Pretty Little Girls Read online

  In her sleeveless dress, Sofia shivered in the brisk, evening air. But it felt good to be outside—cool, clean, and invigorating. She squinted around the area, hoping to see Sasha.

  Stephen stared at Anastasia, frowned, and turned to Svet. “What happened to her arm?”

  Svet shrugged.

  Anastasia wrapped her hand around the reddish-purple bruise.

  Stephen glared at the big man. “One of your main responsibilities is preventing anyone from hurting the girls. Why do I need to remind you that they’re the ones bringing in the money, not you?”

  “She’s fine.” Svet said. “So, uh, is she here?”

  Sofia was dying to ask who ‘she’ was. Emma? Also— where were they and why were they there? But she could only wonder because Stephen did not allow them to ask questions.

  “She’s not,” Stephen replied. “But that could change any minute. I don’t know where she is.”

  The ‘she’ in question wasn’t Emma, or Stephen would have taken a whole different tone.

  He turned to the girls and his voice was soothing, the way he sounded when he wanted them to believe he cared. “You’re staying here for now. Help yourself to whatever food you can scrounge up in the cabinets and fridge. Then go downstairs and take your stuff with you. Find a bedroom to stay in and go to sleep. Your new friend is already down there. Make sure everything stays as you found it. Don’t leave the basement. Exercise in the morning.”

  Sofia squinted, taking a last look at the blurred outline of a pool, a waterfall, and the tiny white lights before she and Anastasia walked back into the house and found the kitchen.

  Behind white cabinet doors, matching containers with blue tops were stacked on top of each other. Boxes were lined up edge to edge. Cans formed perfect rows. The fridge held cartons of yogurt, some fruit, and water bottles. Barely saying a word to each other, the girls made quick work of eating. It was unusual for them to have this freedom in a kitchen.

  Satiated, yet still alone, they took protein bars, packets of nuts, and a box of chocolates from the cabinets. They hid the food inside their suitcases, insurance for the next time they were miserably hungry.

  “Let’s find the basement,” Sofia said, feeling like a thief looking for an escape route so she wouldn’t be caught red-handed.

  Anastasia opened the door to a bathroom and closed it again. She did the same with a closet.

  Sofia followed Anastasia through the house. “When you went in with Svet, did he say whose house this is?”

  “He not say. But look.” Anastasia pointed to a life-sized portrait on the dining room wall. A slim woman with red hair. A haughty expression and the hint of a mysterious smile all rolled into one. They would have thought the woman was beautiful if they didn’t already know her.

  It was a portrait of Ms. Bois.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Following up on the women from Tripp’s past brought Adams to an area of town he hadn’t seen in years. Not since he’d traveled to a nearby high school to play a basketball game with his school team.

  He drained the last of his morning coffee, parked, and walked up to the apartment he’d come to visit. The address was the last one on record, but the woman he was looking for seemed to have disappeared. The doorbell hung from a broken wire, so he knocked.

  A scruffy man answered the door with a T-shirt stretched over his beer belly.

  “Sorry to bother you,” Adams said. “I’m looking for Linda Wood. This is her last address on record.”

  “Who are you?” the man asked.

  “I’m a private investigator. Jay Adams.” He waited while the man rubbed his unshaven chin.

  “Don’t know nothin’ about a Linda Wood. She don’t live here. But there’s some old ladies who have lived in this place forever. Always watching me come and go. Minding everyone’s business. If the lady you’re looking for used to live here, try asking one of them.”

  “Thank you,” Adams said. “Where can I find one of these ladies?”

  The man pointed. “See that door with the Home Sweet Home sign? That’s one of ‘em.” He turned to Adams. “I might need a PI. How much you cost?”

  “Depends on the job.” Adams smiled and reached for his card.

  The man looked Adams up and down. “Never mind. I doubt I can pay whatever it is you’re asking. You look a little high-brow for my wallet.”

  “If you change your mind and want to discuss it, here’s my card.” Adams handed his card to the man. “I’ve been known to discount my fees. Thanks for your help.”

  Several of the porches and balconies functioned as storage areas piled with junk. A man on one balcony caught his attention. A hoodie covered his face in shadows. He was carrying two stuffed black garbage bags.

  The porch of the apartment with the painted Home Sweet Home sign had potted plants and an assortment of rabbit statues. He rang the doorbell and waited. From somewhere between the apartments came a heated argument between two men.

  An elderly woman opened the door and peered at him suspiciously through the screen. Her apron and house coat appeared to be as old as she was.

  “Hi,” Adams said. “I’m looking for Linda Wood.” The smell of whatever she was cooking wafted through the screen. Chicken soup?

  The woman cocked her head to the side and frowned at him. Putting himself in her shoes, Adams smiled, attempting to look as kind and harmless as possible.

  “Are you a cop?”

  “Private investigator. My client is looking for Ms. Linda Wood. One of your neighbors suggested you might have known her.”

  She placed her hand against the doorframe and leaned closer. “I knew her. But you’re about five years too late.”

  “Do you know where she might be now?”

  “Sure do. Six feet under. I was there when she was buried. You want to visit her grave?”

