Killer Keepsakes by Jane K. Cleland Read Free Book Online Page A

rolled the futons back into the closet, and after I’d taken a hot shower and was warm in bed, I had a thought: Maybe I should knock on Mandy’s door and see if Gretchen is there, hiding in her friend’s apartment. And Lina’s. I should ask Mandy where she lives.
    I didn’t really believe that either woman was hiding Gretchen, but checking could do no harm. Just as I was fading from wakefulness to sleep, I had another thought: Maybe I can find out whether Gretchen’s car is still in the shop, and if not, who drove her to pick it up.

CHAPTER NINE

    W
    ith my morning cup of coffee in hand, I sat at my home computer and Googled Mandy’s name and “New Hampshire.” Ty was long gone, heading back to Vermont.
    Her address popped up. She lived in a town house near the Fox Run Mall in Newington, about two miles from Prescott’s in Portsmouth and about five miles from my house in Rocky Point.
    Rocky Point was a small, affluent beach community a few miles south of Portsmouth. It claimed three of New Hampshire’s eighteen miles of shoreline, the fewest of any state. A few blocks inland, main street boasted charming boutiques, gourmet restaurants, and an expensive hair salon and day spa. At one end of the park there was a central green with a gazebo where a band played on summer evenings. On the other end there was a small pond surrounded by forsythia bushes just in bloom. On the west side of the village, Main Street narrowed and became residential. At the edge of town, just before the dividing line between Rocky Point and Turnow Falls, Main Street widened again and turned rural. The Heron dealership sat on newly developed acreage at the far end of the street.
    Wispy clouds streaked across a baby blue sky. It was warmer than yesterday.
    I decided to visit the Heron dealership first.
    I turned into the pennant-draped lot and drove slowly down the rows of vehicles. Gretchen’s car wasn’t there. I drove around the back to the service bays. The doors were down, but the lights were on and I could see workers through the windows. I parked off to the side and entered through the door marked CUSTOMERS.
    A man at the window said, “And change the oil, okay?” He signed the form, thanked the clerk, and left.
    I approached the round cutout in the acrylic divider and smiled at the young man. He was short. There were two earrings in his left ear. He had a tattoo on his neck that read MOM, and he wore a too-large pale green uniform with MAC embroidered on the pocket. He looked bored. His uninterested attitude changed my approach. I’d intended to tell the truth but decided to take some creative license. I was willing to bet that he wouldn’t care about the details and didn’t watch the news.
    “Hi,” I said, smiling broadly. “Gretchen Brock. Picking up.”
    “Girl reporter, huh? Sorry, babe, you’re too late,” he said. “The cops have already been here.”
    “Darn!” I exclaimed, letting his assumption stand. “Did they tow it away?”
    “Nah,” he said, grinning. “She already got it herself. Wednesday, ’bout noon.”
    “Just my luck, right?” I nodded, turned to leave, then spun back. “Did you see who drove her here?”
    He shook his head. “Nope. She came in alone.”
    “Mac, is there anything else I should ask you?”
    He thought about my question for a second, then leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head, and said, “Can’t show you the paperwork. Cops got it.”
    I thanked him and left, thrilled to have learned that Gretchen had picked up her car on the day she returned. I felt one step closer to finding her.

    At eight, I idled under a willow tree in Mandy’s apartment complex and scanned the doors looking for her unit, number six. I spotted it halfway down on the left. A black Jeep was in the slot directly in front of her entryway. Vince is here, I thought. Gretchen’s car was nowhere to be seen.
    After I’d been there several minutes, trying to decide if it was too early to