The Gift, page 18
part #1 of McKenna Mysteries Series
John Youstra had taught one of Grace’s forensic courses at the academy and for whatever reason, he took her under his wing, meeting with her after class to discuss their passion for forensic science. Having been a detective for several years before retiring and becoming a teacher of the subject, John gave her his most valuable piece of advice that a detective could have. He pressed the importance of immersing yourself in the suspect’s life and the everyday life and location that surrounded the victim.
Grace pulled up in front of Bridgeton Coffee Depot, where the townies came to gather and the students came to get their caffeine fix between and after classes. The coffee was good, the staff was friendly and if Grace was lucky, she just might be able to pick up on some clues that led her to Jenny Silva’s whereabouts.
Pulling the door open to the shop, she was greeted with scents of freshly roasted coffee beans and buttery bagel smells. A group of woman gathered in the corner chattering intensely about a longtime friend who had recently passed. A man sat nearby, offering his opinion every now and then between bites of a bagel smothered with cream cheese. A dollop of the cheese sat leftover on the corner of his mouth.
“What can I get you?” The girl behind the counter greeted Grace by getting right to the point. She wore all black and had a dove tattoo on each wrist. A chalkboard nametag rested on her shirt pocket, inscribed with Suzanne in messy scrawl.
“Ummm . . .”
“We have a list of flavored coffees here.” The girl turned a homemade sign toward her. “If you’re into that type of thing.”
“Hmmm, how about a snickerdoodle?”
“You got it. That tends to be a favorite around here, especially with the kids.” The girl went to work assembling the coffee. “How do you take it?”
“Just skim milk and sugar.”
“Here you go.” The girl slid the coffee across the counter and proceeded to help the person behind her in the line that was now forming.
“Thanks.” Grace slid into a table up against a wall covered in artwork and pretended to stir her coffee as she felt the group of ladies eyeing her.
She watched how as the line grew, people stood and chatted with one another, bundled in their winter gear. Everyone seemed to know each other. It made Grace wonder how Jenny Silva felt when she first moved to Bridgeton, and how she had stumbled across the hidden gem of a town. Was she following the young girl who she had given up for adoption so many years ago? Just as the wheels were turning in her head, she heard a tapping on the glass window and staring back at her was Anthony Waterford. A big white smile stood out against his tan skin and his kind blue eyes were accentuated against the navy blue ski hat he was wearing. He had a brown leather messenger bag slung across his chest making him look like a professor on his way to teach a class. As if they were old friends, Anthony opened the coffee shop door, surpassed the line and stood before her.
“It’s so good to see you again, Grace.”
“Seeing an awful lot of you these days. Guess it’s a small town thing, huh? Anything new since the grocery store?”
“Not much. Busy with work.” A flicker of nerves seemed to move in his eyes. “You know, I’ve been wanting to apologize about wasting your time when Mackenzie was just being a typical teenager with a dead phone. It kinda slipped my mind at the grocery store. I’m really sorry, I’m sure you have much more important things to deal with,” he said as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder.
“Oh, it’s the nature of the job,” said Grace. “Any big family activities planned for winter break?”
“Well, Mackenzie’s been so busy with her senior project and she’s probably too absorbed with her friends to hang with her family, but I did promise Penny I’d take her to that new cartoon movie with the panda.”
“That sounds nice. Hey, do you want to sit down and have a coffee?” Grace motioned to the empty chair across from her.
“Sure. No coffee for me, but are you sure you’re not meeting anyone?”
“Nope, just me. Just stopped in for a coffee on my way into work. You’re not a coffee drinker?”
“Nah, I tend to get bad ulcers. The acidity gets to me.” He unbuttoned the flap on his bag and started rummaging through its contents. “Ahhh, there it is,” he said as he dug deeper. Grace’s eyes caught onto something in his bag: a sketch pad.
“Are you an artist?” She pointed to the pad that was now sticking out from behind the leather flap.
