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“You asked about strange vehicles… I saw a van parked in front of their house multiple days in a row, but across the street and down a bit. So it wasn’t so obvious.”
“But it was obvious to you,” I said encouragingly.
“Again,” she said, her back stiffening. “I wasn’t being a busybody. I take Margo for a walk twice a day, and I couldn’t help noticing the van parked there.”
“Margo?”
“My corgi. She’s full of energy and she loves to shit in other people’s yards.” Then she hastily added, “But I clean up her messes. I’m not one of those people, although I am tempted to leave shit in TJ’s yard sometimes.” Her nose scrunched. “Very rude fellow.”
I restrained myself from agreeing with her. If he was rude to his neighbors, who else was he rude to? Had TJ pissed someone off enough that they’d decided to kidnap his daughter? “Did you happen to see anyone inside the van?”
“No. I could only see the front seats, nothing inside, and there wasn’t anyone sitting in there. I thought maybe it had been abandoned, since it was there for so long, but then it was gone this weekend. I guess someone was having work done on their house and they were parked there while on the job. But it was strange that it never left. It was parked in the same spot every day.”
“Did the van have any writing on it? Anything to make it look like a work van?”
“It was one of those stereotypical white vans, but it did have a logo on the side. B&G Woodworking.”
I pulled out my phone and typed it into a note. “Do you know if anyone was having work done?”
“Half the neighborhood’s having work done, but I couldn’t tell you who’s using what company,” she grumbled. “The neighborhood’s not like it used to be. When my kids were growing up, everyone knew everyone. We hung out on our front porches in the evening while our kids played in the street. I don’t know half the people who live here now.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Do you remember when you first saw the van?”
She nodded. “Last Tuesday. It showed up after our morning walk and was there when we took our evening walk.”
“Do you happen to remember what time?”
“We always go right after dinner, so around seven-thirty.”
“You walk in the dark?”
“It’s not so dark lately, and I bring a flashlight to make sure I don’t trip on the cracks in the sidewalk. It’s quiet and Margo likes it.”
“So last Tuesday, you noticed the van when you were on your evening walk. Did you see it leave that night?”
“No, but I wasn’t lookin’ either. But I can tell you it was there the next morning when we went on our seven a.m. walk. I thought it was odd, but some of those contractors like to show up early.”
“True,” I said. “So what about later that day? The van was still there?”
“I don’t think it ever left. It was parked there all day and night until Friday. Then it was gone when we went for our evening walk.”
“And you never saw anyone in it?”
“Nope.”
I sat back as I mulled that over.
A loud bark came from the back of the house, and the older woman smiled. “That’s Margo. She’s been chasing squirrels in the backyard. I need to let her in.”
“Of course.”
She headed to the back, and I got up, moving to the front window. Parting the lacy sheers, I looked down the street, past the crowd. I needed to figure out which house the van had been parked in front of.
The clickety-clack of nails on the wood floor approached me from behind. I turned just in time to see a corgi running toward me in excitement. When she reached me, she lifted up on her back legs, her tongue hanging out as her front paws landed on my thighs.
I reached over and scratched behind her ear. “You must be Margo.”
“Guilty,” the woman said, and I realized I still didn’t know her name. When I conducted interviews, I always started by introducing myself and asking the person’s name. The need to hide my identity changed things a bit.
