Why is it that whenever you wake up refreshed, ready to conquer the world, and really get some work done, it turns out to be Sunday and everything is closed?
10:00 a.m.
We literally bounced out of bed this morning. Everything was suddenly clear. I decided I was not going to be Peg today at all. Cinnamon and I went to the 13 Coins for way too much food for breakfast, and then headed to my apartment to visit Maizie. Mrs. Prior says Maizie has been worried about me and that she missed me, but when I walked into the apartment, Maizie was curled up on Dag’s chair—with a cat. Maizie has free range to come in and out of the apartment when she is staying downstairs with Mrs. Prior, but she can’t get outside. None of Mrs. Prior’s other animals have ever ventured to follow her into the apartment because Maizie is a little territorial about her apartment. It looked to me, though, not being a pet communicator, that I had been replaced by a gray ball of fur I would expect Maizie to use as a squeaky toy. Maizie ushered the cat downstairs when I shook her leash, and Mrs. Prior picked it up while the other three of us went for a walk. When we got to Tovoni’s, Jackie served espresso just the way we like it and gave Maizie a treat. Maizie carried the treat to to the fireplace and sat down to take dainty little bites out of it while Cinnamon and I sat to talk.
“I know it’s still early in our employee/employer relationship,” Cinnamon said, “but I was wondering if I could ever have a day off. It suddenly dawned on me that Cinnamon had been my almost constant companion since Lars brought her into the house last Sunday morning. I was totally embarrassed. How self-centered can I be? When I get on a case, I work on it day and night until it’s cracked. I hadn’t even considered that the case might not have Cinnamon as enrapt as I was.
“Oh, my gosh, Cinnamon!” I said. “Of course you can have a day off. I shouldn’t have kept you at the hotel last night. I just completely got wound up in what we are doing and forgot that you have a life, too.”
“I’m a big girl, Deb. I could have spoken up,” she answered. “But there is no way that I leave a friend in the condition and danger that you’ve been in. I screwed up last month and I know what the consequences are.” Cinnamon had allowed herself to be used by Angel to get me to the Condo. That ended with Angel and Brenda going off a 14th floor rooftop. Neither of us are proud of the way we handled that case. And Cinnamon had only been working for me for five weeks. She came in with such a flurry of efficiency that I started depending on her immediately.
“You’re too generous, girl,” I said, laughing. “I appreciate a friend as much as anyone, and you’ve really been there for me. But if you are going to work for me, you’ve got to have your own life, too. I’ve already decided not to go back to the house today, and maybe not tomorrow, either. It’s mostly about analyzing the tapes, going to the bank, and all that kind of thing. Why don’t you take today and tomorrow off, then let’s get on a regular schedule of some sort. Just because I work undercover doesn’t mean you have to be with me all the time.”
“It’s been kind of fun in a spooky sort of way,” Cinnamon said. “But a couple days to tend to personal business would be good. I’ll have my phone on… unless I’m indisposed.”
“Speaking of which, please remember that Jordan and I do not share details of any cases we are working on unless we have agreed to work together. He doesn’t know what aliases I have and he doesn’t want to know. Officially, I’ve been in isolation analyzing some computers in an estate on behalf of the heirs. That’s all he needs to know.”
“No problem, Sugar,” she said. “But now that you mention him, he happens to have mentioned going to a movie this afternoon and I’d like to go change clothes.”
We walked back to the apartment and Cinnamon drove off. I looked at Maizie.
“Want to go on a stake-out with me partner?” I asked. She danced all the way to the car.
4:00 p.m.
It was a lazy Sunday. My car hasn’t been seen in this neighborhood, so I figured parking across the street in the SuperValue parking lot would be inconspicuous enough as I watched the coffee shop at Whore Corners, as I now thought of the place. I brought a thermos of coffee and bought sandwiches in the market before we got here, so barring having to use the bathroom, I was set and so was Maizie. I had my camera beside me and my computer on my lap as I started preparing dossiers on my suspects.
Dolly Martin. Age 43. Single mom of 14-year-old Cam. Has two addresses. One is the apartment she shares with her son. The other is a house she rents on Newbury Street, two blocks from Georgia. Rick and Susan Thomas are the registered owners. Arrived at Café Maestro at noon on Sunday, picked up a drink inside and sat at the sidewalk table outside with the newspaper. Wearing jeans and a bomber jacket and impossibly high heeled shoes. At 12:20, male of about 40 years old arrived and after picking up a drink approached the table and was invited to sit. At 12:28, Dolly and the male stood and left the sidewalk table headed north on Ralston. Left the newspaper. Decided not to follow. That’s the direction of her Newbury Street house.
Marcie Donovan. Age, mid-30s. Marital status unknown. Address unknown. Probably not her real name. Arrived at Café Maestro at 1:00 p.m. Sunday. Dressed as though she had just come from church or a ladies luncheon. Dress with full length coat and black pumps. Cute knit hat. Bought a drink at the Café and went to the same sidewalk table and sat to read the newspaper. Two other people had sat at the table since Dolly left, but neither was there for long and neither met anyone. At 1:10 a man estimated in late 20s, 6 feet tall, stocky build, left the café with a drink and asked if he could join Miss Donovan. They chatted for five minutes and by 1:20 they left the table and headed north on Ralston. City property records search shows eight properties within five blocks owned by Rick and Susan Thomas. All are listed as single family residential. Two are condos and six are bungalows.
Jenni Rodriguez arrived promptly at 2:00 p.m. Sunday afternoon. The bus should run so dependably. Jenni is in her late 40s, divorced, and a little overweight. Still she packs it into a skirt so tight the seams are crying for mercy. A man who entered the café fifteen minutes earlier, short, dark skin, possibly Hispanic followed her out of the café to the table where they both sat down. Very relaxed conversation as though the two have known each other quite some time. Jenni never gets to the newspaper, but leaves with the man headed north on Ralston.
I waited until 3:30, but Abby Rowe never showed up. Of course, she could have been there long before I got there. Maizie had to pee, and so did I. At least the mystery of being asked “How much?” was solved. I was sitting in the prostitute’s chair.
I wondered what Georgia’s normal hour was.
I headed back to the hotel at the airport to spend the night doing research.
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