Microphones and Murder Page 13

  “Wait,” Camry said. “Don’t you think the blood came from her mouth since it was mixed with saliva?”

  “Probably, but I’m not about to put this in my mouth.” I was dedicated to the project. But I had to draw the line at gum mutilation.

  “You can floss and make your gums bleed,” Camry suggested.

  “My gums don’t bleed when I floss, if yours do, then it’s time to see a dentist.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Just cut your finger and get it over with.”

  “Okay.” I took a deep breath and counted to three. “Crap! That hurts.” Instinctually, I shoved my finger into my mouth and...Wait a second! I stared down at my fingertip, now coated with a mixture of my saliva and blood. I wrapped my hand around the steering wheel. When I removed it, the smudge was faint, but there. I tried it again until I got it in the right spot.

  “Amelia wasn’t holding the steering wheel tightly,” I said into the recorder. “Which makes me think she wasn’t in any real distress when this happened.”

  “What about the seat?” Camry asked.

  Right. The seat. I placed my hand on the bottom front of my seat, where the second stain was found. I was able to replicate the smudge by wiping my hand in an upward motion.

  “I don’t think this blood is from an attack at all,” I said, going through the motions once more. “I think Amelia cut her finger, sucked on it, wiped it on the front of her seat, grabbed the steering wheel and drove away.”

  “Isn’t the blood one of the main reasons they suspected foul play?” Camry asked.

  “Not necessarily. She still left all her personal belongings in the car. Even if she did flee, it’s likely she would have at least taken the three hundred dollars she withdrew from the ATM with her. But this is interesting, right?” I grabbed the picture and studied it with the magnifying glass, ignoring curious bystanders watching. Perhaps the Jack in the Box parking lot wasn’t the best place to perform this experiment.

  I squinted at the picture to get a better look, specifically studying the bag of Christmas decorations, pulling the magnifying glass further from my face. Hoping something would pop out at me, like a broken glass ornament or a sharp object she could have accidently cut herself with.

  But there was nothing of consequence.

  Only the same ole’ Christmas decorations.

  “What now, boss?” Camry asked.

  I looked at my finger, then at Camry, then at the homeless man staring at us from behind the dumpster. “Do you have that list of CVS stores in the area?”

  “Sure do.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Two.”

  “Great. Let’s go get me two boxes of Band-Aids.”

  Episode Fourteen

  Efran Dym

  I held on to Camry’s arm to keep her from wandering over to the As Seen on TV aisle. She’d spent twenty minutes debating between an electrical nail file and a high-powered ear wax remover at the first CVS store we went to. The manager there had not heard of Amelia Clark. Nor was she working at that CVS location in 2008. She gave us the number for the previous manager—a number that rang busy every time we called. I gave a business card to the cashier, forgot the Band-Aids, and we went to the next store.

  The chances of us recouping any information at this CVS were slim, but I actually did need the Band-Aid.

  “Do you know what’s kind of creepy?” Camry asked as we walked to the First Aid section.

  “What?”

  “That we could have met Amelia’s killer already.”

  I’d thought about this, too. Especially when we were sitting across from Jeremy Wang. That is, “Assuming she’s dead.”

  “It’s been over ten years.” Camry slowed to read the aisle descriptions hanging overhead. “Hype over the viral video has died down. What’s the point of staying hidden?”

  True.

  What would be the point?

  I’d laid in bed thinking this very question. Why would I run away and never come back?

  And I’d come up with one answer: fear.

  If I knew coming home or revealing my whereabouts would result in death (either my own or someone I loved), I’d stay hidden.

  There were two other possibilities.

  The first: Amelia took off with the intent of never returning, but ran into trouble along the way and was either locked away by some psychopath or she died.

  The second: she was killed on the tenth.

  For her sake, out of the two, I hoped it was the latter.

  The fact Detective LeClare wanted to do more extensive DNA testing told me she believed Amelia was murdered. And she was privy to more information than I was.

  But still.

  I wasn’t so sure about the blood in the car anymore.

  What I was sure about was the blood on my finger.

  “Grab the generic brand, please.” I told Camry.

  She plucked a package of bandages from the bottom rack. “Here. I got the jumbo pack. If your face is indicative of how the rest of the investigations is going to go, we’re going to need them.”

  “Ha. Ha.” I yanked the box from her grasp. “Let’s go find the manager.”

  There weren’t any employees walking around, so we got in line at the register and waited.

  “Hey look,” Camry pointed. “Isn’t that Carlos?”

  I turned around, and yep, it was Carlos. He was in—of all places—the holiday aisle. It was mostly Halloween decorations but there was a small section dedicated to Christmas.

  “Should we go talk to him?” Camry asked.

  “Seems rude not to at least say hi.”

  Carlos had a plastic Jack-o’-lantern in his cart along with fake spider webs and shaving cream.

  “Hi there,” I said as we approach.

  “Hi,” he said without looking up.

  “It’s Liv Olsen and Camry Lewis from Missing or Murdered,” I said.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said, examining a box of fake tea light candles. “I saw you when I came in.”

