Pretties in Pink

18. Hallie

18

HALLIE

Outside, I jumped behind the wheel of the rented SUV before Dan offered to drive. I’d survived her piloting skills with minor palpitations, but only a suicidal stuntman could ride shotgun in her car without hyperventilating.

“Back to the airport?” I asked.

Greenbrier Valley Airport lay just north of Lewisburg, a fifteen-minute drive from White Sulphur Springs. We could be back in Richmond in time for lunch. Or possibly end up in a smoking pile of wreckage.

“Let’s make a detour first.”

“A detour where?”

“I want to see where the Metgoods used to live. Get a feel for the area. I spent time at the Carmody place, and I drove past the Feinstein home on the weekend. If the cases are linked, and I’ll agree that the signature looks similar, then the victims must have something in common. Why those particular girls? How were they targeted?”

The old Metgood home was far smaller than both the Carmody and Feinstein residences, a tidy ranch-style house with a separate two-car garage on a half-acre lot. Patti was right—from the road, we couldn’t see either side of the building, but not to be deterred, Dan strolled up the driveway.

“What are you doing?”

“Looks as if somebody’s home. There’s a TV on in the living room.” Halfway to the front door, she paused, and I followed her gaze. The driveway was offset, the L-shaped house on a slight angle, and from our vantage point, we could see the right-hand wall. “Which room was Donna’s?”

I’d studied the floor plan last night, and I counted the windows. “Blue drapes, second from the back.”

“No security cameras, just lights, and those are poorly positioned. See the motion sensor by the left one? It’s set too low. Won’t pick up anyone until they’re virtually at the house. And the right one’s beside a tree. If those branches get overgrown, it’ll blink on and off all night long.”

“The Metgoods’ gardener was a retired guy with health problems, so I’ll bet he didn’t spend too much time climbing ladders.”

“Exactly.” Dan carried on along the driveway and rang the doorbell. “Physical security and tech are only as good as the people setting up the system. All those bushes would make good hiding places too. When I get a yard, I’m just gonna have grass. Grass and a pool and maybe one of those laser grids with booby traps.”

“Are you thinking of moving?”

Dan lived in an apartment at the moment. A penthouse not too far from Mercy and me, but she’d bought it when she was still single.

“I always said that when I grew up, I’d swap the party pad for a we-can-grow-old-here home, and the other day, Ethan was trying to measure my finger while he thought I was asleep, so I guess that time’s coming soon.”

“Oh my gosh! Does he know you were awake?”

“Nah, I figured I’d just act surprised if he asks.”

“If he asks? Don’t you mean when he asks?”

I’d seen the way Ethan looked at her. Like he was starving and she was a chocolate fudge cake with sprinkles. But before I could interrogate Dan any further, the front door opened to reveal a brunette with a puffy, mascara-streaked face and a petulant expression. She was younger than me. Perhaps sixteen?

“Look, if you’re from the truant squad or whatever, you’ll have to arrest me because I’m not going back to school.”

Uh-oh.

“We’re not from the truant squad,” Dan assured her.

“Then who are you?”

Dan already had her Blackwood ID card in her hand. “My name’s Daniela, and I’m a private investigator. This is Hallie, one of my colleagues.”

“I swear I didn’t know the car was stolen when that guy offered me a ride. Like, I barely knew him anyway.”

She sounded just the way I had ten years ago. “We’re not here about the car, but you shouldn’t accept rides with people you don’t know. It’s not safe.”

“Who are you? My mom?”

“No, I’m the girl who accepted a ride with a guy I barely knew and got sold to a s*x trafficker.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, but doubt crept into her eyes. “You’re kidding, right? Because that’s not even funny.”

“I only wish I was kidding.”

Incredulity turned to uncertainty. “So how did you escape?”

