Microphones and Murder Read online

  “I’m not so sure about that theory anymore. Leon said the cadaver dogs didn’t pick up her scent on the trail. Also, it’s a small town. Someone would have seen her Friday night if she went out.” I blew out a breath and took in my surroundings. “Where did you go, Amelia?” I whispered to myself.

  Camry and I walked the three-mile hiking trail. She took video and I recorded audio of us huffing and puffing. It wasn’t an arduous trek; we were just out of shape. The ground was rocky and the dirt was soft. A dangerous combination for anyone wanting to run. We reached the end and sat on a tree trunk. The view was breathtaking. Rolling hills that seemed to go on forever. Horses galloping in the distance. Small farmhouses peppered throughout the landscape and a vineyard took up an entire hillside.

  “I’m not buying it,” I said to Camry. “She didn’t disappear here. If she were training for a marathon, why would she run this measly three-mile trail? This isn’t much of a workout for in-shape people, and it’s a terrible surface to run on. There aren’t trees or foliage for an attacker to hide in.”

  “But we don’t know what this place looked like in 2008,” Camry said.

  She made a good point. “But I doubt Parks and Rec would maintain two hundred acres, nor do I think they’d chop down trees around here. It is a possibility, though. Can you—”

  “Call Parks and Rec to get information about Orcutt Hollow,” Camry finished for me. “Got it.”

  “And what about—”

  “Asking a park ranger to give us an interview,” she finished for me. “Got it.”

  “Then—”

  “Can I give myself a bonus for being the best damn peon you’ve ever had,” she said. “Got it.”

  “I was going to say, we should stop by the ATM Amelia was last seen at.” I pulled Camry in for a side hug. “But you are a damn good peon.”

  Episode Six

  The Body

  “Orcutt Bank is located a parking lot away from CinnaMann’s,” I said into the recorder. “There’s one exit out of the bank parking area. From there Amelia could have cut through the main parking lot to Bradley Road, which leads to Orcutt Hollow, or she could have pulled onto Clark Ave, which leads to the freeway.”

  “It’s funny that we’re researching Amelia Clark while on Clark Ave.” Camry leaned against the hood of my car and tossed a Tum into her mouth. According to the bottle you can have up to fourteen a day.

  I wasn’t sure if that meant fourteen at one time, or throughout the day. Either way, I’d already eaten my allotted amount.

  “I think most towns have a Clark Ave.” I stood at the ATM and looked around to see what Amelia could have seen. “McDonald’s, pet groomers, dry cleaner, CinnaMann’s, and a dance studio,” I said into the recorder.

  “Don’t you think it’s weird she was last seen in the same shopping center her dad’s bakery is located?” asked Camry.

  “This shopping center appears to be the hub for the area. Plus CinnaMann’s closes at four, and Richard and Janet were out of town. Unless she stopped by the bakery to check on things. Which is a possibility I suppose.”

  “Did he say what time they got back Friday night?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “We should ask him. They’re still open.” Camry held her watch out for me to see. “It’s ten till four and we have an hour before we need to meet Penny.”

  “Might as well.”

  A different girl was working behind the counter, and her relief was palpable when she realized we were not there to buy anything. The display case had already been cleared and cleaned.

  Mr. Clark greeted us with open arms, far more welcoming than our first encounter. This was the Richard Clark everyone talked about. Before we could ask about Amelia, we were invited back to the kitchen.

  “It took me ten years to perfect the recipe. Amelia was my taste tester,” he told us during the tour. Which didn’t take long, the bakery was small. There were two rooms. One was the prep area with a mixer that was taller than me. The second room was for the ovens and cooling racks. Richard walked us through the delicate step-by-step process of how to make the CinnaMann’s cinnamon rolls. It was quite the ordeal. I had no idea. Growing up, my cinnamon rolls came from a tube.

  I made the mistake of saying as much to Mr. Clark, and before I could say no, there was a piping hot cinnamon roll in front of me. And this was no Pillsbury cinnamon roll. CinnaMann’s rolls were seven inches tall and three inches in diameter. They came with raisins, or no raisins, nuts or no nuts. You could get it drizzled with caramel or chocolate. “The works” came with hazelnuts, chocolate, caramel, buttercream frosting, and rolled in brown sugar—in other words, it was heartburn on a plate.

  This was what Mr. CinnaMann presented to us.

  “Guaranteed, this will be the best bun you’ll ever taste.” He handed Camry and me each a fork and stood by, awaiting our reaction.

  This is going to hurt.

  Camry was first to take a bite. Her brow glistened under the bright lighting as the fork landed in her mouth.

  “Mmmmm,” she said with wide, watering eyes.

  I shoved a forkful into my mouth. Buttery soft dough, glazed sugar, and savory cinnamon. It was delicious.

  Until I swallowed.

  My stomach attempted to reject this sweet turn of events. And it wasn’t the cinnamon roll’s fault. It was the acid eating away at my intestines. But I powered through, taking large bites to end the agony sooner, because that’s what good podcasters do.

  Who needs stomach lining anyway?

