I call Tic Tac and he answers with, “Her parents weren’t married when she was born but they were together, which I know from credit reports I managed to connect. We still have nothing.”
We disconnect as Jay pulls us up to the hotel, which looks like a castle on the edge of the Boston Harbor. It’s incredible.
For a moment, I forget the case and just enjoy every moment of walking into the glamorous lobby with dark brown and tan décor, a grand piano being played in one corner. Once I’m at my room door, I give Jay and Enrique a chance to get settled in their nearby rooms. I enter a stunning two-level Presidential suite, with a glass and steel staircase to the top floor. The living room and dining room are one and there is a glass-encased balcony overlooking the water, which is where we would get married.
On the dining table sits what has to be two dozen roses. I walk to them and grab the card. “Finally,” it reads.
I don’t have to ask what that means. I finally said yes. We’re finally doing this. The past is finally behind us. Finally sums up everything about right now.
I smile and walk out onto the glass-encased balcony and open a sliding glass window and lean out, inhaling the salty ocean air. This is where I will get married. I savor that thought, but my sentimental moment ends quickly by necessity. I shut the glass. This is where I catch a killer so I can marry Kane without said killer looming over our lives.
I walk back into the room and call the Boston detective I’m supposed to meet with, and he doesn’t answer. Next, I call Tic Tac. “Text me the address to Marilyn’s old family home. And find out if anyone still lives in the neighborhood that lived there when Marilyn and her family were there.” I disconnect, grab my coat and field bag and exit my room, knocking on Jay’s door. And keep walking to knock on Enrique’s door. Both join me in the hallway.
“What’s the plan?” Jay asks.
“You go with me. Enrique, I am supposed to meet the Boston PD here in half an hour. Ask him to call me. I’ll meet him wherever in a couple of hours.”
He blinks. “You want me to talk to the PD?”
I pat his shoulder. “Just don’t tell him how many people you’ve killed. You probably shouldn’t tell me either.” I shake my badge at him and motion Jay forward. If I don’t find anything in this neighborhood, I’m just going to go see Marilyn.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The Charlestown area of Boston, which is where Marilyn lived for most of her youth, reminds me of portions of New York City with a touch of San Francisco. Clapboard single-family homes and townhouses line narrow, cozy streets with fingers of space between each other, if that much.
Marilyn’s old home is a light blue, single-family home. Jay parks in front of it while I dial Tic Tac. “I’m here at Marilyn’s old family home. What do I need to know?”
“Marilyn’s home sold three times since she left. No one there will have any idea who she is. There was a real estate investor who came through a few years back and bought everyone out. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“There’s no one here that was here back then?”
“No one.”
“Didn’t her parents run an accounting firm from home?” I ask, trying to remember what I read in the file.
“Right.”
“Can you get a client list?”
“That’s a hard reach, Lilah.”
“I know but I need you to try. Text me her high school address. I’m going to see if any teachers remember her and try to pin down old friends.” I disconnect and stare at the house. My gut said to come to Marilyn’s old neighborhood. I just have to figure out why. Obviously, this isn’t it.
I glance at Jay. “Let’s grab something to eat and give Tic Tac time to dig, but I want to stay in the neighborhood and think a bit about what I’m missing.”
“I saw a pizza joint a couple blocks back.”
“I’m sure they have salad. That works.”
“Since when do you eat salad?”
“My dress fits perfectly. I don’t have room to spare.”
“Well. More pizza for me.”
He pulls us out onto the road and then in a flash we’re parking at the small mom-and-pop-style restaurant. I exit the vehicle and round the hood to meet Jay at the stained glass door that reads “Charlestown’s finest since 1976.”
“This place was here when Marilyn was here,” I say. “And what are the odds a teenager walked here and often?”
“One hundred percent in your favor,” Jay assures me.
“I’m feeling good about this.”
Jay opens the door and I enter the dimly-lit spot and to my right, bingo, a gaming area. I spy an old-school PAC-MAN machine that must be thirty years old. The smell of pizza permeates the air and my stomach growls, unwilling to give a damn about me fitting in my dress. I decide a hotel like that one we’re in will have a gym. I walk to the wooden counter and an older woman with long gray hair and under-cared-for sunbaked skin greets me. “Table for two?”