“The Mafia had a shoot-out with the traffickers, and I snuck through the back door while no one was looking.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“It’s true,” Dan said. “And you shouldn’t take rides with strangers, just like you shouldn’t have opened your front door before you asked to see our ID. But that’s not why we’re here. Did you know the people who used to live in your house?”

“Hey, is it about that kid? The one who got murdered?”

“That’s right.”

“The realtor told my parents the story. Mom says it’s creepy, but it’s kind of cool, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure ‘cool’ is the best word for it.”

“Well, it’s not like she died here. D’you wanna look around or something?”

“If that’s okay with you. What’s your name?”

“Sure, sure. Wait, I need to put shoes on.” Great, we were gonna have an audience, but at least she hadn’t told us to get lost. “I’m Apple.”

“Apple?” Was that better or worse than plum?

“Don’t bother with the jokes—I’ve heard them all already. Apple pie, apple sauce, apple strudel. No, my favourite restaurant is not Applebee’s, and my phone’s a Samsung. What are you looking for?”

“We’re trying to understand why Donna Metgood was taken,” Dan said. “Is this a busy neighbourhood?”

“No, it’s lame. I didn’t want to move, but Mom said the traffic was too loud at our old place. Like, nothing ever happens around here.”

“Do you get many people walking past?”

“Kids before and after school. People jogging and walking dogs. But this street doesn’t really lead anywhere, so everyone just drives if they want to go out.”

“Do you recall if the hedges at the front were lower when you moved in?”

“They were higher. The whole yard was overgrown. But there was a massive hole right there—” Apple waved an arm toward the fence that separated the former Metgood home from the neighbouring house. “And the realtor said the guy next door got mad and drove his wife’s BMW into our swimming pool. Like, why would somebody do that? D’you think he was drunk?”

Possibly, but that wasn’t the main reason for his actions. “His wife had an affair with the man who used to live here.”

“Oh, wow. That’s stinky. Okay, now I totally get the car thing. Did he go to jail?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Hmm, that’s good.”

The way she said that… “It’s not a good idea to drive a car into a pool.”

“But what if the person totally deserves it?”

Was this connected to those puffy eyes? “Did something happen earlier?”

“Yeah, something happened. My boyfriend made out with Amber Kennedy from the cheerleading squad, and when I threw my book bag at him, he acted like I was the unreasonable one. And then Amber pushed me, so I shoved her back, and then she ripped my shirt and everyone saw my bra and now I can never go back to school ever again.”

Ouch. I felt her pain. Really, I did. Except I’d been a majorette, and my high-school boyfriend had ditched me for a tuba player. I’d quit band practice that day and never returned, and in hindsight, that had been the start of my downward spiral. I’d lost the structure in my life.

“I know it’s not easy, but you should go back to school. He’ll go back, and she’ll go back, and the only thing that’ll suffer is your education.”

“But everyone will laugh at me.”

Fortunately, Dan had the answer. “Let them laugh. The best revenge is to hold your head high and live well. Study hard, get good grades, and in a couple of months, they’ll have forgotten all about it. But if the asshole keeps jerking you around, that’s when you tip the bottle of soda into his gas tank.”

“Soda?”

“It won’t kill the car, but it’ll block up the fuel system until he gets it cleaned out.”

“And don’t forget to wear gloves,” I added. “But Dan’s right—success is the best revenge. There was a time in my life when I wanted to shove a tuba up my ex’s ass, but if I was still dating him today, I’d probably never have left the town where I was born. I’m in a much better place now. Do you have a goal?”

“Like, for the future?”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah, I want to study cooking in Paris and then work in a Michelin-starred restaurant.”

Well, that wasn’t quite what I’d been expecting, but in a good way.

“That’s an excellent goal.”

“My parents don’t think so. They want me to join their accounting firm, and I hate math.”

“Have you tried telling them how much cooking means to you?”

“Yeah, and they don’t care.”

“Then at some point in the future, there may come a time when you have to decide whose dreams to follow—yours or theirs. Neither will be easy, but the best thing you can do right now is to ensure you get a good education.”

