He pressed the doorbell and heard the chimes echo inside the house, along with the excited yip of a small dog. A shadow appeared behind the stained-glass window of the front door, which opened a few inches to reveal wary eyes behind a taut security chain.
“Yes, can I help you?”
“Mrs. DuBois? One of the residents across the street suggested I speak to you. I’m a private investigator looking into the disappearance of Amanda Meyers.”
“I.D. please?”
He pulled his PI license from his messenger bag and showed it to the woman.
The door closed over and he heard the scrape of metal on metal as the security chain was unlatched and the door opened fully to reveal Mrs. DuBois.
She was old but alert. Five foot nothing in her no-brand sneakers but not frail. Heavy makeup and wild, wispy pink hair that brought to mind freshly spun cotton candy at a funfair. She had the crepey tan skin of a lifelong sun worshipper and wore lots of gold jewelry and she was holding a small silver handgun. An octogenarian sparkplug. She eyed Connor appraisingly.
“Well, aren’t you a tall drink of water on a hot day?”
Connor laughed nervously, his eyes on the gun.
Mrs. DuBois followed his gaze. “Can’t be too careful these days, young man. Now, why don’t you come on in and I’ll fetch you some iced tea and cookies while we chat?”
He waited in the front room, while she busied herself in the kitchen. The place smelled of home baking and his belly rumbled loudly. A blond pug looked up from where it was lying on a cushioned dog bed and then lay down again, clearly deciding Connor wasn’t interesting enough to bother getting up for. He stepped over to a big bay window, which offered a fantastic view of the street, and spotted his own dark green Ford parked outside Amanda Meyers’ building. A set of expensive, military-style binoculars sat on the windowsill next to a notebook.
“Here we go.” Mrs. DuBois placed a tray with a pitcher of iced tea, two highball glasses and a plate of cookies on the coffee table. “The cookies were already cooling on the rack. Your timing is impeccable.”
Connor was relieved to see the handgun was gone. He poured himself a drink and picked up a couple of cookies from the plate. Bit into one and groaned with pleasure. “Chocolate chip,” he said, between bites. “My absolute favorite. And, I gotta say, these cookies are something else.”
Mrs. DuBois beamed. “Best in the neighborhood. Or so I’m told.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Connor nodded in appreciation. “Speaking of the neighborhood, I hear you’re the local block captain? I’d heard of Neighborhood Watch but I’d never come across that particular phrase until today.”
Mrs. DuBois took a sip of iced tea and replaced the tumbler on the coffee table. “That’s right,” she said. “I’ve been a resident of Victor Heights half my life and block captain for more years than I care to remember.” She laughed and it was a deep throaty sound. “I guess you could say I got involved because I’m nosy as hell.”
Connor grinned. “I like your honesty, Mrs. DuBois.” He inclined his head toward the binoculars. “And you certainly have some serious equipment there.”
“Necessary for the job these days. My eyesight isn’t so sharp now and I’m not getting any younger either. You saw how steep that hill is outside. Me and Coco here like to get out as much as possible but the years are catching up with us both and neither one of us is as active as we used to be. A lot of the time, that front window is my observation point.”
“And what did you observe about Amanda Meyers?”
Mrs. DuBois sighed, shook her head. “Such a tragedy what happened to that young woman. Every time I pass by her apartment block, I wonder what became of her. I can’t say she was the friendliest—and this is a friendly community—but she was a respectable enough tenant from what I could gather. Took the trash out on time, no reports of late-night parties, never rolled up drunk and boisterous at all hours, didn’t have a string of young men in and out the place all of the time.”
“So, no boyfriend, then?”
“That’s not what I said. What I meant was she wasn’t a trollop who entertained a different man every night of the week. But she did have one regular gentleman caller, as far as I could tell.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Older than her, smartly dressed, but podgy. Not a looker. In my opinion, she could have done better for herself, even if she did look like she could do with a few decent home-cooked meals to fatten her up a bit.”
“Was she involved with this man for a while?”
“Oh yes. He was on the scene for a little over a year, right up until the day she disappeared. Sometimes they’d arrive together in her car, other times he’d visit in his own vehicle.”
“I don’t suppose—”
She cut him off. “I noted down details of the car? Of course I did. The other vehicle too.”
“What other vehicle?”
“The mystery truck. I know every set of wheels in this neighborhood. All the ones that belong here and all the ones that don’t. So, when I see something unfamiliar, it catches my attention. This one appeared suddenly one day, parked a block away from Ms. Meyers’ building, on the other side of the street. For three months, it was there. Two or three times a week, different hours of the day and night. The driver was always in the car, always wore a baseball cap. He had an untidy beard. One day, I tried to get a closer look at him while out walking Coco. He saw me coming and drove off in a real hurry.”
“What makes you think the truck had anything to do with Amanda Meyers?”
“I never saw it again after she went missing.”
“And you have records of both of these vehicles?”
“I sure do. Let me go find my book from two years ago.”
She returned with a leather-bound journal and a Ziploc freezer bag. Flicked through the pages until she found the right one, folded back the spine and handed it to Connor.
“See those two highlighted entries? Those are the details of the vehicles you’re interested in—Ms. Meyers’ gentleman friend and the mystery truck.”
Connor was impressed. Mrs. DuBois had documented the make, model, color, and number plate of both cars, as well as time of arrival, where exactly they’d been parked, and how long they’d stayed for. There were also entries for an upturned trash can and a busted streetlight.
“Did you tell the police about these two vehicles after Amanda’s disappearance?”
“Sure did. I have regular meetings with Senior Lead Officer Zhao. He’s the one in charge of this Basic Car Area. Nice fella. Big fan of my cookies too.”
Connor nodded. Each of the city’s nineteen geographic areas were served by a community police station, and each station was apportioned into small neighborhood units, which were known as Basic Cars.
“And what was the outcome of that conversation?”
“Officer Zhao said he passed the information onto the Missing Persons Unit. I never did find out if what I told them was any help though.”
Connor pulled out his cell phone and opened the camera app. “You mind if I . . . ?”
“Not at all. You go right ahead.”
While Connor photographed the details from Mrs. DuBois’ journal, the old woman lifted the plate and slid the remaining cookies into the freezer bag and zipped it shut. She handed the bag to him with a wink.