  Richard next invited us to his office, which didn’t involve eating so I was happy. His office was really just a waist-high counter near the ovens. Pictures were taped near the computer. Most were of the store. One from opening day: Richard with a pair of large scissors about to cut the ribbon. I assumed the dirty blonde child at his side was Amelia. The others were of Richard with various individuals I assumed to be customers with cinnamon rolls and other baked goods in hand. There were six rows of “Thank You, Sponsor” plaques from soccer, softball, baseball, and volleyball teams hung on the wall.

  On the desk was a framed picture of Janet, Richard and Amelia. Amelia was standing between her parents in a purple cap and gown with a yellow Excellence in Academics sash draped around her neck. According to my research, she never graduated from college so this must have been her high school graduation.

  Janet appeared uncomfortable. Her pose reminded me of an old Victorian photograph. Face void of emotion, hand wrapped around her middle, head tilted, and eyes trained on the camera in an almost disturbing way. Could have been a poorly timed photo—but then why display it?

  Richard and Amelia both had mega-watt smiles and arms flung around each other. It was almost as if Janet was photoshopped in.

  “Would you mind?” I held up my phone and pointed to the picture.

  Richard nodded his approval, and I snapped a pic for the website.

  “Amelia was very pretty,” I said to Richard, still studying the picture. She looked better here than she did in the video. At least fifteen pounds heavier. The fuller face looked more natural on her frame. Not that she appeared overweight. She appeared healthier. Happier.

  “She looked like my mother; that’s who we named her after,” Richard said, peering over my shoulder. “Which is why most people called her Millie, to differentiate between the two. I liked her full name better, so we called her Amelia.”

  “Is your mother still alive?” I asked.

  “No, she died about a year before Amelia went missing. The two were very close.”

  I felt a pang of sadness for Mr. Clark. Both of the Amelias in his life were gone.

  Richard pulled out a stool and had a seat. “You two come up with anything new?” He was so relaxed and much more amicable than he was during our first meeting. I didn’t know what changed over the last t
wenty-four hours, but his cooperation would make our investigation easier.

  On the walk over, I thought about if we should mention the apple through the window incident. I assumed he’d ask what happened to my face. I looked like I got in a fight with a rosebush—and the bush won, but he’d yet to mention it. “We had a visitor last night,” I started. “Someone threw an apple through the window of the house we’re staying at and broke it.”

  Mr. Clark’s eyebrows shot up. “Who would do that?”

  “Someone wanting us out of town,” said Camry. “Or an immature kid with good aim.”

  Mr. Clark took a moment to digest this information. “What time?”

  “It was early in the morning, around three a.m.”

  He rubbed his chin. “My guess would be a kid.”

  “Have you ever had anyone vandalize your home or the bakery?” I thought back to the initials carved in the chef on the window. Though, that hardly qualified as vandalism.

  “No, everyone’s been supportive,” he said with a shrug.

  “Another question: After Amelia went missing, do you know if surveillance was collected from any of the stores in the shopping center?” I asked.

  “Just the bank. I don’t think anyone else had cameras back then.”

  “Not even McDonald’s?” asked Camry.

  He shook his head no.

  Shoot.

  “What time did you and Mrs. Clark get home Friday evening?” I asked.

  Richard drummed his fingers on the counter while he thought. “Between eight and nine. Why?”

  “We’re putting a timeline together. If she was at the bank across the parking lot at six fifteen p.m., would she have stopped by the bakery to check on things if she knew you two were still out of town?”

  “No. She didn’t show a whole lot of interest in the bakery after she graduated high school. She wanted to do her own thing.”

  “Do you think she would have exited Clark toward the freeway, or Bradley toward the hiking trail?” I asked.

  “Orcutt Hollow is up Bradley, so that’s my guess,” he said.

  I took my notebook from my bag and peeked at the list of questions I’d jotted down last night. “Did Amelia ever mention going to lunch with Carlos Hermosa?”

  “Ramsey asked me the same question, but I don’t know. She hung out with him quite a bit before she left.”

  She left?

  I swept a stray hair off my face to buy time. He distinctly said, before she left. Could easily have been a slip of words or a slip of the tongue.

  “Where did she go?” I asked.

  He tapped his forehead as if saying duh. “I meant before she disappeared.”

  Huh. I bit at my lip, deciding if I should press the issue or continue.

  I decided on the latter. “Do you know why she used cash instead of a debit or credit card?”

  He grunted. “You know kids. They think they’ve got it all figured out. Amelia was desperate to make it on her own and she thought using cash would help her save money. When really she should have built her credit up.”

  “Did they find an iPod in her apartment?”

  “They didn’t say. She had one, though. Janet and I gave it to her the Christmas before she left.”

  She left.

  There it was again.

  Now I’m pressing it.

  “You keep saying ‘before she left.’ Do you think she left on her own will? Because Detective Ramsey said the same thing before he died.”

  Mr. Clark frowned. “We say ‘left’ because it’s better than the alternative.”

  Oh.

  “Do you think if we stop by the house Mrs. Clark would be more open to speaking with us?” I asked.

  Richard was shaking his head before I even finished. “Janet’s never been one to discuss private matters with other people, and she doesn’t like talking about what could have happened to Amelia.”

