By the time I return to the bar, my nerves have settled and Lotham has finished half his water.
“Food?” I ask him.
“Honestly, I’ve had nothing but grease for days. What I could use is a salad, but that’s not exactly on the menu.”
“Viv has been known to do special orders. For her favorites.”
“Viv, from the kitchen?”
“That’s her. And judging by the way she was looking at you, you’re already one of her favorites.”
That earns me a grin. Briefly, the detective appears ten years younger. His job is a burden he never sets down. It is both extremely attractive and kind of sad. Trying to save the world can be as much a compulsion as drinking, except Lotham doesn’t have a twelve-step program to save him from himself. I wonder if he will burn out, become embittered with the job, the life he never took the time to build. Maybe one day he will envy me, but I doubt it.
I pop into the kitchen. Ask Viv if she wouldn’t mind making a garden salad for a friend. That earns me so many cackles and knowing winks I have to leave before I start blushing again.
But the salad comes and the detective turns his attention to his food. The bar empties out and soon enough, Stoney is there, ready to lock the front door. He eyes the detective questioningly.
“He’s going to stay for a bit.”
Stoney nods, locks up, then pockets the key before making a point of disappearing to his office. I don’t know how to close out the register, so eventually he’ll have to take care of that, but for now I start stacking chairs.
Without a word, Lotham slips off the table and carries his plate to the kitchen.
“Hello, handsome!” Forget about me, he’s officially made Viv’s night.
“Thank you, ma’am. That was exactly what I needed.”
“You come again, let me know and I’ll make you a steak. Then you’ll know exactly what you’ve needed.”
From the back room, I hear Stoney make a strangling sound. Then Lotham reappears, looking slightly wide-eyed and red-faced. At least it’s not just me. I hand him a broom. As long as he’s here, he might as well be useful.
He starts from the back, working his way to the front while I wipe down the last of the tables and finish with the chairs.
“Did you learn more about Livia Samdi?” I ask him finally.
“She’s definitely missing, and the family definitely doesn’t care for police involvement.”
“Wait, is that your way of saying there might be value to my particular approach?”
“A good cop would never encourage civilian involvement in a case.”
Which is not the same thing as no.
“When did Livia run away?” I continue.
“January. Nearly three months after Angelique.”
“And the circumstances?”
“Went to school and never came home again.”
“That sounds suspiciously familiar. And they never contacted police?”
“According to the mom, Roseline, it wasn’t the first time Livia had disappeared. Sometimes the girl wouldn’t come home on Friday but would show up to school on Monday like nothing happened. Lost weekends. Even a week here and there. Let’s just say, given the . . . nature . . . of the household, I’m surprised they noticed that much.”
“What did Livia take with her?”
“That’s the thing. According to the mom, Livia’s clothes, personal possessions are mostly accounted for. She didn’t own a computer, just a cell phone, which disappeared with her. We tried pinging it with no luck. But we’re now pulling a record of calls and texts from the provider. Will be interesting to see if the phone is genuinely no longer in use, or just activated in short intervals.”
“Had they heard of Angelique Badeau?”
“The mom recognized the name from the news, that’s it.”
“So they didn’t know she and Livia were friends?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure the mom knew any of Livia’s friends. Or hobbies, or favorite color. Not that kind of family.”
“In other words, the complete opposite of Angelique’s family.” I pause, my hands still on a back of a chair. “I wonder what brought the girls together? Opposites attract? Angelique the caretaker thinking she could help out with Livia’s sad life?”
Lotham shrugs.
“Livia have a history of drinking and drugs?”
“Given the family, I would say yes to both. But they aren’t talking about it.”
“Maybe a school guidance counselor can tell you more.”
“Which is where I’ll be first thing in the morning.”
“So much for sticking around for a late breakfast,” I grumble.
That earns me the detective’s full attention. His eyes darken. He stands ten feet away, still holding the broom, but there’s suddenly not enough air in the room.
“This is what we do know,” he says softly. “Angelique is alive, and she needs help.”
I nod.
“She is somehow connected to Livia Samdi, another missing girl. And we are absolutely, positively, not mentioning anything about red hats to the press.”
“Your hold-back detail.”
“Not to mention, we don’t need dozens of sightings of people in red ball caps tying up resources.”
“What about Angelique’s appearance today? Will you ramp back up the investigation?”
“We are taking the sighting very seriously. But as far as the public knows, we have no confirmation that was Angelique in the store today. Which works well with the clerk’s maybe, kind of, not really sure statement.”
“You don’t want to involve the public?” I ask in surprise. “Reissue the Amber Alert?”
Lotham leans against the broom. “Angelique clearly has some freedom of movement but doesn’t feel like she can come home—”
“She needs help! Help us. She said it herself.”
“Exactly. She feels threatened and in danger. Until we understand more about that threat, who and what it involves, the safest approach is to follow her lead and keep things quiet. We’re adding more officers to the case, don’t worry. But our official position, which I need to know you will support, is that there’s nothing new to see here.”
“Don’t insult me,” I tell him harshly. I return to stacking chairs. I honestly can’t decide what I think of this.