We walked up the stairs of Aaron’s apartment behind a father and two cuties: a princess and a leprechaun. Deborah answered the door excitedly, candy-bowl cradled at her stomach. Yep, she was costumed as a woman with a nice rack. A costume she wears year-round. She dropped a couple mini’s in their bags and told them to be safe. The trio descended the stairs past Norrah and I.
“Well hello, guys!” Deborah said, her smile ever so pleasant. “What a nice surprise!”
“Hello, Deb,” I said.
We were let inside, took seats on the couch. Deborah looked anxious to please, get us refreshment or food. We said we were fine, have a seat.
“How are you doing?” Norrah asked.
“I’m good, thanks. Aaron didn’t say you were coming over.”
“It’s a surprise visit,” I said.
“Let me call him, tell him the good news.”
“Don’t bother. His phone’s dead. Is he still looking for Brooke? Has he come home at all since he left?”
“He hasn’t returned yet. But yes, he’s trying to find a party.”
“Any idea where he might be?” Norrah asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
I sighed. “Deb, we’re pretty sure Paul is up here in Fresno. I hate to worry you, but there’s a chance Aaron may be in trouble.”
She sobered with that. She moved quickly to the kitchen counter and snatched her cellphone, began calling Aaron before remembering his phone was dead.
“We’re going to need your help,” Norrah said to her. “We need to find them.”
“Them?”
I said Paul and Aaron at the same time that Norrah said Brooke and Aaron.
Her alarmed gaze jumped between the two of us on the couch. I told her about the text-picture, then showed her. “That poor girl,” she said. “We have to call the police.”
“I am the police,” I said, a little offended.
“Local police,” she amended.
“They won’t know where they’re at anymore than we do, and we don’t have a lot of time. Look, we’re thinking Paul abducted Brooke and is holding her as bait to lure Aaron in. What happens then is anyone’s guess. Look really hard at the picture; is there anything that looks familiar? We need to find out where this is.”
She studied it, pointed at the upper left corner of the screen, said, “Looks like some kind of structure, cement.” She then got closer to the screen. “Dirt, and lots of it. That can be anywhere in Fresno. Graffiti on the cement. This might be a bridge. Maybe not.”
“The old riverbed!” I said and exulted.
“Yes!” Norrah cheered. “Of course that’s where they’d be!”
“You don’t mean the place where Aaron took that young girl Marie, do you?” Deborah asked. “I doubt he’ll ever get over what he did there. Poor guy, he’s so hard on himself.” She looked at the text-picture again. “I’m not a hundred-percent sure, but I think the oil lease by the riverbed, by Fresno State, that’s a Vintage property. My cousin used to be a roughneck for Vintage. He lost a hand in an accident there. It’s such dangerous work, being—”
“If Paul texted this same picture to Aaron,” I said, trampling all over her story, “Aaron will be at the riverbed now. Assuming he got the text: his phone died. But being that he hasn’t come back yet, and after I told him Paul is in Sedona (whoops), it seems pretty clear he did get the text and is working on resolving the issue now, and alone.”
“Let’s go,” Norrah said. “Deborah, could you lead us there?”
“I think so. If the bridge is the one leading to Vintage, then yes.”