21st Birthday by Patterson, James (mystery books to read txt) 📗

her go back to her work. It was only three in the afternoon. I walked to the washroom, splashed my face with cold water, and stared at my reflection. I looked bad but I felt worse. I wanted to work this case, find Wendy Franks’s killer and put him where he could never hurt anyone again. There was no proof, but I also felt sure there was a connection between Wendy Franks and Lucas Burke.

I knew what I had to do.

I wanted to talk with Misty Fogarty, the girl with the long braid and blue-painted fingernails who had come to Burke’s office doorway while I was interviewing him on Tuesday afternoon.

I called Cindy and sweetly asked for Misty’s phone number.

“Why?” she said.

“If I tell you, you’ll have to tell Richie, so just give me the number, hmmm, Girl Reporter? If it pans out, if I can tell you —”

“If, if, if. I’ve heard this before. I must really love you.”

She read out Misty’s number and blew me a kiss. After we hung up, I duly dialed it.

Misty answered with a cheerful “This is Mis-teeee.”

Luckily for me, the current headlines had zero impact on her yackety-yak personality, the kind detectives just love. She talked about herself and volunteered to meet me at a diner called the Comfy Corner at four.

An hour from now.

I called Joe and we exchanged brief news bulletins. Then I left a message for Brady. “Following up on a lead.” I threw on my jacket, waved good-bye to all the deskbound cops and Brenda, and then I left the building.

CHAPTER 34

I FOUND MISTY FOGARTY waiting for me in a booth at the front of the diner.

“Hiiii, Sergeant Boxer.”

I slid into the banquette across from the eighteen-year-old high school student. She was pretty, a natural blonde, wearing the same blue-and-white school uniform I’d seen her wear three days ago. Her phone was on the table, faceup.

“Misty. Nice of you to make time for me. I wonder if you can help me out. I’m trying to find Tara Burke.”

“Oh. I thought you were going to tell me how Luke is doing. He hasn’t been at school for two whole days.”

“We were holding him as a material witness but —”

“What’s that?”

“It’s someone who may have direct knowledge of a crime.”

“Like a suspect?”

“No, no. More like he was the last one to see Tara and Lorrie, so we were keeping him safe and hoping he would have some ideas for us,” I soft-pedaled.

“But he’s not in jail, anymore?”

“He was released around lunchtime yesterday.”

“Oh,” said Misty. She was visibly shaken. “He must be disoriented after being in jail, right? He’s very sensitive. But I guess … I guess you know that.”

The waiter came by. Misty ordered green tea. I ordered coffee. Gave myself a little reminder. Make her your friend. Let her talk.

“You’re close to Luke, huh?” I said.

She nodded, wiped a tear away with a blue-tipped finger.

“He’s wonderful. The best.”

“In what way?”

“The way he looks at me. Talks to me.”

She shook her head and I felt a real meltdown coming.

Misty said, “I know he’s married. I know that what I’m doing is wrong, but I love him so much. And now he’s all alone and I don’t know how to help him.”

“It’s okay, Misty. He’s okay.”

“I’m worried,” she said. “Whoever killed Lorrie and took Tara could have hurt him, too.”

“When was the last time you and Luke were … alone?”

“Sunday night. For a couple of hours.”

“Where’d you go?”

“My car.”

The beverages came. Misty poured her tea.

“He should have called me,” she said. “Look,” Misty turned on her phone, started scrolling through her pictures, found the one she was looking for, and held up the phone for me to see.

It was a selfie with cars whizzing past in the background, Misty and Lucas grinning in the foreground.

“Can I see?” I said.

She handed me the phone and I looked at the time stamp on the photo. It was dated Sunday at 8:13 p.m. I scrolled through the picture file, saw other pictures of Misty with her friends, and a few where she was with Burke, her face lit with love-light.

I sugared my coffee, took a sip, commiserated with Misty about how much she missed Lucas, and then edged in some questions about Tara, asking Misty how well she knew her, if she had any theories about her disappearance or on Lorrie’s death.

Her answers were long, discursive, and thoughtful. I couldn’t have been more interested.

In sum, Tara was only two or three years older than Misty; they’d even overlapped at Sunset Park Prep for one year. She thought Tara was bratty and not very smart, but sexy and attractive to men.

I said, “I heard that she might have a boyfriend. A boyfriend would be a good suspect.”

“If Tara had a boyfriend everyone at Sunset Park Prep would know it,” Misty scoffed, “And Luke would have been justified in getting a divorce.”

Misty leaned across the table and told me just above a whisper that Luke complained about Tara, said that she was whiny and cold. Misty said she wouldn’t be totally surprised if Tara had killed the baby just to hurt Lucas and then taken off, never to be seen again.

I asked for and paid the check, gave Misty my card, and told her to call me anytime. “I’m here for you,” I said.

She stood up to give me a hug.

“I don’t know what to do. What should I do?”

I stood with her in the aisle at the front of the diner as other customers brushed past us.

“Misty, what do you think you should do?” I asked her.

“I should break up with him, right?”

“If I was your friend or family member, I would say so.”

She nodded, hugged me again, hard, and I hugged her back.

I was only fifteen minutes from home, and as I drove, I thought about Misty with Lucas Burke, sneaking time with him in her car, the rest of the time