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“Look at my shoes. Do they look like foot-in-the-door shoes? These shoes are Manolo knockoffs. Notice the pointy toe and five-inch stiletto heel. I could spear an olive out of a martini with these shoes but I sure as hell wouldn’t chance ruining them by going all bounty hunter.”
I rang the doorbell a couple hundred times and pounded on the door, but Sparks didn’t respond.
“We need someone to kick the door down,” Lula said to me. “Obviously I can’t do it in my Manolos. And we know you’re inept at door kicking.”
Beedle was standing behind us. We turned and looked down at his foot in the orthopedic boot.
“It’s made out of foam and plastic,” Beedle said. “And that looks like a metal fire door.”
“He might be right about the door,” Lula said. “We need a blowtorch. Anybody got a blowtorch?”
Connie was being held hostage somewhere. I didn’t know the circumstances. They could be awful. She could be injured. She could be scared… although who knew with Connie. Connie didn’t scare easily. I’d done okay with finding a lead on the coin, but I was at a temporary dead end.
I called Morelli when we got back to my car. “I heard about Paul Mori and I’m curious,” I said. “Are there any persons of interest?”
“Approximately two hundred thirty people hated him. Aside from that, no.”
“How about video? Were there cameras at his dry-cleaning shop?”
“I don’t know. Schmidt is the principal on the case. I imagine he’s looking into it. Why are you asking?”
“There might be a connection with Connie’s disappearance.”
I sat through a moment of silence on Morelli’s end. “And?” he finally said.
“And I’ll tell you about it later. It’s complicated.”
I imagined Morelli was staring down at his shoe, making an effort to keep his composure. He knew I was withholding information.
“You aren’t going rogue on me, are you?” he asked.
“Who, me?”
Lula looked at me when I disconnected from Morelli. “I bet he loved that conversation.”
“He accused me of going rogue.”
“Who, you?”
I dropped Beedle at his parents’ house with strict instructions that he wasn’t to leave, and I headed for the office.
Grandma was slumped in Connie’s chair with her mouth open and her eyes closed when Lula and I walked in.
“I hope she’s not dead,” Lula said. “I hate when people are dead.”
Grandma gave a snort and sat up. “I was just resting my eyes.”
“Anything happen while we were gone?” I asked her.
“Nope. It’s been real quiet. Did you get the coin?”
“No,” I said, “but we know where it is. I came back so I could use Connie’s computer. I want to do a search on Melvin Sparks.”
Grandma got up, and I sat down. I cleared the screen of bingo and poker apps and fed Sparks into one of Connie’s search engines. All the usual stuff appeared. Age, address, education. There was nothing derogatory. No arrests. No wife. No children. A sister. Occupation was listed as a merchandise stocker at Scoopers. That’s why he was at home on a Tuesday afternoon, I thought. He works the night shift stocking shelves.
I called Scoopers employment and asked about jobs stocking shelves. I was told that the night shift started at nine o’clock and ran until three in the morning.
I called Ranger.
