I still hadn’t ruled out the possibility that Tammy Susie had deliberately flown the coop. Being the center of a show can be a lot of pressure for anyone, let alone a nine-year-old. And Erica had said they were in their third season. But the fact that she hadn’t called in-by now it’d been about two hours-did worry me. I thought about who might have snatched her. If it was someone who recognized her, we could expect a ransom demand soon-unless it was someone who’d seen her show, pegged it as the demise of civilization as we knew it, and was holding on to her to prevent any further erosion in the collective IQ level in English-speaking countries.
On a serious note, I was even more worried about the possibility that she’d been snatched by someone who didn’t recognize her… I couldn’t bear to think about where that scenario might end. It would be far better if this was a kidnapping for ransom. At least Tammy Susie’s people would have no problem paying up.
Finally, Erica stopped at a small boutique that featured brightly colored oceanscape and flowered clothing.
“You took her here?” Bailey asked.
It was a fair question. I didn’t see any kids’ clothing in the window.
“First of all, I didn’t take her anywhere. Tammy Susie took me here. And depending on the cut, she’s big enough to wear women’s sizes. She takes after… both sides of the family.” Translation: it was a big-boned family.
Just to lighten the mood, I cracked a little joke. “Look on the bright side, Erica. You wouldn’t have known Tammy Susie’s dress size if you’d gone to work for Scorsese.”
Erica glowered at me. Hey, they can’t all be gold. Jeez. I shrugged and we entered the store. The decorator had a penchant for sensory saturation. Caribbean music and an overly sweet scent filled the air, and every inch was packed with bright clothing and accessories. Blouses hung on the wall, pants were draped on bamboo chairs, and costume jewelry dripped fetchingly from the branches of tiny metal trees. It was no mystery why a young girl was attracted to this kaleidoscope of the senses. A small, light-skinned Hispanic girl with waist-length hair who was standing behind a glass counter smiled at us hopefully. “Can I help you?”
Erica had entered behind us, and now I felt her tugging on my sleeve. I turned. “What?”
“She’s the one who helped us. Don’t let her see me, okay?”
It didn’t seem worth arguing that this girl’s identification of Erica was the least of her problems. “Send Tammy Susie’s photo to my phone. Right now.”