  Adams was surprised and angry at himself for not discovering her obituary with his research. But if there was one, how could he have missed it? In any case, Linda Wood had not sent the threatening letter.

  “Died young, she did. Before her time should’a come. Cemetery is over there on the other side of the highway,” said the woman. “And Linda’s got one of the biggest tombstones in the place. You’d think she’d been the president of something. Fancy casket, too. Not the economy ones. Wish she’d been alive to have seen it. She would have been real proud and real surprised. I can’t imagine how it got paid for.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The sun glinted through Victoria’s windshield and she pulled the visor down. From a safe distance, she watched Adams talking to an elderly woman on her doorstep. The apartment complex was older than the one where he picked up the boy yesterday. Are his visits related to Emma Manning’s investigation and the leads Tripp gave him, or something else?

  Sam called. Victoria answered immediately, as if Adams might be able to hear the soft vibration of her phone and she needed to silence it.

  “Hey,” she said. “I’m in my car, playing spy again.”

  “I’m sure you’ve had some training for that. Jay Adams again?”

  “Yes. I followed him from the Mannings’ neighborhood this morning.”

  “I found out a few things about your PI.”

  “What did you find?” She took a sip of coffee from her to-go cup. She couldn’t wait to hear what Sam had discovered.

  “I knew the name was familiar, but it’s a common one, of course. His father used to be the mayor and is currently a major investor in several Charlotte endeavors—a minor league sports team and two restaurants.”

  Another call came in.

  “Hold on, Sam. Sorry, I’ve got to take this call. Let me call you back, okay?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Victoria had done some of her own research earlier and found the owner of the vacant building she and Connelly had investigated. A company in India called Kolmon. They owned corporate buildings all over the world that they leased or resold. A local realty company helped fi
nd the tenants and handled the rental agreements. The realtor was calling her back.

  Victoria hung up and accepted the new call. She identified herself and explained she needed a few minutes of the realtor’s time regarding one her listings.

  “I’ll head back to my office as soon as I’m finished at this property,” the realtor said. “I’ll be there in less than an hour. But then I’ve got another appointment at three that unfortunately cannot be rescheduled. So hopefully we’ll be finished by then. You have the address?”

  Victoria kept her eyes on Adams, who was heading straight to his vehicle. “I do. Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

  Victoria typed the realtor’s office address into her phone, grateful that the woman was concerned and willing to help without even knowing the seriousness of the issue. Busy people were rarely receptive to questioning that interrupted their workday. And guilty people rarely cooperated without first being served a warrant. Lonely people were a whole different story. Some of the elderly offered cookies and tea and treated the agent’s visit like a social call.

  Minutes later, Adams drove out of the apartment complex and Victoria did, too. As much as she wanted to know where the PI would go next, she had another angle to explore with the realtor. Slowing to a stop at a yellow light, she called Connelly.

  “Hey, Victoria.” He was breathing loudly.

  “Hi. I’ve got an interview lined up with someone who might be able to help us.”

  “In five hundred feet, right turn on West Moreland Road,” her phone instructed.

  “Is this related to the info you sent me last night about Tripp Manning’s alleged lovers?”

  “No. And they aren’t alleged lovers. He’s the one who told me about them.”

  A row of cars with the word Clemson and orange tiger paws painted on the windows honked their horns.

  “Because I’m not seeing how they could be relevant now,” Connelly said. “Let Adams chase them down.”

  That might be what I’ve just watched him do. The irony hit her—she’d been investigating the investigator. She would tell Connelly about Adams soon, but not until she had a better idea of what he was doing. A little more time and patience.

  She kept her voice calm. “This is something different.” The light turned green and she hit the gas pedal harder than necessary.

  “What is it?”

  She filled him in on her research. “The realtor’s name is Allison Greenwood. I’m on my way to meet her now.”

  In the next lane, a man hung out the window of one of the Clemson cars and yelled to the car behind him, distracting her for a second.

  “A realtor?” Connelly asked. “You think she’ll know anything?”

  “I think someone should find out. It’s her listing. I imagine she visits the building occasionally. I’ll let you know if I learn anything worth an additional look.”

  “I’m at the lab, trying to find out why the print analysis hasn’t been done. I’ll give them a few more minutes and then head over and join you.”

  Victoria stopped at a gas station and took her time filling her tank and purchasing a bottle of water before continuing to her destination.

  Sitting in her car outside the realtor’s office, she drummed her fingers across the steering wheel. She could handle being away from home, as long as she was making a difference. But when she was just killing time, she was reminded of all that was waiting for her at home. Mainly, Ned and her dogs. There was also her father. She should visit him once she was back, take him up on his frequent offers to meet for lunch. Maybe she could bring Ned with her. Or was it too soon? She’d never had a guy she wanted her Dad to meet. Plenty of male dogs, but no humans. Her work and her dogs consumed her life, never allowing time for a serious relationship—until now. For once, she felt like a normal person.

  She took a few sips of water, glanced at her watch, and called Ned.

  “Hey there,” he said. The sound of his voice, the voice usually accompanied by his warm smile, made her heart skip a beat.

