Microphones and Murder Page 10

  “That’s because he didn’t listen.” Jeremy rolled his chair closer and slammed his pointer finger on the desk. “I told him exactly where I was, who I was with, and when I was there. I even provided phone numbers and flight information for him to check, but he never did. Never.”

  “How do you know he didn’t?” I asked.

  “I know he didn’t.”

  Just like Carlos, I had no idea what to make of Jeremy Wang’s demeanor. I sensed his frustration. I sensed the pure affection he had for Amelia. I sensed the reservation in his words, and I had the strangest feeling that he was hiding something from us.

  But what?

  I checked my questions. “Do you know Carlos Hermosa?”

  “No.”

  “Detective Ramsey didn’t ask you about him?”

  “No.”

  “The name doesn’t sound familiar at all?”

  “No.”

  “Amelia never mentioned him?”

  “She lived with her parents during the time we were dating.”

  I referred back to my questions. “Have you ever been to Waller Park?”

  Jeremy scrunched his brows together. “I don’t think so. Millie would go running there sometimes.”

  My stomach did a summersault, and Camry and I shared a look.

  “W-why do you care about Waller Park?” Jeremy asked.

  I cleared my throat. “A decomposed body was found there yesterday by a city worker. We haven’t been able to come up with more information.”

  Jeremy leaned back. “I think I heard about that. They haven’t identified the body yet, though.”

  “Do you think it could be Amelia?” I asked cautiously.

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t appear bothered by the possibility that Amelia’s body had been found, which gave me two thoughts.

  One: it had been so long that he had already come to terms with the fact that Amelia was dead.

  Two: he wasn’t worried that the body was Amelia because he knew where she was. And she wasn’t at Waller Park.

  I blew out a breath and checked my list of questions. “What did you make of the YouTube video?”

  Jeremy frowned. “The entire video looked like an accident blown out of proportion.”

  “Did she ever drink or experiment with narcotics?” I asked.

  “No,” he said without pause. “She didn’t like the way alcohol made her feel, and to my knowledge she never touched a drug.”

  There went Camry’s theory.

  “What about her weight loss? Everyone we’ve talked to has made a comment about how thin she was.”

  “I think the stress of our break-up, coupled with training for a marathon, caused her to lose weight.”

  “Did you know a guy by the name of Blake Kirkland?” I asked.

  Jeremy’s cheeks went red. “I know of him. He took off before I could meet him in person. Coward. He sent me a letter apologizing for sharing the video, talking about how guilty he felt. But he obviously didn’t feel that bad if he didn’t take it down. I hate that video. That’s not Millie, and it kills me that’s how everyone will remember her.”

  “Can you tell us who the real Millie was?” I asked. Through all my research I still didn’t know who Amelia Clark was. I had glimpses of an athletic, pretty girl who had a bad night, but no idea who she really was.

  “Millie Clark had a self-deprecating sense of humor. She took pride in her work, was artistic, a terrible cook but a good baker, and she snored.” His mouth curved into a smile. “She claimed she didn’t, but I can assure you she did, especially when she was really tired. She was a vegetarian, and she was scared of chickens, wouldn’t go near them, or talk about them. She was a human calculator, could do math in her head even better than I can. Was particularly good with statistics. She had the best laugh—it was this loud, boisterous, contagious giggle. I couldn’t get enough. She had a tender heart. She put other people’s needs before her own.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “She liked her TV shows. She’d talked about the characters like they were real. If a commercial came on and the announcer said, ‘Are you unhappy with your long-distance plan?’ she’d answer him. Always. She’d force me to sit and watch Grey’s Anatomy with her. I hated it, but I watched it solely because she enjoyed it so much. I still watch it to this day for the same reason.”

  The lobby door jingled. Jeremy blinked the tears from his eyes, and Camry handed him an owl tissue. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I got carried away and forgot a client is coming in.”

  I choked back my own emotions and reminded myself that no matter how touching of a soliloquy that was, Jeremy very well could be the reason Amelia was gone.

  “I appreciate your help.” I gave him a business card. “If you think of anything else please don’t hesitate to call.”

  Jeremy walked us out. A young couple was waiting in the lobby.

  “What’s your goal for this podcast?” Jeremy asked us at the door. “Is it like Cold in America where you tell the story and hope the public takes it from there? Or are you actively looking for Amelia?”

  Good question.

  It would be unprofessional to suggest I was qualified or even capable of solving a missing-person case.

  Even if that was my goal.

  “I want to tell Amelia’s story in hopes someone with information will come forward,” I said. “If anything, we can show people that Amelia was more than Aluminum Woman.”

  Jeremy smiled. “I’d like that.”

  Episode Nine

  Morning Knolls

  I was aching to get home and listen to Jeremy’s interview, but there was still work to be done. I decided to test my luck and try Janet (just in case the podcast gods were still on my side). The Clarks lived in an area of Santa Maria called Morning Knolls—a modest neighborhood with modest homes and modest street names.

  Siri announced our arrival, and I had to double-check the address: 343 Humble Drive.

  Yep, this is it.

