“Opal!”
Mitch
“Where are you off to?”
Matt catches me snagging the keys from the dresser in our hotel room.
So much for sneaking out while he’s on the phone. He has it pressed against his chest waiting for my answer.
“Just gonna drive around a bit. I won’t be long,” I blow him off, as I dart out the door.
We’ve spent the afternoon talking to a few potential witnesses, briefing with the local detective on the case who’d been trying to retrace Georgia Braxton’s last known steps, and strategizing our next move. But by far, the most productive talk this afternoon was with Sally Kendall, a volunteer at The Youth Center.
She shared how she had become worried last week—even before Georgia disappeared—when another minor had failed to show for days on end. Melissa Romero, a fifteen-year-old girl from the wrong side of the tracks, by the sound of it.
The woman raised a flag with not only the girl’s mother, but also with management at the center. No one seemed particularly concerned, but Sally persisted and ended up contacting GEM, a victim advocacy organization. Matt seemed to know of them, having worked an abduction investigation they assisted with, but I’ve only heard of them in passing. When asked if GEM had taken the case, Sally looked decidedly uncomfortable when she said she thought so, but was waiting for someone to contact her.
That seemed off, just as seeing Opal at The Youth Center seemed off, and I can’t help wonder if the two are connected. It would explain why the woman shows up at two separate child disappearance cases.
What it doesn’t explain is why she was suddenly wearing a wig and glasses and basically begged me not to say anything, which is why I have a few questions for her.
Finding her proves easier than I thought it would be.
I’m about to turn right toward the center, in hopes I could track her from there, when I spot a late-model maroon Chevy pickup truck heading in the opposite direction. I quickly slip into the left-hand lane and turn as soon as I see an opening in traffic.
I stay a couple of cars behind her, until I see her turning into a motel almost across from the college grounds. She doesn’t even seem to notice when I pull in behind her and for some reason that pisses me off. I’m already standing beside my vehicle when she gets out and moves toward the motel room she parked in front of.
“Opal!”
She comes to a dead stop and swings around, her hand already reaching in her purse. She may not pay much attention to her surroundings, but at least she has good reflexes. She clearly carries.
The moment she registers me, her head drops down and I catch her swearing softly.
“We need to talk.”
Instead of responding, she turns her back and fits a key in the door, leaving it open as she disappears inside. I’ll take it as an invitation.
“Close the door,” is all she says, standing in front of the mirror next to the bathroom as she pulls the ugly wig off her head.
The thing gets tossed carelessly on the dresser, while her fingers make quick work of the bobby pins in her hair. Then she bends over, groaning as she shakes out her tresses, her rear sticking up like a big red flag waving in my face. I force myself to turn away.
“So talk.” Her voice is soft and tired, and I turn back to find her staring at me with her hands on her hips. The glasses are gone and the luxurious waves of gleaming hair fall about her round, pale face.
“GEM,” I force myself to say.
“Yes,” she confirms without further explanation, as she grabs some clothes from a bag on the floor and slips inside the bathroom, locking the door.
By the time I hear the door open ten minutes later, I’ve worked up a good head of steam after a fruitless search of her stuff. But once again, she surprises me when she walks into the room wearing a pair of silky men’s pajamas and a towel wrapped around her hair. There isn’t a trace of makeup on her face and she doesn’t seem to care one single iota. She completely takes the wind out of my sails when she flings herself on one of the beds, folding her arms behind her head.
“Are you gonna stand there, or do want to deep search my bathroom too?”
Sharper than I may have given her credit for earlier.
“Will I find anything?”
“Aside from dirty clothes, toiletries, and feminine products? I hope not.”
I stifle a grin at her smart-ass comment, and sit down on the foot end of the second bed.
“Is Opal even your real name?”
I’m not sure why it’s the first thing out of my mouth but now that it is, I’m curious for her answer.
“That’s what you’re going with?” she asks incredulously. When I nod, she rolls her eyes. “Fine. It’s the name I use when I’m working and I have the paperwork to back it up.
“And I guess you’re not about to give me your real name?”
“You’d guess correctly.”
Yeah. This lady is definitely not as soft as she looks.
My anger forgotten, I kick off my shoes and scoot with my back against the headboard, crossing my legs in front of me on the mattress.
“Comfortable?” she sneers.
“Gettin’ there. Now, what were you doing at The Youth Center?”
She raises an eyebrow.
“You haven’t contacted GEM?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. My partner is making phone calls tonight.” I lean forward a little and pin her with a glare. “Besides, I’m asking you.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she suddenly blurts out, shocking the hell out of me.
She jumps off the bed, and with impatient hands she yanks the towel from her head, and shakes out her hair like a wet dog.
The whole situation suddenly strikes me as funny and I can’t hold back the chuckle. Instantly her head comes up with fire in her eyes, which quickly fizzles out.
“I’ve been assigned to dig up information on Mason Kramer,” she finally admits, but before I have a chance to open my mouth she adds, “We have reason to suspect he may be involved in the girls’ disappearance. Anything more you’ll have to get from my boss; Jacob Branch.”
“Kramer checks out. There’s not a speck of dirt on him,” I share.
“That’s because you’re not looking for the right man. Call Jacob,” she urges.
I stare at her for a beat and then I pull my phone from my pocket and dial the number she recites.
“Agent Kenny, I was waiting for your call.”
The voice is smooth, confident. Belonging to a man of some authority, I have no doubt.
“The name’s Mitch. So tell me, Jacob, who is Mason Kramer?”
“You spoke with Opal,” he says with a chuckle.
“Hmm.”
“Is she there?”
“Quit beating around the bush,” I snap, no longer in the mood for games. There are at least two young girls missing and we desperately need leads.
“Very well. His real name is Josh Kendrick. If you look up the name, you’ll find he was supposedly killed in a fire at a group home that burned down in Lanark, some twenty years ago. The home was a front for the trafficking and prostitution of minors.”
Jesus. The burn and graft scars.
“You’re saying he’s not dead.”