Basic Page 11

  “Thank you,” Kimberly said, her voice quiet. “I might not have ever experienced racism, but I know a thing or two about being treated badly. No one deserves that.”

  I glanced at her, remembering what she’d told me about her uncle and her dad. She tucked a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear and looked straight ahead as she said, “So, yeah. I can understand why you don’t want to focus on your rage. If you did, you’d probably end up burning down way more than a used car lot.”

  She smiled and I did too.

  “But you know, Libby?”

  “What?”

  She looked at me and smiled, “Whatever you wanted to burn, I’d be right there with you.”

  My heart softened and I felt a warmth that usually only happened when my mom hugged me or when I was eating a slice of apple pie that reminded me of dad’s homemade version.

  I returned Kimberly’s grin and quickly looked away, not wanting her to see how emotional she’d made me.

  Chapter Twelve

  Honolulu Avenue looked nothing like Honolulu, Hawaii. My mom and I actually lived in Honolulu for an incredibly brief but memorable three week stint back when I was fourteen. I remember the place being lush with vegetation, fruit trees and all sorts of gorgeous tropical plants. Tons of hot guys too.

  But Sunnyville’s Honolulu Avenue was a busy downtown street that had not a tree in sight. It was all very beige with clusters of brand new office buildings and sleek little boutiques for women who wanted to feel like they were on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills.

  Farrah Duncan’s place of employment, Monroe Physical Therapy, was between a place called Redmond Insurance Company and a Bridal Gown store.

  We parked in the large lot across the street and made our way over to Monroe’s PT.

  “Pretty dress,” I said, pointing to a white spaghetti strap gown in the window of the bridal store at our left. In all honesty, I didn’t actually love the dress, I was just trying to say something, anything, to lighten the mood after my little breakdown on the drive over.

  I’d never in my life said so much about race and prejudice to anyone, not even to Mom. I still couldn’t believe I’d spilled my guts to Kimberly.

  I glanced at her and she was looking at the dress thoughtfully. “It is pretty,” she said, tilting her head. “But I would turn it into a strapless dress and shorten it to tea-length.”

  I looked at the dress again and Kimberly was right. With exposed shoulders and calves coupled with the flare of the skirt, the dress would be the perfect blend of sweet and sexy.

  “Good eye,” I said. “You could totally be a fashion designer.”

  Kimberly smiled. “You think so? That would be so much fun. I wish.”

  I opened the door to Monroe’s PT and we were instantly greeted by the chill of an overly brisk AC.

  Kimberly zipped up her jacket and glanced at me. “This place is freezing. Geez.”

  “Tell me about it,” I agreed.

  We took a brief look at our surroundings. To our left was a gym area equipped with treadmills and all sorts of torture device machines that I will never, ever touch with a ten foot pole because I hate gyms and they are the actual spawn of the Devil. And just ahead was a large round reception desk where two women sat. To our right was a hallway that led to God knows where.

  “Hi, welcome to Monroe’s,” one of the receptionist’s said with a smile.

  Kimberly and I returned her grin.

  Kimberly and I exchanged glances, and with a nod, I waved her forward.

  Normally, I wouldn’t have minded stepping up. After all, I’m used to this sort of thing- lying and getting information out of people was my every day.

  Well, not mine per se, but your parent’s career is typically, by extension, your comfort zone of sorts.

  That said, Kimberly had been so amazing with the Duncan’s that I was sincerely impressed. She could hold her own and to be honest, she probably didn’t even need me to say a word.

  “Hi,” Kimberly said as we approached the receptionists. “My name is Kimberly and this is my friend, Libby.”

  I waved briefly and the two receptionists nodded and smiled at me.

  “We’re from Sunnyville High,” Kimberly said. “And we were using today to let Farrah Duncan’s family and friends know we’re planning to hold a candlelight vigil at the High School. But, before we officially announce it, we just want to make sure it would be supported.”

