Cherry Street is in a pleasant middle-income neighborhood. Houses and yards are small but neatly maintained. Interiors are filled with overstuffed furniture, flat-screen televisions, and technology only a fourteen-year-old could master. The Joyce house was no exception. It was a two-story white house with a red front door and a small front porch.
The woman who answered the door was perfect for the house. Medium height. Medium weight.
Medium short brown hair. Dressed in tan slacks and a pink striped shirt. She smiled a hello to me and took a step back when she saw Lula in her biker dominatrix outfit.
“I’m looking for Carol,” I said.
“I’m afraid he isn’t home right now,” the woman said. “I’m his mother. Is there anything I can relay to Carol?”
“I represent his bail bonds agent,” I said. “Carol missed his court date, and I wanted to help him reschedule.”
“That’s very nice of you. I’m sure he would welcome the help.”
“Do you expect him home soon?”
“He’s at work right now. He’s a personal shopper. He doesn’t really have a set schedule.”
“Do you know where he’s shopping today?”
“Goodness, no. He shops everywhere. He’s always on the lookout for a bargain. Although he is partial to Quaker Bridge Mall, and there’s another mall on the highway. I forget the name of it. He shops there first thing sometimes because it opens early.”
We returned to my car, and Lula looked around. “You haven’t got Rangeman guys with you today,” she said. “What’s with that?”
“Maybe Ranger thinks the danger level has dropped off to yellow. Or maybe last night when I was asleep, he installed cameras and listening bugs besides the usual GPS tracker.”
“He’s hot, but he’s a little whackadoodle,” Lula said.
“He’s had a troubled past.”
“He’s someone else who would benefit from a cat.”
Omigod, Ranger with a cat. That was a mental image that would haunt me for days.
“Where are we going now to find this personal shopper?” Lula asked.
I checked the time. It was a couple minutes after nine. “Quaker Bridge doesn’t open until ten, so he isn’t there,” I said. “The other mall she was referring to must be Greenwood. It’s not far from here.” I handed the file over to Lula. “I’ll cruise the Greenwood parking lot. He drives a black Cadillac Escalade. You have the license plate number in the file.”
“I’m on it. I’m looking at all the cars we’re passing, too. It’s easy to spot a Escalade on account of they’re so big. It’s actually a good choice of vehicle for a shoplifter of his magnitude. You could fit a lot of T-shirts in a Escalade.”
I turned in to the Greenwood lot and drove up and down the aisles. Greenwood isn’t half the size of Quaker Bridge, and there were only a few cars parked. None of them was an Escalade.
“Quaker Bridge will be opening soon,” Lula said. “I vote we go to Quaker Bridge next. And if we take a small detour onto Sutter Boulevard, we could fit in a stop at the Dunkin’ Donuts there. It’s got a drive-thru, and it’s an excellent Dunkin’ Donuts.”
“You didn’t have enough donuts at the office?”
“I didn’t have a Boston Kreme.”
I left Greenwood, drove ten minutes down the highway, and exited at Sutter Boulevard. Dunkin’ Donuts was immediately on the right side of Sutter. The parking lot was packed, and there were eight cars in line at the drive-thru.
“I’ll run in,” Lula said. “It’ll be faster, and I’ll get a better choice of donut.”
Fifteen minutes later, Lula hustled back to the car with a box of donuts and two large coffees.
“This is great,” Lula said, handing me a coffee and opening the box. “Just you and me and a box of donuts. This is the way people bond over good memories and shit.”
I looked at the donuts. “They’re all Boston Kremes.”
“Exactly. It’s so we don’t have to argue who gets what. And I got a dozen so there’s lots to go around.”