4

 

By the time she made her way up the cracked walkway leading to the Zinklemans’ house, Jamie had calmed down.

Enrique was dutifully waiting a few blocks away in the cool air-conditioning of his car. Apparently not trusting her, he’d given her a small microphone that she’d hidden in her purse. He claimed it was to make sure she was safe.

She knew better. She knocked on the door, put a hand on her hip as she slouched just enough to give the impression of not caring about life and waited.

The door opened.

A woman stood there. Her streaked, gray permed hair stuck up in several directions and looked as if she hadn’t combed it. “Look, I’m not talking to no salesman or saleswoman. Or whatever you are.”

“Mrs. Zinkleman, I’m not a salesperson. I want to talk about Michael.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Michael?”

Jamie nodded. “Can I come in?”

Michael’s mother looked around as if expecting a SWAT team to surround her house. “I don’t know where Michael is. I keep telling the cops that, but they don’t want to believe me. They won’t stop pestering us.”

“I know that. That’s why I came instead of Michael.” She cringed inwardly at the indirect lie, but it couldn’t be helped. When she was undercover, lying and deception were part of her job. Maybe that’s why it was getting harder and harder to keep doing it.

The woman’s eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh.”

“Can I come in?”

The woman stepped aside. “I guess. As long as you ain’t selling nothing and you ain’t a cop.”

“Not me.” Jamie walked inside. The odor of smoke assaulted her. She turned and smiled at Michael’s mother.

The woman’s eyes were wary. “I don’t know what this is about. I don’t want no trouble. I taught Michael right from wrong. He’s a good boy. He didn’t do the things they said. And I already told the cops I don’t know where he is.”

“Relax. I already told you I’m not a cop, Mrs. Zinkleman. I’m not here to get you in trouble. Michael wanted me to give you something.”

“Give me something? “ Her eyes narrowed. “You know where Michael is?”

“It’s better if you don’t know the answer to that question.” As much as possible, Jamie chose not to lie.

Mrs. Zinkleman’s face grew splotchy as she chewed on her lip. After a moment, she reached in her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Her hand shook as she took a cigarette. “How’s Andrew? I miss him.”

“Another topic we can’t discuss. Can we sit down?”

“Sure.”

The living room was neat as a pin—except for the lingering scent of smoke.

Jamie sat in a chair with faded flowers and frayed arms.

Mrs. Zinkleman sat down in a matching chair across the room, the cigarette still in her hand, but not lit. She stared at Jamie and waited.

Jamie said nothing for several long moments to build up the tension. Then she opened up her purse and pulled out a stack of cash. “Michael wanted you to have this money.”

Mrs. Zinkleman’s mouth fell open and her eyes bulged. The cigarette broke in half. “For me. All that money is for me?”

Jamie nodded but didn’t make a move to give it to her. “He wanted to make sure you were doing OK. He figured you could use the money.”

Mrs. Zinkleman stared at the money. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “I guess this means he did those things they said.” Her chest heaved as she took a deep breath. “I never believed it. None of it. Everybody else did, but not me. I believe in my son. He’s a good boy. He wouldn’t do the things they said.” A tear leaked out and made its way down her wrinkled cheek.

Guilt pricked at Jamie’s conscience, but there was nothing she could say without giving herself away. Very deliberately Jamie set the money in her lap instead of handing it to Michael’s mother. “He’s been worried about you.”

Mrs. Zinkleman wiped away the tears. “Such a sweet little boy. He always was a good son. I still can’t believe he took the money. Or took his kid. Andrew was such a sweet thing. I miss him—almost as much as I miss Michael.” She sighed. “It really wasn’t like him at all. “

That’s just what Jamie needed—more guilt. She couldn’t be responsible for the fact that this woman’s son was a creep. “I can’t talk about any of that. The less I say the better for Michael.” Jamie’s fingers tapped the stack of green bills.

Mrs. Zinkleman’s gaze moved to the money.

Good. Keep the focus on the money, not on her son or her grandson.

“There’s just one thing.”

“What’s that?” The woman was still looking at Jamie’s lap.

More finger tapping as if hearing a tune in her head. “While I’m in town, I wanted to meet with a few of Michael’s friends. Just to take a few pictures so I could surprise him with a little piece of home. He misses everyone.” She pulled out her cell phone.

Mrs. Zinkleman tore her gaze from the prize and stared open-mouthed at Jamie. She looked confused. “Pictures?”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a few of you and some of his friends. I thought you could tell me who his friends are so I can contact them.”

Mrs. Zinkleman’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I ain’t telling you who his friends are. You should know that already if you know Michael like you said.”

“I do know, but I don’t have the time to go visit all of them. I just wanted to get a few pictures of his very best friends. It’s a surprise so I can’t very well ask him, can I?” Jamie touched the money still sitting on her lap. “I’m sure you want to help me, don’t you? As soon as you tell me, I can give you the money and be on my way.”

Mrs. Zinkleman’s looked at the money, and then back at Jamie. “You sure that money’s from Michael?”

“Who else would it be from?” Answer a question with a question. Always a good ploy to divert someone’s attention.

Mrs. Zinkleman stood up wringing her hands. “I don’t know. It don’t seem right. Let me get my husband.” She walked out of the room.

This wasn’t going to be as easy as Jamie had planned. She’d hoped Michael’s mother would be so dazzled by the money that she wouldn’t be suspicious of Jamie’s motives.