  For someone who wanted to “make it on her own,” Amelia didn’t stray far. I could see the top of her apartment building from the street.

  Located at the end of a cul-de-sac, the Clark house was smaller than I pictured it would be. A single-story stucco home with blue fascia, brick columns, and a patch of bright green grass out front. To the right was a vacant house, and to the left was a vacant lot. Morning Knolls was established in the late eighties but there’s a pattern. Occupied house, vacant lot, occupied house, vacant house, vacant house, occupied house.

  “Why are there so many empty lots and houses around here?” I asked Camry.

  “I don’t know. Let’s ask Google.” She consulted her phone. “Google has no idea. Seems like a nice place to live. If suburban America is your thing.”

  Suburban America is a lot of people’s thing.

  “It doesn’t look like Janet is home,” said Camry.

  No it didn’t. The garage was closed. No car in the driveway. Blinds drawn. “We should at least knock,” I said.

  I hid the microphone inside my shirt. Through the side window, I could see the glow of the television. “Someone must be home,” I said.

  Camry knocked. “You nervous? ‘Cause you look it? Are you nervous?”

  “Stop asking me if I’m nervous, it makes me nervous.” Great, now I’m nervous.

  Which didn’t matter since there was no answer.

  So we knocked again.

  And again.

  And again.

  “Someone is home. Richard is at the bakery, so it has to be Janet,” I said.

  “Maybe she’s watching us,” said Camry and shifted her eyes from side to side.

  We searched the entryway for cameras and didn’t find one.

  I cupped my hands and peeked through the window. There was a dusty piano with a large photo of Millie a
s a child hung on the wall in the family room. The frame was gold and had cobwebs hanging off of it. Amelia looked to be around seven years old in the picture. Her smile was gap-toothed, her bangs teased, her hair braided into two pigtails, and there was a duck pond in the distance. I couldn’t see the couch from the window, or the television, or any sign of life.

  “Give me a business card,” I said to Camry.

  Camry pulled out a card and I scribed on the back. Mrs. Clark, we’d love to speak with you. It does not have to be recorded. Thank you, Liv Olsen.

  I tucked the card under the welcome mat.

  “You use the word ‘love’ a lot,” Camry said as we walked down the driveway.

  “No I don’t.”

  “You say, ‘I’d love to interview you,’ or ‘I’d love to meet with you.’ I’d love...love...love.”

  Okay. Maybe I do.

  I made a mental note to stop it.

  We got in the car. “What now?” asked Camry.

  “You can find more information on Blake Kirkland while I edit the second episode. Let’s try calling the newspaper again to see if they’ll give us anything on the body. I need to email contacts and listen to Jeremy’s interview.” I buckled in and started the engine. There were so many things to do, and such a short time to do them. A cloning machine would be helpful right about now.

  “I say we go out!” Camry acted like this was the best idea she’d ever had.

  “What? No.”

  “I would love if you went out with me.”

  “No.”

  “Come on we’ve never just hung.”

  “No.”

  “Please,” she said, and clasped her hands together. “It will rejuvenate us. You think Santa Maria has a night life?”

  “I think I have a ton of work to do, plus I’d lo...I want to do that interview with Hazel.”

  “We’ll do it first thing in the morning while she’s cooking breakfast. I promise not to go to bed until I find more information on Blake Kirkland. Come on. Let’s see what Santa Maria has to offer. Get to know the locals.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  We did this for a while, until I gave in.

  Mostly because Camry had been working hard, and I knew the interview with Jeremy brought up a lot of suppressed emotions. I also knew she needed fun in order to stay motivated. “Fine. What did you have in mind?”

  “Hold on, I’m asking the mom’s group.”

  Episode Ten

  “Lost” Footage

  While no one was willing to speak to us about Amelia Clark, over one hundred moms weighed in on what Camry and I should do on a Friday night.

  Movie at the Mall.

  Santa Maria Racetrack.

  Haggerman Field to watch a softball game.

  Every third comment involved wine.

  Neither Camry nor I liked wine.

  Until we received a Facebook message from a local winery. They wanted to give us complimentary VIP treatment for the night. Cowboy-limo ride included.

  Then we liked wine just fine.

  VIP sounded fancy. I didn’t pack fancy. What I had was a pair of dark jeans, a white lace tank top, a blue blazer and black Converse wedges. I let my hair fall below my shoulders in a pile of red curls and slipped my portable recorder into my pant pocket. Camry must have thought clubbing was on the agenda because she had on a short black romper, leaving nothing to the imagination, her makeup was worthy of its own YouTube tutorial, and her hair was pulled into a high bun.

  We invited Hazel to join us. Even though she had already started on our six-course dinner, she happily abandoned her post and got ready. She reappeared looking quite fab in a pair of black gaucho pants, a scoop necked red top and sheer scarf.

  Standing next to Camry and Hazel, I felt like the frump of the trio.

  Turned out a cowboy limo was really a Suburban. Which was fine by me, the last time I rode in a limo was for my mother’s funeral. There’s nothing quite so somber as following a hearse. Watching your father and grown bother in tears, and…

  Nope. No. No. No. There is no need to tromp down that memory lane.

