Page 23 of Kiss Her Goodbye (Frankie Elkin #4)

W HEN I TOUCH BASE WITH Aliah in the morning, she still hasn’t seen or heard anything from Isaad, meaning he’s roughly twenty-four hours late to pick up his daughter.

I can tell from the older woman’s voice that she’s growing increasingly concerned.

She may not be Isaad’s biggest fan, but not even she believes he’d willingly abandon his young daughter.

I press her on the subject of Sabera and Isaad’s marriage—as in, do they even have one.

Aliah is immediately dismissive. Of course they’re married, they must be married, there’s no way they couldn’t be married.

Then I mention Sabera’s trip to the ER several weeks ago.

That disturbs her a bit more. No, she didn’t know.

I can hear a hesitation in her voice. When I get more aggressive on the subject, however, she simply repeats that Sabera has never mentioned it.

And, yes, Sabera is struggling, and maybe she had once succumbed to the lure of alcohol, but adaption was hard on everyone.

Aliah’s steadfast faith in her friend is beginning to annoy me, especially as she clearly doesn’t know her friend as well as she thinks she does. Though to be fair, apparently no one does.

The topic of Zahra is easier. Aliah and the little girl spent the evening watching Disney movies.

Then Aliah got up this morning to discover Zahra memorizing every recipe in Aliah’s extensive cookbook collection.

Given the girl’s interest, Aliah is now planning on bringing her to the deli, where they can prepare some of those dishes, starting with every child’s favorite: firni.

Aliah describes it as a light custard made with rose water, cardamom, and pistachios.

Based on her description alone, I make a mental note to stop by later in the afternoon; the Afghan dessert sounds delicious and beautiful all at the same time.

Aliah provides me with the name of Sabera’s employer, which at least is something.

Good news, the high-end resort is a mere ten minutes away from Bart’s mansion.

Basically, we head deeper into the Santa Catalina Mountains till we hit Ventana Canyon.

While we’re talking, I check out the establishment’s website on my phone.

It appears huge, with half a dozen sprawling buildings offering everything from luxury suites to fully furnished townhouses to separate apartments.

Plus two eighteen-hole golf courses, three restaurants, and numerous swimming pools.

As hideouts go, it’s perfect. Plenty of places for Sabera to hang low without anyone being the wiser. Aliah is instantly irritated she hadn’t thought of it first.

I let her return to kid care; then I go in search of Daryl. I find him in the kitchen, wolfing down a thick stack of pancakes while poodle-skirt-clad Genni putters about the kitchen and Petunia basks in a sunbeam before the sliders.

When I pause to give Petunia a quick rub of her shoulders, Genni arches a brow.

“My, my, how times have changed.”

“The enemy of your enemy is your friend,” I inform her. “And both Petunia and I agree snakes are the enemy.”

“I hear you, girl. I slept last night with a towel tucked beneath my door, and I stand by it.”

I turn to Daryl. “Ready when you are.”

He looks up mid-bite. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Genni starts fussing: “Sit, sit, I’ll bring you a plate.”

“I don’t—”

But Genni is already pulling out a chair and dishing out flapjacks swimming in butter and maple syrup. The first bite nearly makes me swoon.

“Did you grow up eating like this?” I want to know. “Because I come from the land of Pop-Tarts and Sugar Smacks.”

“Crime against humanity,” Genni declares. “But then, I come from the land of dumpster diving. Street kid. Foster child. Street kid again.”

“I’m sorry.”

A wave of her hand. “Life has a way of working out. Though you could argue I’m now overcompensating.”

Daryl makes a sound that might be a guffaw. When both Genni and I stare at him, he quickly mumbles, “And thank God for that.”

I study Genni. Daryl has been an excellent source of criminal thinking. I wonder what Genni can contribute from her life on the streets.

“Ever try to sneak into a hotel or crash for the night on the down-low?” I quiz. “Like maybe bribe the person at the front desk, or someone in housekeeping?”

“Honey, places I hung out didn’t offer cleaning services.”

“But the front desk?”

“Not if they wanted to keep their jobs. Management has opinions on these subjects, and many of the sketchiest motels still have cameras for exactly this reason.”

“I’m guessing the Ventana Canyon Luxury Resort and Spa most definitely has eyes in the sky,” I consider. “Not to mention, their staff’s probably paid well enough to be tough to bribe.”

“You want to identify a vacant room,” Daryl provides, polishing off his last bite. “On the outer perimeter. Easier to get in and out without being seen.”

“Is this in regards to the missing woman?” Daryl must’ve filled Genni in, because she immediately warms to the subject, taking up her customary lean against the kitchen island.

“Does the resort offer washers and dryers for guests? I’d start there.

No one questions someone walking around with a pile of laundry.

Forget an invisibility cloak. Give a woman a toilet plunger and bucket of cleaning supplies and she immediately fades into the background. ”

“Excellent point.” I build on that thought. “And given that Sabera worked the property, she probably knows where all the vacant rooms are. Though,” I catch myself, “it also means she’d be recognizable to her former coworkers.”

“Not if she comes and goes at night.” Daryl again. “The resort offers entire townhouses with separate access. That would eliminate the risk of elevators, long hallways. She could pick her timing, then make her play.”

“In that case, it’s real simple,” Genni adds. “Just look for the front door fixture missing a light bulb.”

“Missing a light bulb?”

“First rule of law breaking, darling, it’s best done in the dark. Sometimes, we’d throw rocks to break the bulbs, but shattered glass is its own kind of tell. Better just to unscrew the globe. Can take weeks, even months before someone notices.”

“Huh.” I switch my gaze from Genni to Daryl to Genni again. “You two are really good at this.”

Daryl shrugs. “Lived a life.”

Genni grins. “Misspent youth. The absolutely best kind.”

“I had a misspent youth, as well,” I insist, not wanting to be left out. Then I am forced to confess, “Unfortunately, I was too drunk to remember most of it.”

I polish off the last of the pancakes, toss back the final swallow of coffee, and check in with Daryl, who nods.

Time to get to it. Search a luxury resort, locate Sabera Ahmadi camped out in a vacant unit, get her whatever kind of help she needs to return to her daughter and worried friend.

And then…

What do we want most in life? The things that ignite our wildest imagination or the things that ping our deepest longings?

You’d think a woman who lives her life as a rolling stone would go with the daring option each and every time. But lately I’m not so sure anymore. Maybe I want more than I think I want. Maybe the safe choice for me is the crazy option.

Who am I really, a woman who comes from nowhere and is willing to head anywhere?

I still don’t have the answer.

So I push away from the table and go in search of a total stranger whose problems somehow seem easier to solve than my own.