetite returned. Madura’s expression was the same as Sabrina’s and Tanya’s when they put food in front of people. Waiting for reactions. She cut into one of the savory pastries and took a bite. She didn’t have to pretend to smile. “These are delicious. I don’t live in the Springs, but any time I’m down here, I’ll be back.”
Madura beamed, her dark brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not too spicy?”
Cecily shook her head. “I was raised on a cattle ranch. Spicy is normal.”
The café door chimes tinkled, and three women walked in. Madura stood and greeted them, leaving Cecily to her lunch.
She wondered if she’d missed any phone messages, and reached into her purse. Her cell wasn’t in its usual pocket, so she opened the bag wider. No matter what you put into a purse, it immediately sank to the bottom. Still no phone. She tried to remember the last time she’d checked it.
The memory wound its way back. She’d put it in the car charger on the drive down. She had no recollection of unplugging it. Damn.
What was so awful about being out of touch for a couple of hours? It wasn’t like she could do anything if Andy or the other detective called her. Cecily finished her lunch, declined dessert, and headed out.
Curious, she decided a few more minutes without her cell phone wouldn’t matter, and made a quick detour in the direction the skateboarders had gone. If they were accosting other citizens, she’d be able to get a better description. She rounded the corner, seeing the dog walker leaning against a wall, having a cigarette while her dog investigated a nearby planter. Cecily approached. Maybe the woman had a better description of the skateboarders.
As Cecily approached, the dog stopped its sniffing and happy-wiggled in her direction. Cecily bent to give it a scratch. “Hey there, fella. My brother has a dog that could be your brother. His name is Charlie. What’s your name?” She glanced at the woman, who ground her cigarette under the toe of her boot.
“Mutt,” the woman said. “Came from the shelter, so I don’t know much about him.”
Cecily shifted her attention fully to the woman. “I was in the café before, when the skateboarders came by. Did you know one of them took the woman’s purse? The woman you were talking to, with the little boy.”
The woman didn’t seem too surprised. Bored, maybe. Not even curious. “No, I thought they were rambunctious kids. Blowing off steam.”
“Well, they cut the strap of her bag and took off with it. The café owner called the police and reported it. Maybe you can help out with a better description. Get them picked up and off the streets. Maybe get them into a community service program.”
“She called the cops?” the woman asked.
“Yes. They said they’re keeping an eye on this neighborhood. If you walk your dog here a lot, maybe you could be on the lookout.”
The dog resumed his sniffing. The woman nodded, then gave a sharp cry. “Mutt. Stop that! Come here!”
Cecily didn’t see the dog doing anything worthy of a reprimand. The three skateboarders appeared, jumping off their boards and were on top of Cecily before she could react. One took her purse. Another put his hand over her mouth. Not some young kid, Cecily thought, as she was dragged into a narrow space between two buildings. Definitely in his twenties, and strong beneath the loose-fitting clothes.
“Hey, the bitch has a gun,” one said.
The barrel pressed against her back.
“You’ll be quiet and come with us, won’t you?” the woman said.