“Were you around this morning, say about 7:15?” Rena asked.
“We get up about 5:30,” Grace said. “Have coffee and breakfast by 6:00. So, yes, we were here. I made some banana bread this morning so I was probably in the kitchen. What were you doing, Jim, at 7:15?”
“I was downstairs, fixing that old toaster.”
“We’re just curious if you saw anything unusual at or near the day care?” Rena said.
“Unusual how?” Grace asked.
Rena shrugged. “Anything that might have seemed different. Different people. Different noises. Different smells. Anything that might have struck you as odd.”
“I can’t think of anything, but then again, we weren’t paying attention. The day care has been there for years. It creates some traffic on the street, which we weren’t crazy about in the beginning, but we enjoy watching the little ones on the playground, and sometimes they take them for walks right past our house. They got a rope that they have the littler ones hang on to and when they get a little older, the kids hold hands. It reminds us of when our kids were young.”
A.L. could easily imagine the scene. Lots of innocence had been lost tonight.
Rena pulled a card from her pocket. “If you think of anything, I’d appreciate a call.”
“Will do,” Grace said, reaching for it. “Tell your mother-in-law we said hello.”
“I will.”
They walked down the steps. When they were far enough not to be overheard, A.L. said, “You really can’t go anywhere in this town that somebody doesn’t know at least one of the Morgans.”
“They were sweet. I’m sure Gabe’s mom will remember them. I swear she’s stayed in touch with every buyer or seller she ever worked with.”
“Let’s go to the sandwich shop. I doubt he’s very busy. Nobody can get down the street.”
“His business is called Panini Playground,” Rena said, with one eyebrow raised. “You think that maybe affects his business?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard better. Maybe it’s a play off the learning center.”
“You’re thinking that somebody there might have seen something?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t hurt to ask.”
“They wouldn’t have been open that early,” Rena said. “It’s a lunch and dinner place.”
“You never worked in a restaurant, did you?” A.L. said.
“No. Why?”
“People are in hours earlier than it opens. Prepping for the day. Then they work all day.”
“Sort of like police work,” she said.
* * *
A.L. ordered a panini with salami and pepperoni and Rena chose a chicken and pesto from a tired-looking sixtysomething guy wearing a once-white apron over jeans and a chambray shirt.
“Slow night,” she said as she paid for her order. A.L. had hit the bathroom.
He shrugged. “You a cop?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s about all we’ve had tonight. Plus a few volunteers. Hell of a thing. A missing kid.”
“Anybody from here around this morning?”
“I got in about 9:00.”
Early but not early enough, thought Rena. “Are you the owner?”
“Yeah. Going on seven years.”
“I’m Detective Morgan. What’s your name, sir?”
“Antonio Gibacki.”
“How’s the neighborhood, Mr. Gibacki?”
“We’ve been happy. There’s a couple apartment buildings two blocks over that occasionally have a few lowlifes, but I know how to protect my place if it comes to that.”
She decided to ignore that he probably was insinuating that he kept a gun on the premises.
A cook, partially visible in the kitchen via the pass-through window, placed two baskets on the stainless-steel edge. The man turned and grabbed them. “Just last night,” he said, setting the steaming food in front of Rena, “I had two assholes that I needed to show to the door.”
“Because?” Rena said.
The man shook his head. “They were a couple of punks. Loud. I had some regulars in here and they were getting irritated.”
“So these punks were strangers?” Rena asked. A.L. had returned and now stood silently next to her.
“I hadn’t seen them before. Maybe they’re new to the apartments. I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll see ’em again.”
Strangers in the neighborhood the night before a five-year-old child went missing. “Mr. Gibacki, this is my partner Detective McKittridge. Can you tell us what these guys looked like?” she asked.
The guy blew out a breath. “White. Skinny. Early to midthirties. Both of them had on pants that they practically had to hold up to keep them on.”
“Hair?”
“One brown. The other was a redhead. Had a thick head of hair. To his shoulders. I had a cousin who had that thick, coarse red hair and he hated it.”
Rena resisted the urge to pat her own red hair but she could feel some heat creep into her face.
Maybe the guy saw it. Maybe he realized that he’d stepped in it. “Now, you got nice red hair. Real pretty.”
“Thank you,” she said. Not always. Her husband called her RB for short. Redhead Bedhead. “Scars? Tattoos?” she asked.
The guy frowned at her. “They all got tattoos. Every single one of these idiots. Can’t be bothered to buy a bar of soap to clean up but they can afford some six-hundred-dollar ink. These two weren’t any different. The redhead had a whole arm full of it and the other had something but I’m not sure what. They really weren’t here all that long.”
“I understand.” Rena picked up the baskets.
“Didn’t happen to see what these two might have been driving?” A.L. asked.
The man shook his head. “I watched them walk up the street until they got to the end of the block. They didn’t get into a car. I guess that’s why I thought maybe they were new to the apartments.”
Rena smiled at the man. “Nice meeting you,” she said. “Food smells good.”
Once she and A.L. were in the plastic booth, she looked at her partner. “What do you think?”
“I think we eat and go find these apartment buildings. Knock on some doors.”