Page 83 of Pied Sniper

I cupped her arm. “Don’t think like that. There’s nothing you can do differently now and Tiffany’s life has never been in your hands.”

She patted my hand and nodded, then descended the stairs in a cloud of expensive perfume.

“What was the call?” I asked Solomon when I closed the door.

“Lucas said Tiffany’s family called and said we’re to meet them downtown. They want to talk in person.”

“Why didn’t he call me too?” I patted my jeans pockets and realized why. “I don’t have my phone.”

“He did. Your phone must be upstairs. Grab it and we’ll head over there.”

Lucas sent instructions to a rundown motel off the highway and it took far longer than we anticipated to reach it. When we turned into the lot, I counted several idling teenagers at the corner, most of them smoking, and looking at the SUV with undisguised interest. A woman in a bathrobe stood in the doorway of a ground-floor room, every so often talking to someone behind her before her gaze locked onto us and she quickly closed the door. Most of the cars were older models but there were a couple nice ones in the lot too. I wondered if our lead provided the wrong address and why the hell they booked a room at this dive. There were plenty of nicer hotels available even in the budget range. When a man stepped out of one room, adjusting his tie, and smoothing back his hair, I figured out the answer. Here, you paid by the hour, not strictly overnight. Within a minute, the man was in his nice sedan and gone.

“Room four,” said Solomon. “It’s the one on the corner.”

“This is seriously slumming it,” I said. “There’re much nicer places just as cheap.”

“We don’t know their reasons for staying here,” said Solomon. “Perhaps there’s a special convention closeby and everywhere nice is already booked.”

I rapped on the door and a moment later, it opened. “You’re the private detectives,” slurred the woman. “Did you bring the money?”

“What money?” asked Solomon.

“The reward money!”

“You need to tell us something useful before we give you any reward money,” he said.

“Well, I’m little Tiffany’s mom. I need that money,” she said, running a finger down Solomon’s chest. Solomon didn’t move.

“Do you know where she is?” I asked, dubiously.

“Well, if I knew that, she’d be here with me, wouldn’t she, baby?”

“Who’s this?” said a man stepping into view. He puffed on a cigarette and blew the smoke in my face.

“Them private investigators that are looking for our baby girl.”

“Right,” he drawled, then winked at me. “Little Tiffany.”

“When was Tiffany born?” I asked.

“Huh?” said the man.

“Her birthday?” I persisted.

“Uh, well…”

The woman glanced at her hand and quickly back up to me again. “March twenty-third.”

“And her full name is Tiffany Clare Smart?” I said.

“That’s right,” said the man.

“Thank you for your time,” I said, “We’ll be in touch.”

“About the money?” said the man before the woman elbowed him in the stomach.

“What a waste of time,” said Solomon as we walked away. “No way are they her parents.”

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