Stranger in Town

CHAPTER 9





Maddie and I sat in a car across the street from Todd’s house the next morning. A group of misfit boys belted out a “pitchy” tune in an open garage with an oversized piece of green and orange shag carpeting on the floor. From where we sat, I couldn’t determine what type of music it was exactly, but it sounded like the yelling kind.

When I had spoken to Jenny the night before, she admitted she’d tried to get Todd to tell her what he saw the day Olivia was abducted. But every time she brought it up, he acted weird about it, always changing the subject. I asked her why she didn’t say something about it to her father, or the police. Her answer was simple: she said she wouldn’t tell. And since Todd hadn’t elaborated on what he saw that day, Jenny wasn’t sure how much it mattered. I couldn’t understand why she kept something so important to herself, but then again, she was young. Maybe at her age she couldn’t comprehend how a simple piece of information could make such a big difference.

“So which one do you think he is?” Maddie said.

I opened the car door. “Let’s find out.”

By the time we were halfway across the street, the music had stopped, and all eyes were on Maddie who was showing more skin than clothing. She hadn’t bothered to change after her dip in the pool earlier that morning, and had just thrown a cover-up over her bikini, announcing she was “ready to go.” The only problem was, I couldn’t figure out what the cover-up “covered up;” the sheer fabric showed everything. She didn’t seem to care. The boys didn’t either.

One of the boys set his guitar to the side and walked down the driveway to greet us. “Can I help you, ladies?”

“Which one of you is Todd?” I said.

Inside the garage, a boy with brown, shaggy, moppish-looking hair and small silver hoop earrings raised a single finger into the air.

A boy standing next to Todd socked him in the shoulder. “He’s Todd. And I’m John. Oh, and that’s Paul,” he said pointing at the boy in front of us.

Maddie laughed. “Where’s Ringo?”

Unfortunately, Maddie and I were the only ones old enough to get the joke.

Todd, a.k.a. lead singer of screaming boy band, eyeballed me with curiosity but didn’t say a word.

“Now that I know who everyone is, I need to talk to Todd for a minute,” I said.

“What for?” Todd said.

The boy standing next to Todd gave him a look like he was crazy. “Dude, why does it matter?”

“You used to work at Maybelle’s, right?” I said.

Todd shrugged.

“With Jenny? She’s quite fond of you. She wanted me to say hello.”

“What are you, like, a relative of hers or something?” Todd said.

Maddie beamed with pride, blurting out, “She’s a private investigator.”

She and I exchanged the kind of look only a friend would understand, and although I was confident there would be no further outbursts, it was too late; all three of the boys looked at each other like they’d just been caught skinny dipping in the principal’s pool.

The boy standing in front of us fidgeted with a pick he held in his hand, flipping it over and over until it got to the point I thought he’d worn down the skin under one of his fingers. “Is this about the other night, ‘cause we already told the cops, it wasn’t our weed. We were just—”

“Relax,” I said. “Cops don’t send private investigators out over a bag of weed.”

“Why you here then?” Todd said. “I haven’t seen Jenny since her dad fired me.”

“I wanted to ask you about Olivia.”

“Who?” Todd said.

The boy standing next to Todd socked him—again. “Don’t you remember? The missing chick.”

I appreciated teenagers who didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut.

The realization hit Todd like Evander Holyfield the moment he realized Mike Tyson had, in fact, taken a bite out of crime.

In the midst of all this, Maddie entered the garage, sitting down behind a set of drums. With a drumstick in each hand, she looked at Todd and said, “You,” tap-tap “saw” tap-tap “something.”

I glanced at Todd, finishing the jingle. “And I’m here to find out what.”

Todd glanced at the door of the house like he wished he was behind it.

“I’m not here to get you in trouble,” I said. “I just need some information. Then I’ll leave, and you won’t see me again.”

Todd looked at his friends and then at the ground. “I—I don’t wanna talk about it.”

I faced Maddie, giving her the I-need-to-get-him-alone look.

She pointed her drumsticks at John and Paul. “So, boys—which one of you wants to show me how to really play this thing?”

They stepped up to the plate simultaneously. Todd walked into the house. I followed. Thankfully, no parents were in sight. It appeared to be a bachelor pad.

It took a moment for Todd to notice I was still in tow, but when he finally glanced back, he muttered something to himself and then shook his head. “You can’t just walk into my house,” he said without turning around.

I smiled.

“I just did,” I said.

“Get out.”

“No.”

“Get out or I’ll—”

“Go ahead,” I said. “Call the police. Then we can all hear about the secret you’ve been keeping.”

Todd rounded the corner and looked at me. His face had paled, turning a dull, ashen color. He leaned against the living room wall and then slid toward the ground like he was melting. He probably felt like he was. When his butt hit the carpeted floor, he crossed his arms over his knees, burying his head as far as it would go between them.

I walked over and knelt down in front of him. “Is it really that bad? I’m not here to judge you. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

His silence was a challenge, but not the hardest one I’d ever faced. He just needed a little encouragement.

“About six months ago, a toddler named Savannah Tate was kidnapped from a daycare in Jackson Hole,” I said. “And do you want to know something? She was only four years old. Olivia was six when she was taken, but you already know that. You were there that day.”

I waited a full minute, but he didn’t budge, and with his head buried in what he must have wished was sand, I couldn’t tell whether my words had any effect on him. All I could do was to keep talking until I struck a chord.

“When things like this happen, it’s not only the child who suffers, their parents do too. I’ve met Savannah’s father. He’s heartbroken, and her mother can’t even get out of bed. They’ve been so distraught over losing their daughter, neither one of them cares if they live or die. It’s hard enough for a parent to lose a child, but to take their own life—I can’t imagine what that kind of grief must feel like.”

His breathing quickened, and for a moment, I worried he’d hyperventilate. Then it slowed again, but he still wasn’t coming around.

“Do you want to know what I think?” I said. “I think the same kidnapper took both Olivia and Savannah. But in order to prove it, I need you to tell me what you saw. Will you help me?”

Todd lifted his head just enough to give me the hope I was looking for. “The girl you were just talking about—”

“Savannah?”

He nodded.

“Her parents—they didn’t kill themselves, did they?”

At last.

“Savannah’s father had the gun loaded with two bullets in the clip: one for his wife, the other for him.”

“But he didn’t go through with it, right?”

“Not yet,” I said. “But if I can’t help him find out what happened to his daughter, I’m afraid they might not make it next time.”

Todd sighed, looking away for a brief moment. Then he shifted his focus back to the carpet again. “If I tell you what I saw, I’ll get in trouble.”

“With who—the police?”

He nodded.

“I read about it—it’s called withholding evidence.”

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen,” I said.

He paused. I waited.

“I may have seen Olivia.”

“You ‘may have’ or you did?” I said.

“I saw her,” he said.

“Where? Did you see the person who was with her?”

His bottom lip trembled. “I saw them both in the parking lot. I watched the man take her. I watched him, and I didn’t do anything about it.”