“Um, no . . . God, no.” He stumbled, and for the first time Grace saw his eyes divert away from her, as if searching for an answer. “I took an art class. I guess I was trying to be an artist. I’ve since given up though; opted to stick with my talent as a card trick master,” he joked.
“Can I see?” Grace asked, pointing toward the pad. “It might make me feel better about my own attempt at being an artist.” The statement was a flat out lie. She never even had the slightest inclination to attempt drawing a circle, let alone take an art class.
“Oh, um . . . really, it’s quite embarrassing.”
“Trust me, I won’t laugh.”
Reluctantly, he slid the pad across the table, locking eyes with her before pulling a thermos out of his bag. “I made a resolution to be more environmentally friendly,” he said, holding up the cup. “Guess I’ll start early. I’ll be back.” He got up and stood in the diminishing line, appearing far more on edge than when he first walked in.
Hesitantly, Grace started to flip through the pad, bracing herself for some really bad art. Sketches of squares and three-dimensional images filled the pages, the pencil smudges forming a twin version of the pages they were pressed against. When Grace was halfway through the pad, she nearly lost her breath when she saw a colorful drawing of Anthony’s eye staring back at her. It was the match to the one that she had seen at Jenny’s house, the same color with brown flecks against the pale blue, an image that you would only notice if you were close up to someone’s face. She tried not to look too alarmed, and continued making her way through the pad. Several colorful sketches of sunflowers brightened up the pages. Each sunflower was in a different position. One was standing erect and reaching for a sun that was hidden between a huddle of gray clouds, another was bent over as if drained of water and life, nearly a replica of the one hanging outside the principal’s office. The one that stood out the most was the one of the little blonde girl, clenching the sunflower with two chubby fists. Her head was tilted forward. She sniffed the flower, her lips concealed by the big yellow blossom as a pair of deep-brown eyes looked up. The eyes looked hesitant but confident, timid but fierce. The little pools of water at the bottom of the eyes reflected a sadness that was unsettling to Grace. Whoever had drawn this had to be feeling pulled and compelled by this little girl. It was the first piece of artwork Grace had ever seen that was as close to real life as art could get. After she made sure Anthony was in a heavy conversation with another man in line, she tugged at the bottom of the paper until the binding released the picture. She folded it under the table and slid it into her inside coat pocket.
“Hey, so what do you think? I can draw one hell of a 3-D cube, huh?” Anthony slid into the seat, covering the top of his thermos with a hand, while flicking the tea bag string with his thumb.
“Actually, these are pretty good, Anthony. I can’t say I’ve ever seen such beautiful colors and lines,” Grace said as she flipped back to one of the sunflowers.
“The teacher did that one as an example, and I was so frustrated, I had planned on taking it home to trace.”
“Where did you take these classes? I’d like to take one sometime. It’s kinda been on my bucket list.”
“Oh, they don’t have them anymore. It was a onetime thing they were trying out at the library.”
Grace had to admit, Anthony was quick on his feet for someone who was lying through his teeth.
“Well, I better get going. Gotta hit the office.” He closed the sketch pad and shoved it back into his messenger bag.
“It was nice seeing you, Anthony. Keep in touch.”
“Sure thing, detective.” He gave a curt smile, before nearly slamming into the barista who was delivering a coffee to the table next to them.
Grace waited until he was halfway to the door. “Anthony, one more thing. When was that class at the library?”
“You know, I can’t remember exactly. It was a few months ago. Sometime at the end of summer or beginning of fall. Sorry.”
Grace gave him her best smile and nodded. As soon as he was out of sight, she swept her coffee cup off the table and raced out of the café, aware of the group of ladies eyes on her. She could only imagine what they were saying.
***
Grace felt a sense of relief when she saw Mark’s car in the station’s parking lot. He was probably finishing up his workout with the newbies. She couldn’t wait to tell him about the new detail she’d found.
She whipped the door open and raced by Barb’s desk and the console. After the incident at the Christmas party, she didn’t even bother making an effort with Barb.