  Both women nodded sadly, their friendly smiles diminishing.

  “Of course, hon,” one of them said, her Texas accent thicker than ever. “We’ll be there to support it.”

  “Yeah,” the other agreed. “I still can’t believe what happened.”

  “It’s so terrible,” Kimberly gently said. “We just came from seeing her parents, and I feel for them.”

  The strong accent-lady sighed and shook her head. “I can’t even imagine. You know? We’re just her co-workers and we’re all tore up, but she was their only child. It’s just so unfair.”

  “I know,” Kimberly nodded. “So, you and Farrah are pretty close?”

  “Not super,” she replied. “But we all get along around here. Like, we don’t all hang out on our lunchbreaks and stuff like that, but we’re friendly.”

  “So, she went to lunch alone that day,” Kimberly said.

  “Oh, Farrah always takes lunch alone,” the other receptionist said. “She’s quiet. But I know where she goes because I usually see her when I go to the Deli just down the street. It’s kind of strange, she always goes to that little gas station on the corner of Macadamia and Mango and just sits in the parking lot, I think she reads a book or talks on her phone or something. But that’s where she goes every day.”

  I took a mental note of this- the gas station on the corner of Macadamia and Mango.

  “And, that last day she was seen,” thick-accent said. “We knew it was just a regular lunch break she was taking, because she left her jacket here. She always leaves a jacket here and puts it back on as soon as she walks through the doors, because she gets cold easily. If she’d been planning to leave for the day, she would have taken her jacket with her.”

  I wondered why the receptionist felt the need to stress that Farrah had been planning to return after lunch. Wasn’t that obvious?

  “Yeah,” the other receptionist said with a shake of her head. “I still can’t believe the police are implying Farrah just up and left town.”

  “What?” Kimberly asked, her voice going up a notch.

  “They’re saying she was into something sketchy, got scared, and left,” the receptionist said, lowering her voice. “That’s why they’re planning to close the case. They don’t believe she was kidnapped.”

  I bit down on my bottom lip, my thoughts racing.

  Were they right? Or was this yet another inane decision made solely because of the victim’s race? Could it be that the Cops just wanted an excuse to close the case and move along to something more ‘important?’

  By the time Kimberly and I left Monroe’s PT, we had more questions than answers.

  ***

  As we pulled up to the gas station on the corner of Macadamia and Mango, Kimberly said, “In a way, I kind of hope Farrah did just skip town. You know?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  But something told me it was unlikely. Witnesses said they’d seen someone grab her and put her in a vehicle that sped away with her. It seemed much more likely this was a case of a legitimate kidnapping.

  I glanced at the sign outside of the small gas station; Alberto’s Fuel N Go.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” I said, nodding to the tiny foodmart in the center of the station’s four gas pumps.

  “Let’s do this,” Kimberly agreed.

  We opened our doors, hopped out and headed for Alberto’s.

  As soon as we walked in I was hit with a familiar smell.

  The place smelled exactly like Jen’s trailer, which meant that the odor could only b
e one thing…

  I took in the sight of the shaggy-haired blonde dude behind the counter and knew my sense of smell was spot on.

  Red-eyed and yawning, he sat on a large stool, one hand in a king-sized bag of Dorito’s and the other flipping through an issue of People magazine.

  Even though the door chimed as we walked into the store, Mr. Higher-than-Kilimanjaro didn’t look up. He just brought a fistfull of Dorito’s to his crumb-laden lips and chewed.

  “I hope this guy is coherent enough to answer our questions,” Kimberly whispered.

  “Right,” I murmured.

  She cleared her throat and he looked up, crunching away like a cow, as we headed to the counter.

  “Hey,” he grinned, giving us a nice view of masticated chips. “How’s it going?” His eyes were glued to Kimberly and if I hadn’t known he was stoned, I would’ve thought he’d just been smashed in the heart by cupid’s arrow.

