Chapter 37
By the time we got back to Scarlett's house, the sun had crested the horizon. The warm amber glow cast its rays over the Southland. With a little haze in the air, it gave La La Land a soft, dreamy quality. That magic sunshine that only happens in Southern California.
Jack punched in the code at the gate, and we pulled up the driveway and parked behind the Macan. We slipped inside the house, trying to be quiet about it. At this hour, Vincent was back on duty.
We’d missed our check-in at the hotel. There was no point now. We’d just stay in the guest room. I grabbed my overnight bag from my suitcase, brushed my teeth, then crawled into bed. Still amped up after the evening's events, it was hard to get to sleep. But I needed rest. This wasn't over yet.
I had just dozed off when Isabella called. I grabbed the phone from the nightstand and swiped the screen. I scratched out, "What did you find?"
"You sound terrible."
"It's been a long night.”
"Autumn had been in contact with a prepaid cellular that pings the tower from public places in Yucca Flats—a coffee shop, a yoga studio, a few other places. Whoever is using the phone is smart. It stays off the grid most of the time. It doesn't pop up at a hotel or an apartment complex.”
"That has to be Brooke," I said. "If you found her, the people who killed Autumn will find her, too. There's no telling what Autumn told them before they killed her."
“Are you sure she was killed?”
“She did not OD. She sounded lucid and scared when I talked to her.”
"I'll keep you posted and let you know if Brooke’s phone pops up on the grid again. You should get to Yucca Flats as soon as possible.”
"I’m on it.”
I pulled myself out of bed after I ended the call. It felt like I’d just closed my eyes, but it had been two hours.
Not enough sleep, but it would have to do for now.
I stepped down the hall and rousted JD out of bed and told him we’d be hitting the road.
After I took a shower and dressed, I made breakfast, trying not to make too much noise. The house was quiet except for Vincent walking the perimeter. We chatted a bit while I grilled ham and cheese omelettes. "You want anything?"
"No, thank you. I'm good," he replied.
Jack joined us in the kitchen a moment later with wild hair and sleepy eyes.
I made bacon and hash browns to go with the eggs. We washed it down with fresh coffee, fueling up for the drive. I told Jack I’d take the first shift. He could get some sleep on the way.
It was about a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Yucca Flats.
The feds had confiscated our sidearms. Evidence from the crime scene, even though they hadn’t been discharged. Fortunately, we had back-ups, but the last thing I needed to do was get involved in another shooting.
We collected ourselves, turned off our cell phones and took burners, then loaded into the Macan. Jack reclined his seat and promptly fell asleep.
We were just in time to hit morning traffic. I took the 10 out of town heading east to the desert. I sipped on coffee, staring into the morning sun, trying to keep myself awake. I listened to a podcast on the drive.
I wasn't sure how we would find Brooke once we got to Yucca Flats, but I had a few ideas.
East of LA was an urban sprawl all the way to San Bernardino. We kept heading toward the desert, then took the Palm Valley Highway toward Yucca Flats.
It was right at two and a half hours when we pulled into town. And by town, I mean a small settlement in the middle of the desert. With a population of about 5,000, it was a stark contrast from the LA basin’s 18 million.
I pulled into a gas station and topped off the tank.
Jack stirred from his slumber, hustled inside, and took care of business. He returned a few moments later with bottled water, diet drinks, and snacks.
We climbed back into the Porsche.
Jack said, "That wasn't bad at all.”
I glared at him. He looked a lot more refreshed than I did.
We rolled through town. There were plenty of touristy places to eat, shops, and art galleries. It was an eclectic little town, full of artists and free spirits.
We drove down the highway for a little bit and found the Desert Moon Hotel. It wasn't much to speak of, but it would give us a home base for this leg of the operation. A simple rectangular building with two levels and a Spanish tile roof. I’d stayed in worse.
I pulled under the carport, killed the engine, and hopped out of the SUV.
Inside, I flashed my badge to the clerk and said I needed a room, preferably on the second floor.
I didn't want somebody above us running back and forth all day, jumping on the beds, doing God knows what.
If and when I got a moment to sleep, I wanted to make sure it would count.
"Check-in isn’t until 4:00 PM,” the clerk said. “But I guess I can let you in the room now."
"That would be much appreciated.”
I gave him a prepaid credit card, and he slid two keys across the counter after he processed the transaction. I returned to the Macan, drove it around, and parked by the stairwell.
We hopped out, grabbed our bags, and climbed the steps. Room #12 was just a few steps from the stairs. I slid the key into the slot, twisted the handle, and pushed inside.
It was August in the desert, and even though it was mid-morning, it was already hot.
The AC blasted cold as we stepped inside and settled in. Jack took the bed by the air conditioner, and I took the bed closer to the bathroom.
A small flatscreen display sat atop the dresser.
The room was simple, with cream stucco walls, desert art, and teal comforters.
The well-worn, deep blue carpet wasn't much to speak of.
I don't think it had ever been shampooed.
This was not the kind of place where you wanted to shine a UV light on anything.
After we dropped off our gear, we hopped back into the Porsche and drove to the coffee shop where Brooke’s burner phone had pinged the tower several times. I figured it was as good a place as any to post up for a while and see if she strolled in.
I had studied several images of her online from her social media profiles.
Brooke was mesmerizing. Blonde hair that tickled her shoulders, fair skin, and glacial blue eyes.
If she was smart, she had dyed her hair and would only go out in public wearing a hat and sunglasses.
Perhaps a surgical mask to cover her face.
But that could be a little obvious. If I were her, I wouldn’t go out much at all.
But most people don't have the discipline to sit still for months on end.
Soothing ambient music filtered from speakers, and the murmur of conversation filled the coffee shop. The espresso machine whirred, and fingers tapped keyboards. I wouldn’t say the place was busy. Nothing in Yucca Flats is ever busy by LA standards. But there were a few people.
We stepped to the counter, placed an order, then JD and I took a seat at a table by the window near the entrance.
Isabella had told me that Autumn made several phone calls to the burner last night, but hadn't received a return phone call from Brooke. It was late when Autumn called. Since Brooke only checked her phone from public locations, I figured she never got any of Autumn’s desperate pleas for help.
I texted Isabella and asked her if the burner had popped up on the grid at all today. She told me it hadn't. Brooke was still probably in the dark.
My phone buzzed with a call from the LA County Coroner. He was the last person I expected to hear from. I swiped the screen and held the phone to my ear. “This is Deputy Wild.”
“Deputy, I’m calling about Molly Dean. I found something you might be interested in knowing.”