“McKenna!” Barb’s voice stopped her in her tracks. Was she hearing things?
“Listen, Barb, I don’t want to fight with you, so I’ll just mind my own business and stay away from you, but remember we still work together and I have to walk by your desk to get to my office so if you don’t like it—”
“McKenna, stop.” Barb stood at her desk, grabbed Grace’s arm and ushered her to the small conference room. “Sit.” She pointed to the nearest seat and slid into the one on the opposite side. Grace ran her hands over the wooden table, feeling the leftover muffin or donut crumbs from the last meeting. “You were right.”
“What are you talking about, Barb?”
“You were right about Eric. I did a little recon. Turns out that his wife left him because of an incident that happened with the babysitter. I didn’t want to get too many details, because I was so disgusted. His wife—ex, was taking the high road and didn’t want his family and work to turn on him. God knows how people feel about child molesters.”
Grace couldn’t help but be proud of Eric for being honest with his wife, assuming he ended up sharing his side of the story. And a piece of Grace couldn’t help but think that maybe she had led him to spilling his demons.
“So, you actually trusted my word enough to investigate the situation?”
“Yeah, you’re not all that bad, Princess.”
“But, what about if it happens again, and his wife doesn’t want to press charges. I know there isn’t any tangible proof but—”
“I already took care of that. I cornered him and threatened to report him. He told me to talk to the girl. So, of course I did that—you know me.”
“And?”
“She admitted that while she was far younger than Eric, she had agreed to the sexual relation.” Barb held up her fingers to signify quotes around the word relation. “Eric admits it was a mistake and she was too young, but he didn’t force himself on her. He’s in a black hole. His wife won’t give him a second chance, and who can blame her. I’d twist that rat bastard’s balls off if he was my husband.”
“So, where does that leave you and Eric?”
“Well, I’m absolutely disgusted with him, but he is family. I don’t turn my back on blood.” Barb cracked her knuckles as dampness formed a layer over her hazel eyes, creating a sparkle that made her appear vulnerable and sad. “It’s just those girls . . . his daughters. I know how much he loves them. He really does. As someone who never had a father, I can really appreciate how present he is with them. He’s never once missed a life event, never wasn’t there to tuck them in . . . until now. His ex won’t let him see them since she found out. So, I approached her and made a deal. If I supervise the visits, she has agreed to let him spend a few hours once a week with the girls. It’s a start. I just can’t believe that he would be so stupid. And here I am picking up the pieces.” Barb’s face was covered in tears now, salty droplets of emotions cascading down her pink cheeks.
“Well, that’s because you know he’s a good person overall. A good dad, at least. It’s okay to have a heart. Barb. If there were more people in the world who had half the heart you have . . . well, this world would be a hell of a lot better.”
“But . . . how did you know about any of this? Why would he tell you? I mean, he’s pretty dumb, but I didn’t think he’d be that dumb.”
“I just knew. I can’t really explain it. At least not now,” Grace said, suddenly feeling nervous about having told Mark about her gift. “Just do me a favor, Barb: Stop worrying about it and just focus on helping him.”
“Whatever you say, Princess.” Barb got up and walked around the table toward the door, her hips still swaying side to side even in the midst of her sadness. Grace pushed herself from the table and stood, nearly bumping into Barb. “One more thing,” she said as she pulled Grace into a hug. “I’m sorry. About not trusting you. About the not-so-nice things I said to you at the party. I’m really sorry. And you know how hard that is for me to say, right?” Barb hid her face in Grace’s shoulder.
“Yes, I know how hard it is for you to give up your stubbornness,” Grace joked, pulling Barb into a tight hug and feeling elated at their rekindled friendship.
“Oh, and on another note . . . I’m just gonna ask you once and I’ll never mention it outside of this conference room. What’s up with Mark?”
“What do you mean?” Grace couldn’t help but reveal a faint smile ripple across her face.
“You little devil, Princess! I friggin’ knew it.”
“It’s not what you think . . . yet, at least.” She winked and turned on a heel, leaving Barb in a pool of questions.