  Tonight, we would let our hair down, sip wine and...do whatever else it is you do at a wine tasting.

  The Grotto De’Vino was located in Old Orcutt—about four miles from CinnaMann’s Bakery. It had the same old western vibe as the rest of the town. The parking lot was packed and...great. Oliver was waiting out front.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “I invited him.” Hazel applied a layer of red lipstick and smacked her lips. “Doesn’t he look dashing with his new hair cut? It was my idea.”

  “Yeah, dashing all right,” I muttered.

  Actually, I was glad he was there. It had taken me two days, but I finally came up with a good retort to his “in over your head” comment.

  And it was a good one.

  Oliver was wearing a white collared shirt tucked into a pair of dark jeans, and he was chatting candidly with the guy working the valet booth. Hazel grabbed him by the arm to let him know we’re here.

  He turned and smiled. “You ladies look beautiful tonight.”

  “Thanks. Let’s go in,” I said. My retort was not suitable for Hazel’s ears and would have to wait until we were alone.

  Also, I had to look up the ASL signs for “moron.”

  Oliver held the door open for us and we stepped inside. A man in a suit appeared out of nowhere. “Good evening, Ms. Olsen and guests. Please, follow me.”

  He recognized me?

  Wow.

  I couldn’t help but feel important.

  We glided through the reception area into a softly lit room with candles in alcoves, wine barrels stacked against one wall, and linen-covered tables. There was a woman sitting atop a barstool in the corner with her guitar, crooning Adele hits. We were escorted to a u-shaped booth in the back. It was cozy. It was romantic. It was VIP.

  We slid into the booth. Camry first. Hazel followed. I was next. Oliver last.

  Is there a graceful way to enter a u-shaped booth?

  “This place is so fancy,” Hazel said in awe as she looked around. “I’ve lived here all my life and have never been wine tasting at...I forget, where are we?”

  “The Grotto De’Vino,” answered a woman in a shift dress and cowboy boots. “I’m Sandy the owner, and you must be Liv?” She reached a hand out to me. “I recognize you from your profile picture.”

  Right. Camry was using my Facebook account.

  Which suddenly felt like a very bad idea.

  “Hi Sandy.” Camry waved. “I’m the one you spoke to online. I’m Liv’s sister, Camry Lewis, and this is my Aunt Hazel and cousin Oliver.”

  “Awe, a family affair. I love it!” Sandy clasped her hands over her heart. “I’m thrilled you took me up on my invitation to come tonight. We’re a family-owned business, been here over fifty years. And can I just say that I think this podcast you’re doing is a wonderful idea. I grew up in the house behind Millie and would love to see her brought home safely.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Oliver was on his phone swiping through YouTube comments. I touched his shoulder so he knew what was going on.

  He looked up at Sandy and smiled. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” she said back.

  “Do you still live in Morning Knolls?” I asked and signed. She was caught off guard by my use of ASL, but quickly put two and two together.

  “No! My parents sold their house in 2010!”

  “You really don’t have to yell,” said Oliver.

  “So-rr-y!” Sandy made the sign for “thank you.”

  “We were at Morning Knolls this afternoon.
Do you know why there are so many vacant lots and empty houses?” I asked as I signed.

  “Yes! It’s because of the con-tam-in-ated soil!” She made an “x” with her pointer fingers. “The oil company bought back a lot of the hou-ses! It was a big lawsuit!”

  Oliver returned his attention to the phone in his hand.

  “Hold on a second.” I pulled the recorder from my back pocket. “I’d lo...like to hear more if you have a moment?”

  She had a moment.

  Twenty of them to be exact.

  Camry, Hazel and Oliver sat by while Sandy explained (loudly and enunciating each syllable) the 2006 lawsuit against the oil company filed by her parents and seven other families who lived on the same street.

  According to Sandy, none of the families were informed of possible ground contamination from past oil production in the area when they purchased their home. Of the eight families involved, there were three cases of leukemia, two hypothyroidism, one thyroid cancer, and one brain tumor. All diagnosed in their late teens/early twenties. All grew up in Morning Knolls, playing in the dirty soil, growing vegetable gardens and fruit trees, mud fights, running through the sprinklers—just being kids without any inclination that the sand filling their sandboxes was poisonous.

  Sandy’s brother was diagnosed with leukemia at twelve and again at twenty-three. He died in 2009. According to Sandy, the oil company eventually paid punitive damages, bought the homes, cleaned the bad soil, and managed to do so without going to court and with very little press.

  “And you lived one street over from the Clarks?” I asked.

  Sandy had since taken a seat. “Their backyard backed up to ours! They had several houses on their street with bad soil as well. That was a different lawsuit!”

  “Do you know if the Clarks’ was tested?”

  “After the lawsuits, the oil company offered to test everyone. But I don’t know if the Clarks ever did!”

  “What year did the oil company start buying houses?”

  “In 2010!” She held up ten fingers, even though Oliver had completely checked out of this conversation.

  I made a mental note to ask Richard about the oil company and thanked Sandy for her time.