Page 23 of Wild Idol
A few moments later, a light flickered on. A figure ambled toward the door. A woman shouted through, “I’m calling the cops if you don’t get off my porch right now.”
“Coconut County, ma’am,” I said, holding my badge to the peephole.
After a moment, the deadbolt clicked, and she cracked open the door with skeptical eyes.
I continued to display my badge, and she examined it carefully through the slit in the door. The chain was still attached. “What do you want?”
“Sorry to disturb you at this hour. We just have a few questions.”
“About what?”
I got the impression she wasn’t a fan of cops, and she certainly wasn’t a fan of answering her door in the middle of the night. Not many people were.
Mrs. Fowler was late 40s with dark hair that hung to her shoulders, dark eyes, and a narrow face. The resemblance to Emily‘s DMV photo was obvious, though the years hadn’t been particularly kind to her. It was also after midnight, in her defense.
“When was the last time you spoke to your daughter, Emily?”
“Is she in some kind of trouble?”
I decided it was best not to answer that question at the moment. “We’re just trying to locate her.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie.
“I don’t know where she is. And if she’s done something stupid, I don’t know anything about it.”
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“I don’t recall.”
“I take it you’re not in frequent contact?”
“She only calls me when she needs money. Thank God that hasn’t happened within the last six months.” Her eyes narrowed at me. “Is she selling drugs?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. Has Emily done that kind of thing in the past?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised.”
I exchanged a subtle glance with Jack.
“She didn’t OD somewhere, did she?”
“I don’t think so. Do you happen to know where she is? We stopped by the apartment listed with the DMV, but there was no answer.”
“Knowing Emily, she’s off gallivanting around somewhere, doing God knows what with Lord knows who.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what caused the falling out between you two?”
She hesitated a moment and considered answering. “The girl has so much potential. But she just fucks off every opportunity that comes her way. I don’t understand it. Maybe I failed as a parent. I tried to give her a good foundation. She always was independent-minded. You couldn’t tell her what to do or how to do it at any age. I think I knewearly on that she was going to be a handful. Keith dying really did a number on her.”
“Keith?”
“My late husband. Emily’s father. When he was gone, I lost all semblance of control and authority. I’m no psychologist, but she clearly started acting out in self-destructive ways. We all process grief in different ways. She was never the same after that. Then she got on this crazy kick.”
“What crazy kick?”
Mrs. Fowler rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand it myself. She had a beautiful voice and her own thing going, but she got fixated on that pop star. Started dressing like her, dyed her hair, spent money she didn’t have on surgeries to make herself look like the woman.” Mrs. Fowler paused. “If you ask me, I think she was trying to escape. I don’t think she liked who she was, so she took on someone else’s persona. I think she made a little money here and there, working as a celebrity impersonator. I know she got hired to do shows, and she was playing in a Sable tribute band. But you can only go so far with that kind of thing. And God forbid that woman gets involved in a scandal. Your career goes down with hers. I tried to tell her all of this, but she wouldn’t listen. We had several fights about it.” A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. “Look, I want her to be happy and do her own thing. But when she started having plastic surgery, I drew the line.”
I shared another glance with Jack.
