While Others Sleep. Helen R. Myers

something she didn’t like, she made an abrupt turn at the first opportunity. “What I want is for you to make Internal Affairs someday and nail the Lefevres of the world to a wall.”

      “Consider it an IOU. So what’s happened?”

      This was why they had hit it off so well. Both valued action and getting results over brooding and bitterness. “I think a friend is missing,” Campbell began. Careful to avoid prejudice or innuendo, she went on to explain last night’s strange occurrences, all the while maneuvering through traffic.

      It wasn’t long before Taneeka was twisting in her seat. Only her seat belt kept her from doing a full ninety-degree turn, but she did manage to tuck a leg under the other. “Are you serious? Lightning? Girl, you are living under one dark cloud.”

      “Won’t argue with you there.” A cloud that had a wide reach. If life hadn’t taken the nosedive it did, she would now be living in a four-bedroom house with a cheery yellow kitchen, a hot tub on the patio and perusing wallpaper books for the nursery. Or maybe not. At the end, all had not been bliss between her and Greg. The night he’d been killed, she’d stopped kidding herself and told him that they needed to have a serious talk.

      “I know the story about Maida sounds vague and incidental,” she said, forcing herself to get back on track. “But I swear she would have stopped and asked me for advice if she’d had some problem.”

      Taneeka nodded acceptance. “Then again, older folks can act pretty strange at times. My great-aunt and grandmother got into a shouting match last Sunday that had dogs three blocks away howling—at six in the morning. You know what it was about? A stupid shawl that showed up in the drawer under the one where Aunt Petty usually puts her scarves and stuff.”

      Campbell remembered other tales about the infamous Petty, named in error when her mother misspelled Pretty to the midwife filling out the birth certificate. “Sounds like you still have your hands full over there.”

      “Girl, the one thing worse than a house full of women is a house full of southern women.”

      Campbell enjoyed Taneeka’s rich barbecue-sauce drawl, but knew there was a message under the humor. Jokes aside, she remained passionately protective of her family. “I hear you. My father said something similar about Maida. And I understand how subtle the early stages of dementia can be, but those conditions don’t occur overnight. Not to this extent.”

      “Tell you what…as soon as I get back, I can check to see if she or her car shows up on the computer anywhere.”

      “Yancy has notified the state police. They’ll put her license and plate number in the NCIC system. If there is anything, he should know by now.”

      “Good. So why am I here?”

      Campbell dealt with an inner pinch. Her friend hadn’t asked, “How can I help?”

      “I’m glad to see you’re still on top of your game.” In school, one instructor had suggested that Taneeka consider a career in Vice because of her ability to follow the thinking patterns of the devious.

      “Don’t get me wrong. I understand you’re concerned about a senior citizen under your care, who happens to be a friend. Now answer the question.”

      Campbell stopped for a traffic signal. “The Holms murder. The kid was a schoolmate of Debra Saunders, Maida’s granddaughter.”

      “Why am I surprised? Were the girls close?”

      “I’m trying to figure that out. I was at the Saunderses’ house this morning to ask what they knew about Maida and I saw their kid learn about the shooting on TV. If they’re not pals, they have to at least share a few of the same classes.”

      Taneeka’s fine features hardened as she shifted into her own no-nonsense mode. “You think there could be a connection because your friend and the Holms kid drove the same car?”

      “Hey, I didn’t say—” Campbell paused, hearing what fatigue and pain were doing to her control. “My goal is to find Maida alive and well sitting at a bus station or something. Troubling as that would be, I’d take it over any of the other options. What I was hoping you’d do is tell me what you have on the Holms case. I have to return to the Saunderses’ and hopefully get them to let me into Maida’s house.”

      “You don’t want to do that.”

      “I feel if I can look around, I’ll get a clue as to what happened.”

      Taneeka shot another studious glance her way. “You know it that well?”

      “I’m over there at least once a week, so if you’re worried about my DNA being left behind, it’s too late.” Maybe it was because she’d missed out knowing her grandparents, but she liked to help Maida with errands and projects, and to listen to her talk about her youth and her views on life in general. “I know what you’re going to say—it’s a pretty good guess that Dwayne Saunders is going to try to blame Cody Security for his mother’s disappearance, making me the last person he’d want in her house. So tell me, how hard I can push back?”

      “I don’t follow,” Taneeka replied.

      “If it looks like the LPD will wrap up this case fast and no one else from the school is involved, I can appeal for the Saunderses’ full attention. If they’re pulled in two different directions because their daughter lost a close friend and the police are hounding her for information and possible leads, it’s going to make my job even tougher.”

      Tankeeka looked pensive. “Please say you’re not asking for—”

      “No privileged information. Absolutely not.”

      “Well, it’ll be this evening or maybe even tomorrow before Detective Snow gives our shift the next briefing—unless he suddenly brings in someone. Don’t you think Mr. Saunders will call the sheriff himself and then this will be out of your hands?”

      “One would hope, only he didn’t sound all that concerned to me when we spoke a while ago. Either way, I’m going to do what I can until I find her.”

      “All right, I’m in, too,” Taneeka replied. “Hey, have you got a picture of her?”

      “Down on the console.” The wallet-size photo had an index card attached with some personal information on Maida.

      “Aw,” Taneeka said softly. “She’s sweet. She looks like she should be on a jar of pasta or something.”

      “Make that chicken soup. She’s half Jewish, on her mother’s side. Her first husband was a Southern Baptist, though. Then twenty years ago, after his death, she married Arthur Livingstone. He passed four years ago.”

      Taneeka read the data on the card. “Well, you’d better drive me back. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

      Although grateful, Campbell took her indebtedness seriously. “I know it’s still early, but I was going to buy you lunch.”

      “Honey, I saw how you froze when we passed that patrol car a minute ago,” Taneeka drawled. “And to be honest, I’d rather paint a bull’s-eye on my back than be seen in this rolling advertisement for abuse. Let me take a rain check. And hopefully we’ll have something to celebrate.”

      Relieved, Campbell cut a U-turn in a bank parking lot. “I like the sound of that.”

      The change of plans turned out to be a blessing. It was just as well that Campbell’s offer for lunch didn’t work out. Only minutes after saying goodbye to Taneeka, she heard her pager sound. She checked the display window and the brief surge of hope she’d felt after her visit with her friend vanished. Her father—sounding as serious as she’d ever heard him—was advising that he had news and didn’t want to tell her over the radio or phone.