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Chapter
23
The
Trolley Trail winds its way from the Plaza through Brookside and finally ends
at Eighty-fifth Street in Waldo. The morning had proved to be uneventful, and
Olivia’s attempt to read failed, so she decided to walk the trail to the
Roasterie for a cup of coffee. After that, a quick trip to Brookside Market for
a bottle of wine. She tightened the collar of her jacket to keep out the cool
air and walked briskly across Fifty-fifth Street. The parking places in front
of the shops on Fifty-Fifth were beginning to fill as the lunch crowd started
to arrive for the two restaurants in the small Crestwood shops.
“Olivia! Wait up.”
Margaret
Fowler crossed Brookside Boulevard to join Olivia. She was a small woman with
short, gray hair with thin strips of black. Margaret was an old friend, a
successful psychologist, and widowed. Olivia always thought of Margaret as the
woman with dark piercing brown eyes and a determined expression. They exchanged
greetings and Margaret fell in beside Olivia as they continued on the trail.
“I
hate to walk alone,” Margaret said, her short legs pumping to keep up with
Olivia’s long strides.
“I’ve
never seen you on the trail before,” Olivia said, shortening her stride.
“Doctor’s
orders.”
“Is
something wrong?” Olivia asked.
“He
says I sit on my butt too much, so he bought me a new pair of walking shoes.”
Olivia
thought for a moment.
“Your
doctor is your boyfriend?”
“We
call them our significant other these days.”
“Oops, sorry.”
Margaret
laughed.
“You
have to keep up with the times, you know.”
They
approached Fifty-ninth Street and stopped for the light. Margaret panted and
rested her hands on her hips while Olivia realized it had been nearly five
years since she’d last seen Margaret. Even though they both went to the same
church, their paths never crossed that much after her first husband had died.
“How
are you doing, Margaret since Bailey died? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Okay.”
Margaret paused, “It took me a lot longer than I thought it would to get over
it. I’m a psychologist and you’d think I’d adapt better.”
“You’re
human, Margaret,” Olivia said.
“Don’t
I know it? It was a big lesson for me. I have a much better understanding of
some of my clients who’ve lost a loved one.”
The
light turned green. Olivia and Margaret crossed the street and continued down
the trail.
“You
still have a family practice?” Olivia asked.
“Yeah,
but I do a lot of consulting for the police, now,” she said through gritted
teeth.
Olivia
stopped in her tracks.
“You
do?” she asked.
“Is
something wrong, Olivia?”
Olivia
gave a forced laugh and continued walking.
“No,
I’m just surprised. You always did family practice. I’ve never thought of you
doing police work. Do you find it interesting?”
“I
went back to school to learn to profile. Since my practice has been mainly helping
women, they usually call me in when a female suspect is involved.”
“Oh,”
Olivia uttered. “Are you working on a case right now?”
“Two
of them. The latest is the Vickie Taylor murder.”
“The
one that the police found yesterday?” Olivia asked, hoping her voice didn’t
betray her. Her heart seemed to have skipped a beat as she took a deep breath.
“Interesting
case. I don’t know whether I can profile this one.”
“Why
not?” Olivia asked.
“Vickie
was a friend of the family.”
“Oh,
I’m sorry.”
Margaret
waved her off, and they continued to walk. Olivia lifted her head and saw that
they were coming to 62nd Terrace. The Roasterie would be across the
street and to the right. Olivia changed the subject.
“You
up for a cup of coffee?”
“Sure.
I’ll finish my walk after some caffeine.”
Olivia
found a table outside in the sun on the patio of the Roasterie, a local coffee
house while Margaret waited for the coffee. She set the coffee in front of
Olivia, but took a large swig before she sat down.
“This
is my first cup of the day.”
“I’m
surprised anyone can make it this long without coffee.” Olivia leaned back in
her chair and thought how good the sun felt on her face. She surveyed her old
friend. “You said earlier that this case with…Vickie Taylor would be hard to
profile. Why is that?”
Margaret
became very serious.
“Maybe
not enough experience yet.”
Olivia
sat up in her chair.
“And
you’re working on two cases?”
Margret
nodded, “An older woman named Patricia Wilson is the other case. She
disappeared a couple of weeks ago.” Margaret looked around at the few people at
other tables before continuing. “She disappeared one night, and we haven’t
found one clue that’s helpful.”
“Do
you think that these two cases are connected?”
Margaret
shrugged.
“Don’t
know. There are no real similarities that we can think of, but you never can
tell.”
“Hmm.
That is interesting. Now, that you mentioned it, I do remember reading
something about this Patricia Wilson missing.”
“We
lucked out when someone called in about Vickie Taylor. Maybe this person will
call in about Ms. Wilson.”
“Really?
So you do think there is a connection?”
Margaret
watched a young mother push her newborn in a stroller, and she did not see
Olivia set her cup down and nervously place her hands in her lap.
“Don’t
know.”
It
took all the courage that Olivia could muster to ask the next question.