  “Hi,” Kimberly offered him her brightest smile. “We’re reporters from the school newspaper at Sunnyville High.”

  I glanced at Kimberly.

  Our school definitely didn’t have a school newspaper.

  “Sweet,” he grinned so stupidly I could practically see tiny cartoon hearts emerging from his eyes. “How can I help you?”

  Kimberly leaned on the counter, batting her eyelashes and smiling sweetly as she said, “We’re here about the Farrah Duncan story. She was kidnapped from here a few days ago, right?”

  “Yeah, totally,” the boy lost his grin and shook his head sadly. He looked like he was going to say something else. We waited. He brought a handful of chips to his mouth and stared back at us, expectantly.

  “Well,” Kimberly said. “We wanted to-”

  “It was a big black SUV,” he suddenly said, once again talking with his mouth full. “I was working the day it happened. It was all right out there.” The boy pointed outside. “At pump four. That’s where he parked. She was idling in her car smoking, like she always did. But don’t put that in your story. Okay? Just say she was in her car.”

  “Of course,” Kimberly said, the slightest twinge of impatience creeping into her tone. “Did you get a good look at the guy who took her? Or his license plate?”

  “Nah, sorry. I just know he was white. And big. Like, muscular. Not fat. And his SUV was black.”

  I turned around, scanning the food mart for cameras. I spotted one, just above the cash register and another, near the front door aimed at the gas pumps.

  “Hey,” I said, pointing to the camera above the door. “What about that camera? Would it have footage of what happened?”

  “Probably,” the guy said in between crunches. “I was kind of wondering why the police never checked it. I even mentioned it, but they were like, “Whatever, dude.””

  Kimberly and I exchanged glances.

  “You know,” Kimberly said, reprising her smile. “We could totally check it for you.”

  “Nah way,” he laughed. “I would get in so much trouble if I gave that to you.”

  “More trouble than if we told your boss you were high on the job?” I asked sweetly.

  Kimberly arched an eyebrow at me.

  The boy just laughed, a couple of chips falling out of his mouth as he did.

  He reminded me of me, and I felt a wave of pity for him.

  “My boss is the one who sells me the stuff.” He laughed again and pointed at me. “You tried to blackmail me just now, didn’t you? That’s hilarious.”

  He chuckled to himself and shook his head.

  “Come on, um…” Kimberly hesitated. “What’s your name?”

  “Lesley.”

  “Lesley?” Kimberly and I both said in unison.

  I was not expecting that.

  “Yeah,” he chuckled again. “Yep. Lesley Thornton the third. It’s a family name. Our family thinks getting picked on in school because your name is Lesley, builds character.”

  “Well, Lesley,” Kimberly said as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. This got the boy’s attention and he watched her with raised eyebrows. “Couldn’t you just help us out a little? If we saw that tape it would really help us write a great story for the school paper.”

  He stared at her like he was in a daze.

  Finally, he spoke, “Do you want to go to the movies with me sometime?”

  “If you’ll let us watch the tape,” Kimberly quickly replied.

  Lesley laughed. “Nah, girl. I didn’t mean like an exchange. I was just asking. Forget the tape. I can’t give anyone access to that, not even myself. But you’re so pretty. So, do you maybe want to, um-”

  Kimberly turned to me, her eyes full of anger. “Let’s go.”

  I watched her, surprised as she marched to the door.

  “Hey, wait,” Lesley called after us. “You didn’t even tell me your name.”

  Kimberly stomped out of the food mart, continued to stomp all the way to the Range Rover and then slammed her driver’s side door so hard I was afraid it might fall off.

  “That’s so irritating!” she shouted, hitting the steering wheel with her fist. “We were so close! So close, Libby! The whole thing is probably on tape, with a clear view of the kidnapper, but that idiot in there won’t let us look at it.”

  Despite my surprise at her sudden tantrum, I had to agree.

  I nodded. “I know, and did you hear him say the police didn’t even look at the footage?”