  “Hi. I’m just calling to say hello.” And this time, I’m going to ask about him first. “How is your day going so far?”

  “Good. I’m just hanging out with the dogs right now. Going to watch a game later. My sister and her husband might come over to watch with me, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course, it’s okay!” She really liked the idea of his family coming over. She just wished she could be there, too. Once we get Emma back . . .

  “What’s going on there?”

  “Nothing right now. I’m just waiting on someone. But there’s something I meant to talk to you about yesterday and I forgot.”

  “Uh, oh. That doesn’t sound good. Did one of the dogs complain about me? Did Eddie say I was skimping on his meals?”

  She laughed, almost told him no before realizing how ridiculous that would be, and laughed again. “Any chance you learned about livestock in vet school?”

  An S-class Mercedes sedan parallel parked in front of her.

  “Farm animals?” Ned asked. “Like chickens and pigs?”

  An elegant woman with long, straight red hair and pale skin exited the Mercedes wearing a black sheath dress.

  “Miniature donkeys,” Victoria said, watching the woman through her front windshield. “Would you be able to care for sick donkeys?” If he said yes, then he was getting a well-deserved salary bump for sure.

  Without glancing toward Victoria’s rental, the woman sauntered away on high heels with balance-a-book-on-her-head posture.

  “Sure, with some research,” Ned said. “I’m no expert, but I have a buddy who specialized in equine health I could consult with. You know someone with a sick donkey?”

  As soon as the woman disappeared inside the office, Connelly arrived and parked across from Victoria.

  “I’m so sorry, Ned. I thought I had more time, but now I have to go. I’m following up on a potential lead. Can I call you back later?”

  “No problem.”

  She listened for any sign of annoyance but didn’t detect any. His easy-going nature was one of the things she appreciated most about him, along with his love for animals, his kindness, his intellect, his discipline, and his incredibly fit body. And he seemed to get that things with her would need to move slowly. “Tonight? After your family leaves?”

  “Sure. I’ll be here. No worries.”

  She waited for him to say goodbye before hanging up, feeling a twinge of guilt. Next time she called she would make sure she had more time so she wouldn’t be ending the call abruptly again.

  Victoria put her phone away and got out of her car. The detective waved. As she walked over to meet him, he popped the last piece of a bagel into his mouth.

  “Any break with the evidence from the basement?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Did they find prints on the trash or the book?”

  “Yes. They lifted some from the foil wrappers and scanned them.” He ran his tongue over his teeth like there might be something stuck on them. “No matches.”

  “What databases did you use?”

  “All of them.”

  “Why don’t you send them over to me, we’ve got experts . . .”

  “So do we.”

  Victoria frowned. His tone made her realize she’d overstepped. Her comment had come off as condescending. She could hear his phone buzzing, but she had several more questions about the investigation. “Did you access her emails yet?”

  “Someone is working on it.” Connelly thrust his hand into his coat pocket to retrieve his phone.

  “Still working on it? That could be your best lead. Why haven’t—”

  He held up a finger for Victoria and lifted his phone to his head. “Detective Connelly.”

  Victoria blew out a breath, checking her frustration at the door as they entered the office. At the reception desk, Connelly was still listening to whoever was on the other end of his phone. “Allison Greenwood, please,” Victoria said.
>
  The middle-aged receptionist smiled at Victoria. “Sure.” Then the woman turned to Connelly. “And welcome back.”

  Connelly finished his call and grinned. “You have a good memory.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said, beaming. “As a matter of fact, I do. And in case you don’t—Miss Greenwood’s office is down the hall.” Still smiling, she pointed in the general direction. “First door on the right.”

  “I was once a client,” Connelly explained to Victoria as he walked down the hallway.

  “You know the realtor we’re meeting?” Victoria asked.

  Connelly shrugged and kept moving. “We’ve met.”

  “But you didn’t remember her name earlier?”

  They had reached Allison Greenwood’s office, and there wasn’t time for him to answer.

  Inside the bright, white space, the same striking woman with the perfect posture stood up from behind a desk and greeted them with a polished smile. Close up, Victoria could tell the woman was in her mid-thirties. Attractive and exceptionally well-maintained. After introductions were made, the realtor asked if she could offer them anything to drink, appearing as gracious as she was beautiful.

  “No, thank you,” Victoria said.

  “If you’ll excuse me for just one minute,” Miss Greenwood said as she walked around the desk, “I just got in and there’s one thing I need to take care of.” The realtor’s gaze locked with Connelly’s for just a second longer than Victoria considered normal, but she said nothing to suggest she had met him before.

  Once the realtor left the room, Victoria whispered, “Not sure she remembers who you are.”

  Connelly made a sad, comical, clown-face. “Well thank you very much for rubbing that in. I guess I’m easy to forget.” Without missing a beat, his confident, laid-back smile reappeared.

  “So, she wasn’t your realtor, then?”

  Connelly’s face twitched. The soft but unmistakable buzz of a vibrating phone filled the quiet office. Connelly was still holding a phone in his hand. That screen remained dark. The buzz was coming from his coat pocket.