  I made a mental note to still try. From the graduation picture and Hazel’s parade story, I got the sense there was something off about Mrs. Clark, and I’d like to see what that something was myself.

  “Is there anyone else you can think of who we should reach out to? Friends? Family? Ex-boyfriends? Teachers she was close to?” I asked.

  Richard scratched his chin. “How about the people she used to work with?”

  “We’re on our way to talk to one of them now.”

  “That would be my best bet. Let me know what you come up with.” He walked us out. “Hold on a sec,” he said, suddenly remembering. “Let me grab a cinnamon roll for the road.”

  Heaven help me.

  Before we met Penny, I stopped at the gas station to fill up my car. Camry ran inside to use the restroom while I waited by the pump, watching the dollar amount go up…and up…and up…and up.

  Gas is too damn expensive.

  Good thing Hazel was taking care of toilet paper and food, otherwise we’d be walking around town. I could almost hear Camry’s snarky commentary if that were the case. Being that she would take a defibrillator with her if forced to run, I couldn’t imagine she would be too happy to tour Santa Maria by foot.

  Gas was still pumping, and I couldn’t look at the price any longer. I leaned back against my car and scrolled through emails on my phone. Most were spam. There was a bridal shower evite from a former co-worker at Cold in America, and a—

  “Liv!” Camry sprinted across the fuel lanes, dodging the truck pulling in, and rammed into the trunk of my car.

  “What is wrong with you?” I asked.

  “There…is…a…body…” She paused to catch her breath. “They found a body.”

  “Who is they? And what are you talking about?” I was so confused. She went inside to pee.

  “It’s on...” Camry cocked her thumb toward the Food Mart. “There’s a television…the news…” She sucked in a breath. “Come on!”

  I returned the fuel nozzle to the pump, spilling gas on my shoe in the process, and followed Camry inside. Mounted to the wall behind the register was a television turned to the local news station. Across the bottom of the screen in big bold letters it said, “Decomposed Human Body Found at Santa Maria Park.” Video was playing of yellow crime scene tape flapping in the wind with CSI working in the distance.

  “Can you turn it up, please?” I asked the man sitting behind the register. He was playing on his phone and chewing on a toothpick, completely unaware of our presence.

  I rang the bell on the counter.

  The man looked up at me at me as if I appeared out of thin air.

  “Can you turn up the television, please?”

  It took a painful amount of time for him to process my request. Too long. I spotted a remote control held together by duct tape near the register and snatched it up. Sometimes you just got to do things yourself.

  I turned up the volume.

  “Authorities are investigating after decomposed human remains were found at Waller Park earlier today,” said the news anchor, a young woman with a helmet of blonde hair. “The discovery was made just after ten a.m. by a city worker there to fix a sprinkler.”

  They cut to a man with a gray mustache. “Yeah, uh, I was digging up some old pipe when I noticed what looked like a piece of clothing. Then the more I dug the more I realized it…uh…yeah…it was attached to a body.”

  They cut back to the news anchor. “EMS responded and pronounced the individual deceased at the scene. Authorities have not been able to identify the victim. Next up, a four-ounce strawberry is for sale by a local farmer. Ken has the full report after the break. Stay tuned.”

  For a while, Camry and I stood there in silence, both thinking the same thing, but neither one of us willing to say it out loud.

  “Why would you need the EMS to pronounce a decomposed body dead?” Camry finally asked.


  So, okay, I guess we weren’t thinking the same thing.

  “You, uh, done with my TV?” The man behind the counter asked.

  I nodded my head slowly and placed the remote into his palm. “Where is Waller Park?” I asked him.

  “Not too far.” He pushed his eyebrows together. “Why?”

  Why?

  Clearly, he was not paying attention.

  “Do you think it’s…” Camry started to say.

  I blew out a breath. “Not sure. It takes eight to ten years for a body to decompose if it’s buried with no embalming or coffin.” I kind of hate that I know this.

  Now the man behind the counter was giving us a funny look.

  “I’m a true crime podcaster,” I told him. “We’re here doing an investigation into the disappearance of Amelia Clark.”

  He still gave us the same look, which was my cue to leave.

  “What do we do now?” Camry asked as we walked back to my car.

  The truth was, I had no idea.

  We didn’t have any contacts at the police station, or the news station, or any kind of station for that matter. I had doubt that I’d find out the identity of the body before anyone else did. If it were Amelia, they’d notify Richard and Janet before the name was released. I would assume he’d let me know, since we appeared to be on better terms now.

  There wasn’t a whole lot we could do except go see what Penny had to say.

  Episode Seven

  Who is Blake Kirkland?

  Penny was waiting for us by the dumpsters in black scrubs, her hair swept into a claw clip, hands clutching two Target bags. It was too windy outside to conduct our interview, so we piled into my car. She sat in the passenger seat and eyed the Tums container sitting in the cup holder.

  “Is this the one you just bought?” She gave the bottle a shake. What’s left rattled around.

  “We don’t mess around with our antacids,” said Camry from the back seat. She had on her scarf and was sipping water out of her new tumbler.

  “Be careful you don’t OD,” said Penny.