  Kimberly sneered. “I did. Shows you how much our cops care, doesn’t it?”

  My thoughts skipped to a certain extremely caring boy who I hadn’t seen all day.

  “True,” I slowly said. “But, you know who does care and could probably get access to that footage?”

  Kimberly turned to me, her eyes wide. “Who?”

  “Jonathan,” I said. And even as his name left my lips I wondered if this was a subconscious ploy to see him because I was having Jonathan-withdrawal or if I actually believed he’d be able to help us.

  But as Kimberly snapped her fingers and grinned while she pointed to me, I decided to let myself off the hook.

  “You’re so right!” she squealed. “His dad owns the company that’s installed nearly all of the security cameras in town! I bet the cameras here are his. And, every once in a while, these kinds of cameras would need a maintenance check, wouldn’t they?”

  She wiggled her eyebrows at me.

  I smiled. “Yep. And I think Jonathan should be the guy to handle that.”

  ***

  Convincing Jonathan that we needed his help turned out to be more difficult than we’d expected.

  I figured he’d say, “You want me to help find the missing black lady who the cops are pretending isn’t missing? Sure!”

  This was not at all what happened.

  Instead, Kimberly, Jonathan and I had been seated at a small round table in the breakroom of Red’s Security Cameras for an hour and a half, with Jonathan frequently needing to leave and check on customers as they walked in and out of the store.

  Every five or so minutes, we’d hear the door chime and Jonathan would excuse himself, allowing Kimberly and I to put our heads together in an effort to refine our game plan.

  Jonathan had just returned from helping a customer and he resituated himself in the uncomfortable plastic chair across from mine as he said, “Like I was saying, my dad would have my head if he found out I used the company car and my company uniform to get access to footage we have no right to even look at.”

  “Okay, fair enough,” I said. “So, we have no right to know what happened to Farrah Duncan. True. But, what about her parents? Do they have a right to know who took their daughter? And, are the police going to let them know? Do the police even care enough to find out?”

  Kimberly raised a hand and said, “I can answer that. The guy at the gas station said he offered to give the police the security footage they had. But the Cops didn’t accept it. So, I’m pretty sure Farrah’s kidnapping isn’t even really being investigated.”<
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  “And that means her parents aren’t going to get answers,” I said. Jonathan turned his attention to me, his eyes wide as he listened to every word I said. “All they know is someone took their child, and because their child happens to have dark skin, no one in this town cares enough to do a thing about it.”

  It was 3:45 PM and we’d been so tied up with the Farrah Duncan case we’d skipped lunch. So, I was hungry, depressed by the whole Farrah-situation, and feeling the slightest bit dizzy. But, I was willing to sit in the break room of Red’s Security for as long as it would take to convince Jonathan to join us.

  “It’s not that I don’t care,” Jonathan said, guilt in his eyes. “It’s that I have to think about my family too. I mean, aren’t there laws against doing something like this? Like, tampering with police evidence or something?”

  “I’m no expert,” Kimberly said. “But I’m going to assume the footage can’t be considered evidence if the Police know it exists and choose to completely ignore it.”

  “Okay,” Jonathan looked down at the table and shook his head. “But let’s say we watch the tape and we get a clear visual of her kidnapper’s face. Then, what do we do?”

  “Easy,” I said with a shrug. “We post the video online, call the police with an anonymous tip and send them the link.”

  Jonathan sighed and crossed his arms, staring down at the floor.

  He was frowning, deep in thought, and while I didn’t know exactly what he was thinking, I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say.

  The door to the store chimed and Jonathan bolted from his seat. “I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as he was out of sight I turned to Kimberly and hissed, “He’s still going to say no, I can tell.”

  “Yeah, I know!” Kimberly exclaimed. She pointed to me. “And you need to do something about that.”

  “I’ve been doing something,” I retorted. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past nearly two hours we’ve been in this freaking break room?”