Stranger in Town

CHAPTER 8





The lights inside Maybelle’s Market were still on when I arrived, and according to the sign in the window, I had twenty minutes before they closed. I was determined to make the most of it.

A young girl about the age of eighteen was politely giving instructions to a coworker when I walked in. She wore a red apron with the store’s name embroidered on the front. When I walked by, she looked at me and smiled, showcasing a mouth full of perfectly positioned porcelain veneers. They reminded me of white Chicklet’s gum and were so bright I couldn’t look away no matter how hard I tried.

“Can I help you?” she said.

“Is the manager here?”

She thumbed to the right. “He’s in his office. Is everything all right?”

I nodded.

“I just wanted to ask him a few questions.”

“I can get him for you if you want.”

“How long have you worked here?” I said.

She paused for so long I thought I was going to be given the actual date and time right down to the last second.

“I kinda grew up here. My dad owns the store.”

“So you’re a Maybelle?”

Her laugh made me feel like I’d missed out on an inside joke. “Maybelle’s isn’t our last name. The store was named after Myra Maybelle Shirley, a famous outlaw. They used to call her “The Bandit Queen.” When my grandpa first opened the store, all he sold was coffee and that type of thing. He passed the store down to my dad, and now we sell practically everything.”

A man stepped out of a side office, a set of keys swinging from his pointer finger. He glanced at me and then checked the time on his wristwatch. Obviously, he had one thing on his mind: closing the store. He wore a faded white polo shirt that was several sizes too big and a pair of slacks that couldn’t hold their position without a belt. The man walked past us and then stopped. “Is there a problem?”

I shook my head.

“This young lady was just telling me about the history of this place.”

He shooed the girl away with his hand and came closer. “Do you need help finding something? We’re closing in five minutes.”

“I believe I’ve found what I was looking for,” I said.

His eyes searched my empty hands.

“Is there somewhere we can talk for a minute?” I said.

“What about?”

“Olivia Hathaway.”

The man whipped around and speed-walked so fast back into his office I could barely keep up with him. He held the door, ushering me into his office. Once inside, he closed the door, leaning against it like it was a welcome refuge from potential eavesdroppers on the outside.

His office smelled like a combination of an old jock strap and stale food, prompting me to keep our meeting short.

“Is there a problem?” I said.

“Who are you?”

“Not a reporter if that’s what you’re worried about,” I said.

“I’ve never seen you before, and you don’t look like you’re from here.”

I glanced down at my jeans and lavender sweater, wondering what he would have thought if I’d brought Maddie along with me. But he wasn’t eyeing my clothes. He was scrutinizing my Fendi handbag, a gift from Giovanni. I considered setting the major distraction on the floor until I noticed it looked like it hadn’t been mopped for a while. Apparently, store cleanliness didn’t extend to personal offices. I held the bag securely with both hands in front of me, tight against my legs to avoid contamination.

“My name is Sloane,” I said.

“Jim.”

Jim sat behind a beaten up metal desk that quite possibly had been around since his father owned the store. I sat opposite him on a chair that had a price tag dangling from the side. At least it was clean.

“I’m looking into the kidnapping of a couple girls over the past two years,” I said. “I understand Olivia was kidnapped from your store.”

He cleared his throat—twice. “I told everything I know to the cops, and then to the investigators that showed up after the cops, and then to the agents who showed up after the investigators. Why are you interested?”

“I’ve been hired to look into a few things.”

“Are you new?”

“New?” I said.

“Did they bring you in because the last two guys didn’t find anything?”

I shook my head.

“I’m not a cop.”

“Then what are you?”

“A private investigator.”

His eyes widened as if shocked people like me actually existed. “You shittin’ me? Olivia’s parents don’t got much money, so who hired you?”

“I can’t say.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Can’t or won’t?”

I smiled.

“It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

I’d smarted off, maybe a little too much for Jim’s liking, but his body language had already told me that while the store was open, he was closed.

“I’d better not talk to you.”

“All I want to know is what happened the day Olivia was taken,” I said.

“It was in the paper. Look it up.”

“I have,” I said. “I’m interested in hearing about your side of things.”

“It’s no different.”

“So there’s nothing you didn’t tell police—not one detail you left out?”

He raised a brow.

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I haven’t called you anything,” I said.

Yet.

He stood, hovering over me with his arms spread out over both sides of the desk like he expected it to produce a dramatic and lasting effect. But he wasn’t the first bully I’d gone up against, and he wouldn’t be the last.

“I want you to leave,” he said. “And don’t bother my daughter on the way out. People in this town are protective of each other. They won’t take kindly to you poking your nose around where it don’t belong. I’d move on if I were you.”

I left the store like he asked, but when I got in the car and shut the door, it miraculously opened back up again. Jim’s daughter and her teeth stood in the doorway. She glanced around the parking lot and hunched over.

“My name’s Jenny, by the way.”

Jim and Jenny. I wondered if all the names in their family started with a “J.”

“Sloane,” I said.

“I’m sorry I opened your door without permission. It’s just—I overheard you talking to my dad.”

“How?” I said. “The office door was shut.”

“The air vents in my dad’s office are connected to the ones in the next room, and well, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop—”

“But you did,” I said.

“There’s someone you should talk to while you’re in town.”

“Who?”

“His name is Todd Anderson. The day Olivia was kidnapped, he was here.”

“Working?”

She nodded.

“We were dating at the time. At least, we were trying to, but then my dad found out.”

“He didn’t approve?” I said.

She shook her head no.

“Why not?” I said.

She poked her head over the roof of my car, looked around, and then ducked down again. “Todd was in a band, only it wasn’t even a band, really. I tried to tell my dad that, but he didn’t care. He fired Todd to keep him from seeing me.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Why do I need to talk to him?” I said.

“Because on the day Olivia was kidnapped, he saw something.”