“Parlez-vous français?” Dan asked Apple.

“Oui, un peu, mais je n’ai personne avec qui pratiquer.”

“What if we found a French speaker for you to practise with?”

“You could do that?”

“Give me your number before we leave, and I’ll try to set something up online, okay? I know a lot of people. But getting back to the reason we’re here…”

“Right, the little girl.”

“Have you had any problems with the AC in this place?”

“The AC? It broke right after we moved in, but some guy came out to fix it, like, a week later.”

“Is the condenser unit around here?”

“Uh, is that the big box thing? It’s behind that wall over there.”

The condenser unit was whirring away, and better yet, it had a sticker on the side with the name of the firm who’d installed it. Jentech Heat and Air. I photographed the details for later, then thought back to our earlier conversation with Patti Metgood.

“Does anyone ever mention the Metgoods around here?” I asked. “Talk about what happened?”

“Not really. But my friend Lauren, she lives opposite, and she said Mr. Metgood was a real jerk. Like, he used to yell all the time. Lauren thought Donna ran away, but then they found her body, so I guess she didn’t. And Lauren’s mom said Mrs. Metgood wore sunglasses indoors even in winter, and there’s only one reason for that, isn’t there?”

“It doesn’t seem as if they had the happiest of marriages.”

“Why do girls even like boys? They’re all asshats anyway.”

“Another of life’s mysteries.”

“Do you need to look inside the house? I just made cookies.”

Who could say no to a cookie? “Sure, let’s look inside.”

“What do you think?” I asked Dan on the flight back. “Could Donna have run away? Run away and then been picked up elsewhere by a stranger?”

“Possible, but unlikely. If she’d run away, she’d have taken stuff with her. A bag. Clothing. A favourite toy. There was nothing missing apart from her, and don’t forget the footprint outside her window. What we need to do is establish whether there’s a link between all the cases or not. Mila, Janiya, Donna, Araceli, Vonnie… And we need to find out what Micah was doing on the days they disappeared. We already know about Mila and Vonnie, but if he has a strong alibi for one of the other three and they are linked, then that’s what’s gonna set him free.”

“But it won’t get us any closer to finding the real culprit.”

“Technically, finding the culprit is Detective Prestia’s job, not ours. Blackwood’s agreement is with Calvin Ganaway, and our task is to get Micah out of jail if that’s appropriate.”

“What about Mila Carmody?”

“We were fired, remember? The case stayed in the cold pile for curiosity’s sake, but again, not officially our job.”

This was where I began to see Prestia’s argument for being a cop. Once he got a case, he was free to follow it through to the bitter end, no matter where the journey took him.

“So you’re saying we shouldn’t care about finding these girls?”

“No, we should care. We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t. But we can’t neglect the rest of our clients to focus on work that isn’t ours. Help Prestia, give him what we’ve got. We’ll all do what we can. But if Ganaway isn’t the man the cops are looking for, our paths are gonna diverge at some point.”

“That sucks.”

“We’re not giving up. We just won’t be able to spend every hour of every day on the case.”

“I guess I understand.”

“Prestia has other cases too. Life is a juggling act.”

True, but I hated when the balls were innocent children. Who knew when another one might get tossed into the air?

“What do we do now?”

“We need to establish a timeline for Micah.”

“Okay, but we can’t speak with him until tomorrow.”

With Prestia channelling me information, I hadn’t made it a priority to go back to the jail before. Divide and conquer.

“No, but we can try Fenika. See if she keeps a diary or some kind of schedule. You have her number?”

“I’ll call her.”

But when I dialled her number, it wasn’t Fenika who picked up. It was a supervisor at the residential home, and she sounded frantic.

“Are you a friend of Fenika’s?”

“More of an acquaintance, really.”

“Have you spoken with her today?”

“No, why?”

“Because we can’t find her anywhere.”

Terrific. Was today the day for teenager trouble?