Taken Read Free

there. She saw us coming, and stepped from behind her desk to greet the magazine guy when we entered. Tight smile. Dry hand. All business.
    “Hi, Mr. Cole, I’m Nita. You look like your picture.”
    “The one where I look stupid or the one where I look confused?”
    “The one where you look like a smart, determined detective who gets the job done.”
    I liked her immediately.
    “Would you like something? Coffee or a soft drink?”
    “No, thanks. I’m good.”
    “Jerry, where’s the swag bag? You left it in here, right?”
    She explained as Jerry the Assistant handed me a white plastic bag.
    “We made a little gift for you this morning. Here, take a look.”
    A large white T-shirt and a matching baseball cap were in the bag. I smiled at the cap, then held up the T-shirt. “Elvis Cole Detective Agency” had been silk-screened onto the front in black and red letters, with “world’s greatest detective” in smaller letters below it. An emblem saying the same had been sewn on the front of the cap.
    “You like them?”
    “I like them a lot.”
    I put them back in the bag.
    “This is very cool, but I haven’t agreed to help you. You understand that, don’t you?”
    “You will. You’re going to find her. It won’t be hard for the World’s Greatest Detective.”
    She got that from the magazine.
    “The ‘world’s greatest’ thing was a joke, Ms. Morales. The guy who wrote the article put it in the story like I meant it. I didn’t. It was a joke.”
    “I have some things to show you. Give me a second. I have to get them together.”
    She dismissed the assistant, and returned to her desk while I looked around. Shelves along the wall opposite her desk were lined with mugs, cups, bobbleheads, T-shirts, caps, giveaway toys, and dozens of other promotional items. Want team shirts for your kid’s soccer club? They could do it. Want the name of your insurance agency on cheap plastic cups for the Knights of Columbus barbeque? That’s what they did. Photos of youth teams dotted the walls, the kids all wearing shirts made by Hector Sports.
    I said, “Who’s Hector?”
    “My husband. He started the company twenty-two years ago, silk-screening T-shirts. I run it now. Cancer.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Me, too. Seven years, this June.”
    “You must run it well. Business looks good.”
    “No one’s getting rich, but we’re doing okay. Here, let’s sit.”
    She came around her desk so we could sit together on matching metal chairs. Nita Morales was in her mid-forties, built sturdy, and wore a conservative blue business skirt and ruffled white shirt. Her sleek black hair showed no gray, and framed her broad face well. Her nails were carefully done, and her wedding ring was still in place, seven years later, this June.
    She held out a snapshot.
    “This is who you’re going to find. This is Krista.”
    “I haven’t agreed yet, Ms. Morales.”
    “You will. Look.”
    “We haven’t talked price.”
    “Look at her.”
    Krista Morales had a heart-shaped face, golden skin, and a smile that dimpled her right cheek. Her eyes were deep chocolate, and her hair glistened with the deep black sheen of a crow’s wing in the sun. I smiled at the picture, then handed it back.
    “Pretty.”
    “Smart. She’s going to graduate
summa cum laude
in two months from Loyola Marymount. Then she’s going to work in Washington as a congressional aide. After that, maybe the first Latina president, you think?”
    “Wow. You must be proud.”
    “Beyond proud. Her father and I, we didn’t graduate high school. I had no English until I was nine. This business, we built with sweat and the grace of God. Krista—”
    She ticked off the points on her fingers.
    “—highest GPA in her class, editor of the student newspaper, National Honor Society, Phi Beta Kappa. This girl is making our dreams come true.”
    She suddenly stopped, and stared through the glass wall into the shop. Even with the angle, I saw her eyes glisten.
    “They’re good