As the Wicked Watch(20)

“Now see, there you go messing with me again.”

“What’d I do?” he asked playfully.

“He’s on his way over,” I said, which elicited more boisterous laughter.

Bass is a novice health and wellness buff, so he and Thomas have struck a chord. I don’t have a problem with that. Bass is discreet. Nothing he has seen or heard me do has made it out into these streets.

Thomas creeped in around 1:15 in the morning and was back out again by 5:30. I’ve barely had a moment to myself. Good. I’d gone from Z to Thomas, and now I was about to entertain another welcome distraction. I got right up and started to make preparation for brunch. I prepped the meat for my famous enchiladas and put the pinto beans in the slow cooker. Given the way I’d been feeling and everything that had been going on, I found solace in the kitchen.

I slipped back in bed and set my alarm for 9:30, which would give me plenty of time to get dressed and meet my girlfriend María Elena at St. Matthew Presbyterian for the eleven o’clock service. I’ve been going to church nearly every Sunday of late. I hadn’t attended church this regularly since Catholic grade school. The commitment to attend church is a different sensation as an adult. It’s my reset button.

Sleep came easy, but I was awakened by an incoming call on my cell phone. Part of me hoped it was Pamela Alonzo, but part of me was glad when I saw that it wasn’t.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Miss Jordan! There you are! I was about to send a search party to look for you.”

It was just after seven o’clock. I hadn’t been asleep more than forty minutes. Mom was right to admonish me. We hardly ever go more than two days without speaking.

“I know, right? I’m sorry I haven’t called.” I must have sounded terribly groggy and fatigued. I sure felt that way. “These past few days have been crazy.”

She’d heard that before.

“I figured you were busy,” Mom said coolly. The Worrier had been getting better at not thinking the worst, which is her default switch. “I saw on the news they found that little girl who’d been missing. I know that must be bothering you.”

“You’re right. It is. I didn’t know her, but I felt like I did. She could’ve been Dru or any one of my little cousins or nieces. She was smart. She had a future. It’s just such a damn shame,” I said.

It was the first time I’d correlated Masey with my cousin Stephanie’s oldest and surviving child, Drucilla.

“Have you talked to her mother?” Mom asked.

“No, I haven’t spoken to her since they found the body. She called me, though, and left a couple messages while I was at the scene. I didn’t check my messages until later, and I felt bad. I’m sure she was wondering what happened to me.”

“That’s worrying you, too,” said the woman who knows me better than I know myself. “Okay, so now that this is over, Jordan, you need to cut that relationship off.”

“It’s not over, Mom. I am still covering the story. And from what Dr. Chan told me, this investigation could take a while,” I said.

Mom’s voice brightened at the mention of Dr. Chan, whom she had met once during a visit to Chicago. “How is Dr. Chan?”

“Skinny,” I said. “He looks like he’s lost about twenty pounds.”

“Seriously?” Mom asked. “I hope he’s not sick.”

“He seemed okay, health-wise. He’s on his way to New Zealand as we speak. But I got a chance to interview him on-camera, and he didn’t talk to anyone else before he left. That piece is set to air later today.”

“Dr. Chan loves him some Jordan,” Mom said. “So he did the autopsy?”

“Yes.” Then I shifted abruptly. “How’d you hear about it?”

“It led the news yesterday on WGN,” she said.

Masey’s disappearance didn’t lead the local news, but her murder did, which made me think back on the profound question Pastor Andrea Byrd posed to the congregation last Easter Sunday. “Would we have ever known Jesus if he hadn’t died on the cross?”

“You know I’d much rather watch your broadcast, but I can’t get it all the way down here,” Mom said. “Are you still in bed?” she asked.

“Yes, I was out with Zena last night, and I invited the girls over for Tex-Mex brunch today after church.”

“Somebody’s about to eat good! I sure wish you could fax some of it down here to me,” Mom said. “So, what are the police saying?”

My mother the crime buff was not going to let me off the hook that easily. She devours murder mysteries and watches an average of twelve hours of TV crime dramas each week.

“The police aren’t saying much of anything so far.”

“What’s Dr. Chan think?” she asked.

My mother was far from satiated. She wanted the gory details.

“Honestly, Mom, I don’t want to get into it right now. It’s . . . it’s devastating,” I said, then went into it, anyway. “She was brutalized. I’ve never heard of anything like it before. Never.”

“Was she raped? Beaten?” Mom asked.

“Yes, it appears so. Beaten, I’m not sure, but she was cut up pretty badly,” I said.

“Cut!” Mom exclaimed.