“Do
think that person had something to do with it? I mean, the person who called in
about Vickie Taylor.”
Margaret
avoided her eyes and stared at what coffee remained in her cup.
“Maybe.
I really can’t discuss that part of the case, Olivia.”
Olivia
sat back again in the chair.
“Maybe
the woman was a psychic.”
Margaret
laughed.
“We’ve
had all the psychics call about Vickie Taylor to tell us we’d find her in a
wooded area. But, that was a no brainer with all the wooded areas in Kansas
City.”
“This
one was different?” Olivia asked, feeling her body tense.
Margaret
jabbed her finger down on the table.
“She
took us right to the body, Olivia. What would you think if someone told you
almost exactly where the body was buried?”
“Don’t
psychics do this for the police?” she asked.
“Don’t
kid yourself. Not like this one did.”
“If
she was involved, why did she call?” Olivia asked.
“Who
knows? Guilty conscience.”
“Do
you have any idea who this person might be?”
“No,
but we’re working on it.” Margaret glanced down at her watch. “It was good seeing you again, Olivia. Give
me a call and we’ll do this again.”
“Back
at you,” Olivia said, raising her coffee cup in toast.
Margaret
pointed a finger at her.
“Right
you are. See you.”
Chapter
24
Olivia
felt cold and scared as Margaret pushed open the small gate that led off the
patio. As the gate closed behind her, she turned to give Olivia one last wave
goodbye. Olivia felt relieved once Margaret had left. Margaret was a
psychologist and probably could see through the thin veil that Olivia hid
behind. What if the police could trace her telephone call to the hotline back
to her? She shuttered at the thought. Picking up her cup, she went inside and
found a small table in a corner. Reaching in her bag, she pulled out her iPad
and googled Patricia Wilson.
Olivia
checked E-Star, the electronic Kansas City Star newspaper, and found that
Patricia Wilson was front-page news two weeks ago. How did I miss this story?
Olivia asked herself. Wilson was the owner of an upscale real estate firm that
specialized in finding housing for wealthy clients moving to or out of Kansas
City. Divorced with no children, she was well known in Kansas City for her
philanthropy concerning women’s issues. Her co-workers and friends said she was
very happy and looked forward to each day. She was an inspiration to all who
work around her. Blah, blah, Olivia thought. She remembered her mother always
saying that ‘what you see may not be the same once they close their front
door.’ Olivia knew very little about Patricia Wilson after reading the paper.
It was fluff, and she was determined to know more.
She
packed away her iPad, stopped to throw her cup in the trash and walked outside
with a determine stride. This was a new Olivia Kennedy Kimsey who strode out of
the Roasterie. Olivia really didn’t understand this determination to learn what
she could about Patricia Wilson, but something in her gut told her it was
important. She didn’t know where this new intuition came from, but she wasn’t
going to challenge it. If nothing else, it took her mind off the financial
disaster that loomed ahead in the not to distant future. She breezed through
Brookside Market, buying Roasterie coffee, a can of crushed tomatoes and fresh
basil for marinara sauce, a bottle of wine and a loaf of Farm To Market Farm
Bread.
Olivia
was thankful for the solitary walk back home. It gave her time to mull over
Patricia Wilson and Vickie Taylor. Margaret had hesitated when Olivia asked
whether the two cases were related. Nothing that Olivia had read in the paper
indicated that the two women knew each other; they came from different worlds.
Maybe Margaret had been called in because their disappearance was the work of a
serial killer. Somehow that didn’t seem plausible. The person who killed Vickie
Taylor had rushed to bury her, but was counting on coyotes and other animals to
finish the job. The thought was revolting that someone left a beautiful young
woman out in the woods in the elements.
The
sun slid behind a dark cloud to chill the air. Olivia picked up her pace.
Crossing Sixty-second Street, she heard footsteps behind her with a heavy tread
on the gravel path, making an irritating scraping noise. She didn’t know why,
but she suddenly felt very vulnerable. The Trolley Trail sliced through the
neighborhood from 62nd Terrace to Fifty-ninth Street and on either
side of the trail stood darkened houses. Olivia quickened her pace, turning her
head slightly as the footsteps drew nearer. Her eyes caught a lifeless child’s
swing in a backyard strewn with toys. A black and white cat quietly dug in an
uncovered sandbox, and it didn’t even look up as she passed. The footsteps were
almost on her and Olivia closed her eyes and clutched at the jacket collar to
keep out the cool air.
“Morning,”
she heard a breathy voice say as a young man with a large backpack walked by on
her left. He smiled, nodded and continued on his way: a student. How stupid,
she thought. Why would she think she was in danger? No one had traced her
telephone call to the hotline. The Tips Hotline website said that there was no
caller id on their phones, so they didn’t know who called. There was no other
way anyone could find out her telephone number. Suddenly, Olivia stopped. What
if the police got a court order for the telephone company to reveal that she
called the Tips Hotline? Could they do that, she wondered. The sun finally
started to creep from behind the clouds, and Olivia felt its warmth but it
didn’t allay her fears.
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