Before I get snowed in, I order a car and follow signs to the pickup area. As I open the outside door, cold air whooshes in, and I regret not wearing my heavy jacket. Jumping up and down, I wait for my ride.
Soon, a gold Kia pulls up, I hop in, and place my knapsack beside me. My original calculation had the drive to Cheektowaga taking ten minutes but because of the slippery roads, it takes twice as long.
When she stops by a small white home, I lean over the front seat. “I’m going to be less than an hour. Can you wait?”
The gray-haired brown woman glances back and nods. “No problem.”
“Thank you.” At the curb, I take a moment in the snow to study the one-story, faux brick cape.
Wishing I’d worn boots, I slip and slide until I stand under the home’s green awning. There, I ring and wait. When no one comes, I open the screen door and knock.
Eventually, footsteps sound and a deeply wrinkled face surrounded by a wild mop of gray curls appears. “Can I help you?”
“I’m searching for your great-granddaughter. Is she here?” I clasp a fake badge, hoping not to use it.
Looking up at the sky, she sighs. “You might as well come in.”
In the dark paneled living room, a sole yellow bulb lights furniture dating back to the fifties. Piles of dusty magazines and refolded newspapers cover a coffee table. Judging by the smell, the lime-green shag carpet hasn’t been cleaned in a very long time.
I follow her into the kitchen. Other than a pile of unwashed dishes, this area is far cleaner than the first, but that isn’t saying much.
“So, you’re a lady cop?” Frowning, the elderly woman eyes me up and down.
I shake my head, no, and hand her a card. “Private eye. Selena hired my company. She’s worried about her daughter.”
“You mean Sharon, right?” Her eyes narrow and not sure what to say, I nod.
“Yeah, sorry, I got the name wrong.”
“Not much of a detective, are you?”
Wanting to move the discussion on track, I place my cellphone on the table and hit record. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Do you want coffee?”
“Uh, sure.”
She opens a cupboard, finds a mug, and adds a spoonful of instant. Then, she pours in tap water and places it in the microwave.
While the motor whirs, she crosses her arms. “So, what do the police want with my great-granddaughter?”
“I assure, you, I’m not a cop. Chrissy’s mom is worried about her daughter.”
“She’s not here.” The timer dings and she sets the cup on the table. “Milk?”
“Yes, please. Nothing else.”
After opening the fridge, she places a carton in front of me and retrieves an old-fashioned sugar bowl from a china cabinet.
After placing it near me, she eases into a chair. “So, what did Sharon do now?”
“You mean Chrissy?” I scroll my phone to the high school picture and show her.
The elderly woman’s brows crease and her mouth purses. “Who’s that?”
Weird, I saw the exact same image, framed and sitting on top of her TV stand in her living room. Shit, this is going to be harder than I first thought.
“When was the last time you saw Sharon?”
