On my way to my sister's house, I called three of Tammy's closest friends. No one had seen her or heard from her, although everyone pledged to do all they could to help me find her.
I also made another call, to an investigator who had a reputation for tracking down the missing, and as I pulled up to my sister's house in Fullerton, a nondescript Camry was pulling up just behind me.
Spinoza was a small man with a heavy aura. Not a dark aura. Just heavy. Something was eating away at him, making his life a living hell. I didn't need to be psychic to know that he'd lost something important to him.
Spinoza parked on the street behind me and got out. He was a small man. The complete opposite of Kingsley or the beast, Knighthorse. And as Spinoza came toward me, concern creasing his pleasantly handsome face, I suddenly had a whiff of something that made me nearly vomit.
The scent of burned flesh.
Sweet Jesus, I thought, as I saw in my mind's eye a burned hand and twisted metal and broken glass.
His son's hand. There had been an accident. Mixed with the smell of burnt flesh was alcohol. Spinoza, I was suddenly certain, had been driving. Drunk.
Sweet Jesus, I thought again.
Spinoza took my hand and as he did so, the psychic vision and smell of burning flesh disappeared. He next gave me a small, awkward hug. The look in his eyes was one of only concern. I suddenly suspected why Spinoza was known for finding the missing, especially missing children.
"How you holding up?" he asked.
"Been better. Thanks for coming out on short notice."
He nodded. "We'll find her, Sam. Don't worry." And his quiet strength and assuredness spoke volumes. It also calmed me down. Somewhat.
I led the way into my sister's house, where Detective Sherbet of the Fullerton Police Department was already inside. No, I wasn't too concerned that a homicide investigator was there since I had called him, too. Detective Sherbet had become a good friend. So good, in fact, that he and I now shared a deepening telepathic link. Granted, the good detective wasn't exactly thrilled by our telepathic link, but he seemed to be getting the hang of it.
We'll find her, Sam, he thought, nodding, his words appearing softly just inside my ears.
Thank you, Detective.
Mary Lou came over next with tears in her eyes, looking so distraught that I was the one doing the reassuring. "Not your fault," I said over and over as she completely broke down.
Once she'd gotten control of herself, I planned our course of action with the detectives. At ten years old, Tammy would have fewer choices available to her. She couldn't drive and she didn't have a lot of money. She wasn't addicted to drugs and didn't have a boyfriend. At least, as far as I knew.
Truth was, I had a hard time getting a psychic handle on my own kids. I could read their auras, but that was about it. It was the same with my sister and with her kids; and the same with my parents, although these days I didn't see them very often.
Mary Lou had confirmed that some toiletries were missing, along with her gym bag. We even confirmed that a jar of peanut butter and some saltines were gone, too. Tammy's favorite snack.
Still, a child walking the streets alone with a gym bag was trouble, and it was all I could do to stay calm. Running outside and screaming for my baby wouldn't help anything, although that's exactly what I felt like doing.
Easy, Sam, came Sherbet's words. A child walking around with a gym bag would just as easily get the attention of police. And I have my best men out there looking for her.
"Does she have a cell phone?" Spinoza asked. We were grouped around Mary Lou's living room.
"It's off," I said.
Spinoza and Sherbet winced. We all knew that a phone had to be on to be used as a tracking device.
"Laptop or tablet computer?" pressed Spinoza. "Anything with GPS?"
I shook my head. "No."
"Does she know anyone with a car?"
"She'd better not."
"Does she have access to a bike? Anything she can move quickly on?"
"The bikes are at home."
Spinoza glanced over at my sister. "And all bikes are accounted for here?"
"Yes. Bikes and skateboards."
I was having a hard time concentrating, focusing, and remembering what I should do in an investigation like this. But it's not an investigation, I thought. It's my daughter - and she's gone.
Sherbet glanced at me again and then looked over at my sister. "Do you have any recent pictures of Tammy?"
"I do, yes. On my cell phone."
"Can you print me out a half dozen?"
She nodded eagerly and dashed off to where I knew her husband had his own office at home.
While she was gone, we finalized our plan. Sherbet would work with the local beat cops and cruise the streets in a coordinated effort. Spinoza would hit every Starbucks, fast-food restaurant and store within two square miles. I would contact all her friends and head straight to all her known hangouts.
Mary Lou came back with the color photos. Seeing her photo, with her happy, smiling face made me almost lose it right there.
Easy, Sam, came Sherbet's soothing voice.
The detective next instructed Mary Lou to email the same image to his department. An APB had already been sent to all units with a description of my daughter, including her current, assumed clothing. Now they would have a corresponding photo.
It's real, I thought, listening to Sherbet instruct his department. She's really missing.
I fought to control my breathing. To control myself. Finally, Sherbet clicked off his phone.
"That's all we can do on this end," said Sherbet, turning to us. "Let's hit the streets."