  Oh.

  And he didn’t say hi?

  “You’re still doing that podcast thing?” he asked.

  “Yes, we’ve had good interviews lately.” I reached into my purse and grabbed my recorder. Never leave home without it. “One was with Jeremy Wang. Did Amelia ever talk about him?”

  “Yes.” Carlos put the tea lights back and grabbed a makeup kit.

  “What did she say?” I asked, keeping my voice light and pleasant.

  “I don’t remember.”

  Sigh.

  “Perhaps we could meet up this week and talk?”

  “No.”

  “What about if we buy you lunch? Wherever you want to go.”

  “No.”

  “We found the parking citation from your old manager on Amelia’s dash, and we were wondering why she parked in the guest parking space if her assigned spot was right by her apartment.”

  “No.”

  I blew out a breath. “That wasn’t a yes or no question.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Carlos was acting as if the Halloween decorations were far more important than anything I had to say. He was clearly not going to give us information. No matter how pleasant I was.

  Screw it.

  “Did you throw an apple through our window,” I asked.

  Camry let out a faint gasp.

  This grabbed Carlos’ attention. He rose to full height and cocked his head. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “Someone broke our window with an apple the night we spoke to you. You said we should stop the podcast before someone gets hurt. I’m wondering if it was you.” I lost my resolve. Carlos’ cheeks flushed with anger and a vein ticked along his temple.

  “Are you crazy, woman?�
��

  “Um…no?”

  “I’m here to buy decorations for my kid’s classroom. Why the hell are you coming at me with some stupid crap about a damn apple…” His voice trailed off. There was an undecipherable look in his eyes.

  I took a tentative step back.

  Carlos licked his lips and nodded, as if answering some internal question. “Like I said before, drop this stupid show and get the hell out of town. Got it, Red?” He shoved his cart into a candy display, sending it crashing to the ground and stormed out of the store.

  Camry and I stood there like two statues carved of flesh, surrounded by hundreds of chocolate candy skeletons.

  “Was that a warning?” Camry finally asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Did he just call you, Red?”

  “Yep.”

  “You hate being called Red.”

  “Yep.”

  “I think we just set off a ticking time bomb?”

  “Yep.”

  “And we’ll probably be the next to disappear.”

  I sure hoped not.

  A woman with birdlike features and a gray ponytail cautiously approached us. Per her tag, this was Charlotte. “Are you two hurt?”

  I shook my head, attempting to regain my composure, and look around. “We’re fine. I’m sorry about the mess.”

  Camry and I both dropped to our knees and gathered the candy.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Charlotte and pressed a button on her earpiece. “We need clean-up on aisle four.”

  Camry stood and dusted off her hands. “Are you the manager?”

  “I am, yes.” Charlotte looked prepared for a verbal beating and I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like the display attacked us.

  I dumped a pile of candies on the shelf. “My name is Liv Olsen, and this is Camry Lewis. We’re in town doing a podcast about the disappearance of Amelia Clark. We know she visited a CVS store right before her disappearance, and we were hoping to speak to someone who might have worked here during that time.”

  Charlotte blinked a few times. I guess that was a lot of information to throw at her at once.

  “Have you ever heard of Amelia Clark?” I tried.

  “Isn’t that CinnaMann’s daughter?”

  “It is.” We stepped aside as a young guy with sideburns and a CVS shirt appeared to put the display back together. “Were you the manager here in 2008 by chance?”

  “No. I worked in Santa Barbara. Are you hoping for surveillance video or something?”

  “Yes, actually that would be great. Or anyone who worked here at the time, we’re also wondering if the police ever contacted the store.”

  “You sure Amelia came to this store?”

  “No,” I admitted. “It’s a long shot, but a shot worth taking. Any idea who we can speak to?”

  Charlotte ground her front teeth while she thought. “You’ll want to talk to someone in loss prevention. They’d know all about the security footage. As far as someone who worked here, I wouldn’t know. We have a pretty good turnover. Even our pharmacist is new. I wish I could help. That’s a terrible thing to happen. I remember hearing about it.”

  “What’s the name of the person in charge of loss prevention?” Camry asked.

  “Todd Felderfen. If you have a card, I can give it to him and have him call you.”

  “That would be great.” I dug around in my bag, but Camry had already produced one.

  We thanked Charlotte for her time, apologized once again for the mess, bought the bandages, and headed back to the car.

  We were a block away from Hazel’s house when Todd Felderfen called. Turned out he was at CVS, in the back room, watching the entire thing on the security cameras. Also turned out he did not work at the company in 2008, but he knew someone who did—Shane Smith—and gave us the phone number. We called Shane Smith. Turned out Shane quit in June of 2008, but he knew who took the job after him. A man named Efran Dym, and gave us his phone number. We called Efran, he hung up on us before I could even get my name out. So we called Shane back, he told us to try a woman named Zahra. We call Zahra, who told us to call Chris. Chris told us to call Ben. Ben told us call Lee, who had us call Zack, and when Zack told us to call Efran we tried him again.

