The Stolen - Jason Pinter [80]
in White Plains, New York, about eight miles southeast of
Hobbs County. Since the Rent-a-Wreck company refused
to deal with us after we lost their car, I was forced to make
an expensive upgrade at a regular rental company. Thankfully I was now officially working the story, so I was able
to expense the ride. Not to mention how much of a relief
it was to drive a car that didn't feel like it was in danger
of spontaneously combusting at any moment.
The conversation on the ride up was pleasant, if a little
awkward. It was hard to put Jack and the Linwood story out
of my mind, and I think Amanda could tell I was distracted.
The Toyz 4 Fun store was wedged between a nail salon
and a paper goods shop in a strip mall right off Woodthrush. We parked in the lot next to a beat-up Camry. It
was a warm day out. I had on jeans and a white T-shirt,
while Amanda had on a yellow sundress. The kind of outfit
that made me wish we could forget about work and just
sit down on a bench somewhere, sip lemonade or do
whatever normal couples did when they weren't investigating kidnappings and disappearing murder victims.
The Toyz logo had the letters spelled out on different-226
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colored building blocks on the awning. A play easel was
set up in front of the store. Scribbled on the easel in
erasable magic marker was "Deluxe Easel: Special Price
$49.99!!!" It was nice to see an easel outside a store that
didn't feature the soups of the day.
Each exclamation point was topped with a smiley face.
It was the kind of store I loved to see walking down the
street when I was a kid. Not the electronics extravaganzas
and smutty Bratz dolls that passed for toys these days, but
the true-to-heart toy stores, with owners that cared, knew
you by name, knew exactly what you wanted. I didn't get
many toys when I was a kid, but the once-a-year trip to
the Leapin' Lizards toy store in Bend was worth waiting
those other three-hundred-and-sixty-four days.
Amanda pushed the door open and a series of wind
chimes rang. I couldn't help but smile.
In front of us were rows and rows of toys. Building
blocks. Play-Doh. Action figures. Lego sets. Dollhouses.
Erector sets. Everything a growing boy or girl needed to
have fun and get into loads of trouble.
An elderly man sat behind the counter, thick glasses
shielding kind blue eyes. His hair was sparse, combed
over, but there was barely enough to do a passable job of
it. He was wearing blue overalls with suspenders, like the
OshKosh kid in his waning years. He smiled when we
entered. His face was lined, but his cheeks were red, veiny,
and his enthusiasm was genuine.
"Corolle doll, right?" the man said. "Or if it's a boy, let
me see...how about My First Pirate Set?"
"Excuse me?" I said.
"Well, I'm guessing you two to be, what? Twentyseven, twenty-eight? Thirty tops? Your kid is somewhere
between three and six. Those toys are my most popular
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sellers for that age group. So what'll it be? Corolle or
pirates?"
"I'm sorry sir," I said. "You've got us wrong. We don't
have any kids."
"Bun in the oven?" he said.
"Nope," Amanda said.
"Gift-hunting then?"
"Sorry," I said. "We're actually here because we're
hoping you can answer a few questions for us."
"Oh," the man said, confused. "Okay then, what can
I do you for?"
I took the receipt from my pocket.
"Were you working here at around three-thirty on July
27?"
"Assume I was. I'm here every day unless I'm sick, and
I haven't been sick in some time. My name's Freddie, by
the way. Nobody will be addressed by 'sir' in this store."
"No problem, Freddie," I said. I handed the receipt
across the desk. Freddie looked at me, unsure of what to
do with it.
"That's a receipt from this store, right?"
He picked it up, glanced at it, said, "Looks like it."
"Is there any way you could look up in your computer
and see who this receipt was issued to?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "It says here 'change'" He pointed
to a line at the bottom. "Means whoever paid, paid in
cash."
I grimaced. "I know it's a long