Yep. Nuts.
I nod in greeting.
“This is my day care,” the woman who entered says.
“You’re Alisha Bennett?” Rookie Cop says.
I glance over his shoulder at his notes. He has been thorough in his questioning. He’s made notes of all the key players and the timelines of events. Even provided his own assessments along the margins. Hopefully it will make for a quick day.
“Yes, and someone needs to tell me what the hell is going on,” Alisha Bennett demands. Business suit, three-inch heels, dyed blonde hair, and medically enhanced lips. Dollar signs probably appear in her eyes when she looks at children.
Admittedly, I was hoping for a short, cute old lady who smells like chocolate chip cookies. You know, the definitely not guilty type.
“We’re in the process of figuring that out,” Rookie Cop tells her.
“I’m getting a lot of calls from angry parents threatening to remove their children from my facility,” she says.
Yeah, business might not be so shit hot for Paradise Day Care after this.
“We’re keeping this as low key as possible.”
Rookie Cop must have a background in customer service. His reassuring tone helps to deflate Ms. Bennett a notch.
“Ms. Bennett, I’m so sorry!” One of the young staff looks wrecked as she approaches. “We tried calling you before we called the police.”
“I was in appointments all morning,” Ms. Bennett says, holding up unfinished nails.
Obviously, we’ve interrupted her spa day.
“That her?” The day care owner nods toward Kelsey Jennings, who now looks like she’s been sedated. Her head is slumped forward, blonde hair falling into her face, and her eyes are closed.
I nod, then hold Ms. Bennett back as she advances toward Kelsey Jennings. “Don’t worry—she’s not going anywhere.” Turning to Rookie Cop, I ask, “Did they give her something?”
“I think so. A mild sedative. She was losing it pretty hard when I first got here. Had to cuff her at first until she calmed down. Yelling and demanding that they hand over the child . . . kids and parents were terrified.”
“Right. Okay . . .” I turn to the day care owner. “Ms. Bennett, we’ll need to ask you a few questions.”
“And who are you?”
“Detective Ryan.”
“In my office,” she says, leading us down the hall into a locked room in the back. She tosses her purse onto the desk and opens the window blinds. The sun shining through illuminates a cloud of dust that she’s stirred up. It’s been a while since anyone has been in here.
I’m sure she’s just the type of owner who doesn’t like her competent staff to feel micromanaged by being on site too much.
“So, Ms. Bennett . . .”
She holds up one of the manicured fingers. “I’m going to need caffeine first.”
Rookie Cop shoots me a look, but I nod. “Absolutely. There’s just a child missing; no rush.”
While she’s busy putting a Keurig pod into the expensive machine on her desk, I look around.
This office doesn’t look like it belongs with the rest of the house. Painted a dark navy with white trim accents, furnished with expensive mahogany furniture and impressive oil paintings on the wall, it looks like a lawyer’s office. A few thank-you cards and several horribly drawn pictures of families and animals hanging on a pegboard are the only indication that this woman might have any interest in children.
Her coffee is ready, and she rips open several sugar packets and motions for me to proceed with my questioning.
“How long have you owned this day care?” I ask.
“I opened this location in 2010. I have several others . . . and before you ask, there’s no Mikayla Jennings there either.”
Shit. More work. “Unfortunately, we will have to send someone out . . .” I look at Rookie Cop, and he’s on it. More notes in his book.
Ms. Bennett throws her hands up as she collapses dramatically into her chair. “I’m trying to run a business here—one that relies heavily on trust, Detective. Parents are already emailing their notifications to terminate our childcare services.” She places her cell phone on the desk and leans forward. “Is it really necessary to disrupt the other locations? Do you seriously believe there’s any validity to this woman’s insane story?”
Nope. “We treat every missing person case seriously. But we will wait until end of day to send officers over to the other locations.”
Rookie Cop coughs.
That’s against protocol. Yes, I know. I don’t care. Ms. Bennett has rights as well—ones I’m sure she’s fully aware of. Piss her off too much, and the department could get sued or slapped with a fine for the inconvenience this will cause the business once it’s proven that the mother is in the wrong.
“Mrs. Jennings is adamant that she dropped her daughter off here . . .” I reach for Rookie’s notes and flip through. “She claims it was just before eight a.m.”
“We don’t even open until eight thirty.” Ms. Bennett sits back as though that should solve everything.
“That’s tough for most working parents, isn’t it?” The nine-to-five workday is a thing of the past. Most offices and businesses open earlier and close later these days. What do double-income households do with their kids before operating hours?
Ms. Bennett takes a deep breath. “Our day care caters to a slightly different . . . upscale demographic, where usually only one parent works outside the home.”
Rich snobs. Got it.
“Put the judgy face away,” she says.
I look at Rookie Cop; he nods. I guess I have a judgy face.
“A lot of the moms are stay at home, and they bring the kids here for a break . . . and for the child’s socialization and early-education benefits, of course,” she continues.
“Of course. So no one was here early today?”
Ms. Bennett stands and walks toward the door. She reaches for the time cards of the employees hanging on the wall outside the office. She reenters and hands them to me. “These girls barely log in on time.”
I scan the date and times. Eight thirty-four and nine forty-eight that morning. “No one else was scheduled to work today?”
“We limit the number of admissions to our programs each year. We comply with the standard ratio of five toddlers to one worker, eight older children to one staff member. Therefore, our employee list is also small. Rebecca and Jacqueline are the primary caregivers in this location, with one rotating employee in case of illness or vacation.”
“I assume employee records will confirm that?”
“They will.”
So no one was there before eight besides Kelsey Jennings. “Are there any video cameras on the premises?”
She points to the one in the corner of her office. “That one . . . I have confidential information in here . . . and there’s one in the babies’ nap room so they can be monitored without anyone having to enter the room and wake them. A third one overlooks the front door. Otherwise, no. I trust my staff and respect their privacy.”
“You just don’t trust them enough around the confidential information in here?” I nod toward the safe under her desk.
“Do you have any other questions, Detective?”