As the Wicked Watch(65)

“Her name is Shawn Jeffries,” I said.

“You did interview her. I saw that,” April said.

“Yes, but I asked the editor to cut the part about Masey getting rides. Listen, something just told me to protect her. And from your reaction, I think I was right.”

“Jordan, your instincts seem on point to me,” April said.

“We’ve got to tell the police,” Pamela said.

“I agree,” I said.

“I’m calling them right now,” she said, and reached into her purse for her cell phone. “I’m calling Detective Fawcett.”

As she waited for an answer, a look of disbelief remained frozen on Pamela’s face. “Detective Fawcett, this is Pamela Alonzo. I just found out that someone saw my daughter get in the car with somebody after school. I didn’t know nothing about her getting rides from school. Call me.”

“It went to voice mail. Oh my God! Jordan,” she turned to me, now in tears. “This has gotta mean something. If Masey was getting rides from someone legitimate, someone I trusted, I would’ve known about it. If we find out who it is . . .”

“. . . it might lead us to the killer,” I finished.

The three of us sat silent for a moment. I hated to push, but I had one more important ask. “I’d like to talk to Masey’s favorite cousin, Yvonne,” I said.

“I’m sure Yvonne don’t know this. Something like this, she would’ve told me. She’s not crazy,” Pam said.

“I understand, but you all are family. Let me see if I can get something out of her that she may not be ready to tell you. She may be too afraid to tell you, honestly,” I said.

I instantly regretted the way that must have sounded. I didn’t want her to think I was suggesting that Yvonne was lying to her or that this wasn’t a close family. But I do know that kids don’t tell their parents everything. They get pulled into places and spaces their parents would flip out over if they knew. Pamela’s grieving, I know, but she understands what I’m talking about, whether she admits it or not.

Masey might very well have been sexually active, experimented with alcohol and smoking weed or something more. She was, after all, at that critical age.

Pamela quieted down. Just as I was about to clarify myself, she said, “You’re probably right. Yvonne does hair out of her house, but I can’t imagine she’s taking appointments right now. I’ll call her. When do you want to go?”

“Later today, if possible,” I said.

My cell phone vibrated. It was Joey again. Either he didn’t see my text, or it was important. I thought about telling Pamela and April that I have a friend at the police department but decided to keep it to myself.

“I’m sorry, ladies, but I’m going to have to go,” I said. “I’ve got to return an important phone call.”

Tears rained down Pam’s face. As she struggled to gain composure, I realized she might not be composed enough to figure this out right now. “Okay, I’ll get back to you about Yvonne,” Pam said.

“What’s her address?” I asked.

Pamela hesitated. “I’ll text it to you,” she said, “but I want to be there when you talk to her, okay? Don’t go without me.”

“All right. I’ll wait to hear from you,” I said.

“Cameras!” April said abruptly. “We should be able to get camera footage from around the school.”

“Yes, but that’s something the police will probably have to ask for,” I said.

“Damn right!” Pamela said.

“Pam, if I were you, I’d go straight to the police station from here. And April, please, this has got to stay between the three of us. I just gave up a lot here, so can you promise me you won’t share this with any other media?”

“You have my word,” April said.

As I got up to leave, Pamela tugged my jacket sleeve. “Jordan, thank you.”

I nodded at them and bolted for the exit. Before I got out the door, my finger was already on the callback button.

“Hello,” Joey answered.

“Hey, Joe Joe. Sorry, I’ve been in meetings this morning whenever you’ve called,” I said.

“So what’s up?” he asked. “Oh, and before you ask, I don’t know anything else about the James case.”

“Well, this time I know something you don’t,” I said as I navigated my way up Lake Street through breaks in the pedestrian traffic.

“Oh,” he said, just as the “L” train screeched overhead with the deafening sound of grinding metal and speed. “I can’t hear you!”

“Wait, there’s a train,” I said. “Hold on.”

I scanned the block for a sound barrier and eased my way into the archway of a bank building, blocking the entrance, eliciting a dirty look from a patron. “Okay, can you hear me now?”

“Yes. So, what do you know that I don’t know about a case I’m not working on.” He laughed.

“Very funny. Listen, last night, one of Masey’s classmates told me she was getting rides from school every now and then in the weeks leading up to her disappearance. I just shared that with her mother, and her head exploded. She knew nothing about that!”

“You tell Fawcett?” he asked.