Grace made her way downstairs to the gym, hoping to catch Mark before he signed in for patrol. She used the wobbly railing to guide her down the dark staircase that led to a room that held a row of small jail cells used as a holding place until criminals were released or sent off to a jail that was better equipped to house prisoners. Down the long narrow hallway outside the cells was a room just big enough to hold a punching bag, a treadmill, a bench and a set of old rusty weights. A shelf of donated equipment, including a jump rope, kettlebells, a rack of weight plates and a few old Men’s Fitness magazines sat along one side of the boxy, dank room. Rap music blasted from a small CD player that sat on the floor. The music came out fuzzy as it ricocheted off the four walls, penetrating Grace’s tender ears that were used to lighter more calming music like Norah Jones and Jack Johnson. A couple of full-length mirrors were hung side by side, for the purpose of checking one’s form.
Mark was engrossed in training the rookie, his hands guiding the guy’s forearms in a bicep curl. The guy’s face looked like it was about to explode as Mark serenaded him with motivational words like “breathe,” “you got this,” and “one more.” As cheesy as Grace thought it was to see two men guiding each other through heavy lifting intended to bulk up, she couldn’t help but be inspired by Mark’s undying motivation for everything he did in life. It made her wonder why he didn’t go for detective and why he seemed intent on staying as a patrol officer. Grace took a seat on the weight bench that was moved to the corner of the room as Mark’s eyes flashed in her direction, noticing her presence.
“You’re all set, kid. Good job.” He grabbed the weights from the rookie, dropped them on the rack and bent down to lower the blasting music. “Remember what I said about protein. Recovering the muscles is the most important part of working out.”
“Yes, sir.” The rookie gave a mock salute before scanning Grace’s body on his way to the showers.
“Do you always listen to obnoxious rap music when training?” Grace teased.
“Shut it,” Mark joked as he wiped down some droplets of sweat that had landed on the floor. Then he surprised Grace and wheeled the bench she was sitting on to the middle of the room, her hands gripping the sides as she went along for the ride. “What’s up?” He asked as he settled the bench and crouched down so he was eye level with her. She wasn’t sure if it was the rippling of his abs visible through his sweat-drenched shirt or the way he paused and gave her his undivided attention, but she felt heat move through her body like a wave coming to its peak.
“I got something.” She opened her black jacket and plucked her newfound evidence out. “Check it out.”
“A little girl sniffing a flower?” Mark looked confused.
“A little girl that looks just like Mackenzie. Brown eyes, light hair and sniffing Jenny Silva’s favorite flower. And that’s not all—remember the sketch of the eye that I told you about?”
“Anthony’s eye?”
“Yes. There was another drawing in this sketch pad of Anthony’s eye. It was the opposite one of the one I saw in her apartment.”
“First of all, how do you remember which eye and second of all, what sketch pad?”
“I took a picture on my phone when I was at her house.” Grace went on to tell him about the accidental meeting with Anthony at the coffee shop that morning and how awkward he got about the art class. “Anthony and Mackenzie are somehow connected to Jenny Silva. Do you think he knows that she’s the biological mother? Do you think he tracked her down?”
“Wow. This is getting a bit freaky.” Mark swiped a hand over his face before resting it on her knee. The gesture came so natural to him, like they were one of those couples who had been together so long that their bodies just clicked into place.
“I know. First things first. I need to find out if there was ever an art class hosted at the library.”
“Okay. What can I do?”
“Any updates from Rain?”
“She’s working on finding out who at the school is adopted, or knows who is adopted, for that matter. She has a friend who is adopted and pretty open about it, and even tried to track down his biological mother. In fact, she’s taking the task so seriously that she is thinking about having the topic of her senior project be nature versus nurture or something like that. She’s sent out an announcement on social media to anyone who is interested in being interviewed. Of course, they would have to be aware that they’re adopted. That’s the tricky part. Not sure if it will work, but it’s worth a try, right?”
