“She didn’t have a chance to say, only that she’s not at home.”
“Someone’s hurting her.” Paulo looked like his world had shattered into a million pieces. “We have to do something.”
“I’ll call the police,” I said, reaching for the phone.
“It’s Christmas Day.” Paulo raised his arms then dropped them to his sides. “They’ll think she’s partying or something.”
“True.” Simon blew out a breath. “It takes at least twenty-four hours for any action on a missing person. And we’re not even sure she’s missing…though she did say she wasn’t at home.” He paced around my small kitchen. That’s when I knew he was as upset as Paulo.
“There is one other thing we can do,” I said.
“What?” they asked in unison.
“Call Lieutenant Rossi.”
Paulo looked at me with wide, scared eyes. “The lieutenant who questioned everybody at the Alexanders?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a
“Don’t jump to conclusions, son,” Simon said. “Lee’s very much alive.”
“Call him.” Paulo’s voice broke. “Call him now.”
“I have his home phone number,” I said. Ignoring Simon’s raised eyebrow, I dug the slip of paper Rossi had given me out of my purse and dialed his number, hoping to God he’d answer.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Lieutenant Rossi, this is Deva Dunne.”
“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” he said.
“This is serious, Lieutenant.”
“You wouldn’t have called otherwise, Mrs. D,” he said, unflappable as ever, giving nothing away.
“I need your help.”
When I finished telling him about Lee’s call, he asked, “Have you notified the station?”
“No. Just you.”
A pause. I knew detectives weren’t first responders. This was a violation of protocol. He could well refuse to get involved, especially after his chief had warned him about even a hint of impropriety. But all he said was, “I’ll take my pizza out of the oven and be right over.”
While we waited for Rossi, the three of us huddled in the kitchen, staring at the phone, willing it to ring again, but it didn’t. Simon and I slumped in the chairs by the table. Paulo stood at the kitchen sliders looking out at the palm trees waving in the bright Christmas sun. For once, I felt sure his keen artist’s eyes were seeing nothing. Only Lee’s face streaked with tears. And fear.
When the chimes sounded, we all hurried into the living room. Rossi nodded but wasted no time in greetings. “Tell me what you know about the girl. For starters, where does she live?”
“In a room on Third Avenue South,” I said.
“She said she wasn’t there,” Simon told him.
“Any boyfriends?”
“No,” Paulo said. “No boyfriends.” His firm tone left no room for argument.
Rossi shot him a keen look. “How about enemies?”
“Absolutely not. If you’d met her-”
“She’s afraid of her father, though,” I said.
Rossi switched his attention from Paulo to me.
“He works for Gro Green Gardeners. Merle Skimp’s his name. He was working outside the Alexander house the day I contacted 911.”
“I’ve talked to Merle,” Rossi said, his jaw tightening.
We all turned to him. “Why?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“You’re acquainted with Skimp’s daughter?” Rossi asked.
Paulo nodded then stared down at his hands clenched in his lap.
“Has her father seen you together?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible. She works at the Irish Pub, and lately I’ve been walking her home when her shift ends. It’s late for her to be out alone.”
Simon looked across at me. Our glances tangled, caught up in the same thought.
“Since she told you she wasn’t home, we’ll start with the father,” Rossi said. “I’m going out to use the car radio. I’ll be back.”
We waited without speaking. I was worried sick about Lee, but my heart went out to Paulo, too. He sat on the sofa, his shoulders sagging, his hands dangling between his knees. I knew without being told that Merle’s unearned hatred wasn’t the first ill will Paulo had encountered in his young life.
After a few minutes that felt like an age, Rossi strode back in. “I have the address of a Merle Skimp in East Naples, off Rattlesnake Road. I’m officially off duty, but I’ll be happy to pay a friendly social call on Mr. Skimp. If the girl’s not there, we’ll make a formal report at the station. But in light of what you told me, Mrs. D, this is worth a try.” He met Paulo’s panic-stricken eyes. “You want to ride with me?”
Paulo leaped off the couch.
“I’m coming, too,” I said.
“Deva and I will follow you, Lieutenant,” Simon told him.
Rossi darted a hooded glance my way, then nodded. “Let’s go.”
Christmas Day traffic was light, and within twenty minutes, we were outside a barrackslike condominium building that must have held a couple of hundred units. In the parking lot, Simon parked his BMW next to Rossi’s beat-up Mustang.
“He’s on the first floor,” Rossi said. “On the end. Don’t stand in front of the door,” he warned as we reached Skimp’s unit.
Pressing hard, Rossi ground his thumb on the bell. Shrill and clear, a buzzer pierced the air. No answer. He lifted off his thumb and pressed a second time. Still no answer. Using the flat of his hand, he pounded on the door.
“Open up, police.”
Again he buzzed. Nothing. His hand was raised, ready to attack the door again when it squeaked open as far as the safety chain allowed. Merle Skimp’s thin, worn face peered through the slit.
“What’s all this noise?”
“Lieutenant Rossi. Naples Police.” Off duty or not, Rossi flashed his badge. “We’re looking for a Miss Lee Skimp.”
Merle squinted at the badge. “What do you want with her? She’s done no wrong.”
“Can we come in and talk to you?”
“I’ve got nothing to say to the police.” Merle broke the word into two syllables-
“I have a few questions, Mr. Skimp. A short while ago, your daughter placed a distress call. We have reason to believe she may have been kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?” Merle snorted. “You can’t kidnap your own kin.”
“She’s here, then?” Paulo asked, his voice rising.
Merle peered at him through the narrow opening. “What’s it to you?”
“Remember me, Merle?” Paulo asked. “From the Alexanders? The big place on Gordon Drive?”
“Yeah, I remember you, all right. Stay away from my gal, you hear. I don’t want her consortin’ with the likes of you.”
“Where is she, Merle?”
“None of your business, Blackie.”
