40. Swing
FORTY
Swing
CJ
Lunch and ice cream pacified the cranky girls. CJ had them talk him through the rest of their last Saturday with their mother and found nothing much happened. Henrietta Jones took her daughters home after selling cookies. She mixed homemade cookies after a dinner of chicken and rice—yukon the rice, according to Anna, andgrosson the chicken, according to Angela. As a pair, the kids were crushingly adorable.
Despite theyukandgross, he was informed the cookies had beenyummy.
He walked them through their bedtime routine and finally made it to the morning, where an argument ensued as to who had been thesleepy head.Once they sorted that out, Henrietta took her daughters to their favorite playground. Anna showed him all the slides and then headed to the swings.
Pushing her high enough to get an excited squeal, he scrutinized the playground. “So, Anna, where did your mother sit when you girls played?”
Angela pumped her swing beside them, declining any adult help, and flew as high as her sister.
Anna kicked her foot out toward a park bench across the way. “She always sits there.”
“Ah,” CJ said. “Did she sit with friends? Other parents? Mothers? Fathers?”Romantic interests who might have stolen her from you?
“No,” Angela said. “She read her book.”
The constant laughter of other kids filled the air. The squealing and occasional screams made his ears hurt. He pushed Anna higher.
“There are a lot of kids here.” Interspersed here and there, when necessary, the calming tones of adult voices encouraged children to be nice. “Do you play with any of them?”
“We do.” Angela gave a vigorous nod.
“Who did you play with last week?” His eyes roamed the playground looking for anything out of sorts, finding nothing. The whole day had been like this, frustratingly normal.
“I don’t remember,” Angela said.
“We played tag.” Anna chimed.
“Did your mother play, or did she just watch from the bench?”
“She watches,” Angela confirmed. “I told you, she always sits alone.” Irritation rimmed her tone, and her little legs pumped in the air, trying hard to match Anna’s height on the upward arc of the swing.
“Nuh-uh,” Anna said. “Remember?”
He slowed her swing, interested in this bit of news.
“You were playing hopscotch with that boy. I told you Mama was talking to that man. The one with the fifties who bought ten boxes.”
“What boxes?” he asked.
Anna continued, excited to be the center of his attention. Her eyes were bright with the knowledge she knew something her sister did not.
“Angie said I was being a baby, but Tommy was chasing me. The man told Tommy I was aladyand to stop hitting. He’s nice. I like him. I think Mommy liked him too.”
CJ pulled out Jenny’s phone and sent a text message to Mac.
* * *
CJ: Sketch artist ASAP. Lead on case.
* * *
“Wow, you have an amazing memory, Anna.”
CJ glanced at her sister only to find Angela’s hands fisted on the chain of the swing and a scowl planted on her face. He intercepted the outburst.
“Remember what we talked about? Any detail is important, no matter how small.”
Angela’s gaze flicked to his, and the anger she had been about to direct at her sister melted from her expression. A glimmer replaced it. Not hope. Something else. The deepest trust.
Angela had said the man had rubbed her the wrong way. She might provide a better sketch than her sister.
Angela chewed at her lower lip. “Mr. CJ, I need to use the bathroom.”
He cocked his head. “Sure. I’ll take you.”
Her head shook. “I’m old enough to go on my own. I’m not like Anna.”
“Okay. Please don’t be too long.”
“I won’t.” The beginnings of tears pooled in the corners of Angela’s eyes.
He pretended not to notice and scooped Anna into his arms to carry her to the bench where her mother had sat with the unknown man. He swung Anna in the air and had her laughing and squealing by the time they made it to the bench.
“Now Anna, tell me everything about your mom’s new friend.”
“Oh, he’s nice. Tommy was chasing me, but I ran to Mommy. I was safe, but he tried to tag me. Then, he pinched me!”
“He pinched you!” CJ put his hands on his cheeks and pulled a face.
Anna giggled. “Yes, but he told him that wasn’t nice.”
“Tommy?” Anna’s use of pronouns confused CJ.
“No, not Tommy, the cookie’s man?”
“Cookie’s man?”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Yes, the man who bought the cookies.”
“From the neighborhood?”
“Yes.”
The problem with interrogating seven-year-old girls was they were seven years old. It was virtually impossible to get a cogent thought out of them.
“So the Cookie’s man told Tommy to stop pinching you?”
“Yes!” She clapped her hands together. “He was real nice.”
“And your mother liked him?”
Anna leaned in and whispered. “She was all googly-eyes.”
“Ah. I see.”
“Mama didn’t remember him, but I did.” She leaned in and whispered again. “I gave him a big hug. He told me he ate all the cookies.” Anna leaned back and gave me a wide-eyed look. “I told him that was bad. You’re not supposed to eat that many cookies. His mommy would get mad at him. He said he was never good at following rules.”
No doubt. “What else did he say?”
Anna shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“Where was Angela?”
“Angie was playing hopscotch with her friend.”
“Hm. Do you remember how long your mother talked with this man?”
“Nope.”
CJ’s phone buzzed.
* * *
Mac: Sketch artist will be there in five.
* * *
“Hey, Anna, I need you to do something for me.”
“Sure.” Her eager eyes lit up, ready to please.
“I have someone coming, and they’re going to draw a picture of this man using your description. Have you ever had anyone pull a picture out of your mind before?”
Her mouth dropped. “They can do that?”
“With your help.”
Angela trudged back from the bathrooms. He lifted Anna off the bench and gave her a slight push toward the playground.
“They’ll be here in a few minutes. Why don’t you go play while we wait?”
“Cool.” Anna took off at a run.
Angela scuffed her heels against the ground. CJ patted the seat next to him.
She plopped down. “I didn’t even notice Mama talking to anyone.”
CJ leaned back on the bench and stretched his arms out wide. “You notice more than you realize.”
“Do you think my mom is with him?”
He noticed the change from ‘Mama’ to ‘my mom’ and sighed. “No. Is that what you think happened?”
The eleven-year-old heaved a deep sigh, appearing much older and wiser than her years. “She’s been so sad since Daddy died. I saw a note he wrote. He said if anything ever happened, he wanted her to find someone else. Someone to take care of her. I thought if she ever did, she would leave us. I figured that’s why she never looked. Then she talks to this man…and now she’s gone.”
CJ put his hand on Angela’s head and stroked her hair. “Angela, it doesn’t work that way with grown-ups. It takes time.”
“So you don’t think…”
“I don’t think your mother left. Whatever happened, I’m certain she’s trying her hardest to get back to you. I’m here to help her do that. You’re going to help me. You and your sister.”
He told Angela about the sketch artist and what he wanted from each of them. Explaining things helped the pre-teen maintain the sense of control she needed in her life.
CJ was all about fostering that in this young girl who had a lot of growing up to do real fast. Anna was so much easier. She didn’t understand what trouble her mother was in.
The sketch artist arrived a few minutes later. She was in her late forties, wearing a pencil skirt and silk blouse, sketch pad tucked under her arm. They shook hands and exchanged greetings.
“Sandra Collins.”
“CJ,” he replied.
She arched a brow, perhaps expecting more, but CJ liked to keep things simple.
“Angela, this is Ms. Collins, and she’s an artist. She’s going to ask you to describe the man you sold the cookies to. Do you think you can do that?”
A shrug. “I can try.”