  “I’m not interested,” Efran said and hung up.

  We were at Hazel’s, sitting in the den with scraps of paper sprinkled around the room, scribbled with the phone numbers we’d been chasing all evening.

  “He thinks you’re a telemarketer,” said Camry.

  “Good point.” I crossed my legs, rolled my shoulders, and composed a text message to Efran.

  My name is Liv Olsen, I work for the podcast series Missing or Murdered. We’re doing a story on Amelia Clark, who went missing in 2008. I was told that you worked at CVS in October of that year. We think Amelia visited the store before she went missing and wanted to know if you knew anything. Thank you.

  “Okay...and...sent.” I tossed my phone to the other side of the couch and massaged my temples. I had just spent two hours chasing CVS employees.

  “This feels like a big fat waste of time,” said Camry from a velvet armchair. “What are the odds this guy knows anything?”

  “Low, but we might as well try. Have you boosted our Facebook post on the mom’s group like LeClare said to?”

  Camry covered her nose. “Yes.”

  I wanted to laugh, but lacked the energy to do so. “Can you please do it now?”

  “Aye, aye, captain.”

  Hazel entered with a tray of cookies, still steaming from the oven, and two glasses of milk.

  “You girls find out anything?” Hazel slid the tray onto the coffee table. Camry helped herself to a cookie, juggling it around in her hand saying “hot, hot, hot,” before she took a bite.

  “Not really,” I said with a sigh.

  “We ran into Carlos,” Camry said, and licked the chocolate off her fingertips. “He yelled. He told us to leave town. Basically, threatened to kill us. Knocked over a display case, and he called Liv, Red.”

  Hazel gave Camry a napkin. “Why would he do something like that?”

  “Because she has red hair,” Camry said.

  “I meant, why would he threaten to kill you,” said Hazel. “Did you call the police?”

  “No. We talked to LeClare today, and I told her about our interaction with Carlos. We just need to be more vigilant going forward. Did Oliver ever install those security cameras?”

  Hazel nodded. “Do you really think you’re in danger?”

  “Pffft. No, of course not. Carlos is all talk.” That was a lie. Carlos Hermosa seemed like the type to keep his word. I was tempted to send Camry back home and check into a hotel. But I didn’t think Camry would leave without me, and I was positive Hazel wouldn’t allow us to go either. Making a big deal of it would only frighten them. I was hoping security cameras would work as a deterrent.

  My heart hiccupped.

  “You don’t have to worry about us,” Camry said. “Liv has pepper spray.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to help you in this case.”

  “She knows that,” I said. “Camry thinks she’s funny.”

  “I don’t think.” Camry shoved the last of the cookie into her mouth and smiled, showing her chocolatey teeth. “I know.”

  “You get that from your father.” Hazel went to sit down on the other side of the sofa, moving my phone before she sat. “Have you texted Oliver?” Hazel asked me. “He’s been trying to get a hold of you.”

  Ugh. I’d completely forgotten about that whole debacle.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “You can’t call him. He won’t answer.” She folded her hands in her lap. “He can do anything else hearing people can, though.” She looked at me, and I wasn’t sure why.

  “Okay,”
I said, unsure of how else to respond. I’d never questioned he couldn’t.

  “People don’t realize how wonderful the deaf community is. Oliver was diagnosed right after his mom died.” She stopped to cross herself. “We knew nothing about sign language or IEP’s or interpreters or speech therapy or any of the resources available. But the deaf community helped us navigate. I made sure Oliver was fluent in ASL, was in speech four days a week, and had plenty of friends who were also fluent in ASL before he lost his hearing completely.”

  “When did that happen?” Camry asked.

  “Shortly after my husband died. The two were very close. They’d go to baseball games together, camping, they were involved in Boy Scouts. We had three daughters, and Oliver’s dad took off when he was five. Poor kid. I think the two filled a void in each other’s lives. John was the father Oliver never had, and Oliver was the son John never had.” We all paused to cross ourselves. “Perhaps the stress of John’s death sped the hearing loss along. But before John died, Oliver had about 30 percent in his right ear and 20 percent in his left.” She sighed. “Oliver has a hard life, but he’s a great man.” She looked directly at me again, and I had a feeling that I was missing something. “Women think just because he can’t hear that he’s a charity case. But he’s not.”

  Okay, I was missing something.

  “Did I offend you or Oliver?” I asked.

  “Why haven’t you texted him back? You were all over him at the winery, but then you ignored him all day.”

  Oh.

  Oops.

  I massaged the back of my neck. “The reason I haven’t texted him back is because I’m embarrassed by how I acted last night.”

  Hazel appeared shocked. “What are you talking about? You were a riot, Liv.” She grabbed my hand. “You had us all laughing. Especially when you did the James Bond impression.”

  I can do a James Bond impression?

  “Do you know what I think?” Hazel asked but didn’t wait for a response. “I think you’re too hard on yourself and too tightly wound. There’s a fun girl in there.” She pointed to my chest. “Let her out more. And text my grandson.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I grabbed my phone. “I’ll do it right—Efran replied!”