Page 74 of Midnight Auto Parts

The Suarezes would take on the project as a matter of pride in the family name. Pascal guaranteed their cooperation when he ran the idea past me first. Paco and Pedro would refuse to lose face if he couldn’t deliver, so they would be happy to help. As if I could ever think badly of any of them.

“I need to touch base with Carter,” I announced as we rolled into our usual parking space.

“Call her.” Matty waved Kierce on. “We can handle the switch today.”

As anxious as it made me to turn care of my brother over to someone else, I trusted Kierce to get Pedro seated in Matty. And besides, I would prefer Matty not learn that I had fallen into old habits and dusted off my old breaking and entering skills last night.

While Kierce handled my morning tasks for me, I dialed Carter. “Hi, um, there.”

“Hi, um, there to you too.” She sighed. “Why do you sound so guilty?”

“Have you had a chance to look into the GWC yet?”

“There’s not much information out there on it, so we’re meeting with a club rep later today.”

“So, here’s the thing.”

“Oh God.”

“I received a tip about the GWC that prompted me to invite myself through the back door of the community center on Talahi Island.”

“You broke in?”

“Nothing was broken,” I rushed to assure her. “We—I—located a locker the club uses to hold their materials between meetings and found a chapter handbook that might interest you.”

“Fuck.”

“The official line is—” I cut through her negativity, “—GWC is a group of like-minded women who meet monthly to teach healthy lifestyle choices, encourage civic involvement, support women’s arts and education, and advocate for children. They also offer aid for victims of domestic and sexual violence as well as promote awareness and prevention within the community.”

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Her voice thinned. “What’s the unofficial line?”

“That Rosalie Morgan started a halfway house thirty years ago for abused women in honor of her little sister, Patricia, who was attacked by her husband and left for dead. Patty’s Place is where women go to get back on their feet away from the people hurting them.”

“Okay.” She exhaled across the line. “We’ll subpoena their records and get a member?—”

“The roster was stuck in the back of the handbook,” I said meekly.

For a moment, Carter was so quiet I worried the call had dropped, but then she made a noise like she was sucking her teeth. “Did you recognize any of the names?”

“Every one of your missing persons are listed. Including Officers Kim and Tate. No mention of Tameka or Keshawn, butthere are aliases aplenty. Lots of Mary Todd Lincolns for some reason.”

I wasn’t the best with presidential history, but I did know one abstract factoid about Mary Todd Lincoln. She was known for a photo taken by William H. Mumler, a spirit photographer, in the 1800s. It depicted her late husband, Abraham Lincoln, standing behind her with his hands resting on her shoulders.

“She was a women’s rights advocate,” Carter mused, her tone thoughtful.

“There are so many Marys, I doubt we ever match all the names to faces.”

“We pulled surveillance from the community center, but the cameras facing the building are dummies, and the ones from surrounding businesses only record static in that direction. We’ll be lucky to get any faces. Names will give us somewhere to start.”

“I don’t suppose you noticed anyone digging up a tree?”

“On the recording? No. Should I be concerned about a missing tree?”

Well crap. So much for an easy answer. “No? I don’t think so. It’s probably unrelated.”

God, I hoped Ankou wasn’t tangled in this mess.

A voice called for her in the background, and Carter sighed. “Let me know if that changes.”

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