Jack Johnson #1: La Olla

Back in his car, Jack called Pete. 

“Yo.” Jack rolled his eyes. Pete could be so unprofessional at times. 

“Hey Pete, Jack. Need you to bring your research on Amanda Cummings to me. We’ll meet for coffee.” Jack paused. Maybe he needed to remind Pete who she was. “She is Mrs. Cummings granddaughter who skipped town years ago and the family hasn’t heard from her since.”

“I’ve been on it.” Jack could hear him fumbling about with some paper. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, meet me at La Olla in an hour with anything you’ve found. And Pete, can you bring the case files that Kevin dropped off?”

“Can do. See you then, bro.”

“Yep, bye.” Jack hung up and started his car. It would only take him twenty minutes on a good day to get to the coffee shop. He decided to go for a drive to get some thinking done. It seemed obvious to Jack who had stolen the ring, and almost as obvious was how and why. But where the ring was now was the question. 

Almost equally vexing was the answer to the question of where was Amanda Cummings. Jack’s biggest case had been his missing persons case, and while he had found her, he hadn’t found her until it was too late. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case here, but Amanda had been missing for so long. So long, that Martha had forgot how passionately she had pursued her granddaughter as a missing persons case. 

Jack pulled off Alameda into a small parking lot. He parked next to Pete’s car and walked in. The floor was acid stained cement tiles, which blended into the dark neutral walls. It was a small coffee shop, with amateur artwork covering the walls. Paintings of a scantily clad Marylyn amid toucans, Denver skylines, and a few other random pieces stared back at him. 

A man with glasses and a mustache sat in one corner, clacking away on his laptop. Another man, face-timeing a friend sat in another corner. Jack found Pete in the third corner, both orders of coffee already on the table. Jack walked over as Pink Floyd played in the background. 

“So?” Pete slid a coffee across the small table as Jack sat down. 

“It had to be someone with a key and knowledge of the house.” Jack took a sip. La Olla was one of the best places in town. The only place to rival it in his mind was Red Roasters, but Jack only went there when he was feeling nostalgic. 

“The nurse?” Pete asked in between bites of his muffin.

“No.” Jack waived away the thought. “Run a check on her, but I think she’s clean. I couldn’t find much on her, but I mostly focused on the family. She didn’t seem to know that Mrs. Cummings takes her ring off every night and places it in that jewelry box next to her bed. She could have been lying, but I didn’t get that vibe. She seems like a nice girl in a poor situation.” Jack was lost in the thought of how nice it would have been if he hadn’t gotten tangled up with Ophelia. Maybe he’d still have a heart. 

“Who?”

Jack shook his head, shaking off those thoughts. “Either the missing granddaughter or the grandson.” Jack shook his head again. “The granddaughter has been out of the picture for a while though. I want to find her, Pete, but I don’t think she did it.”

“I’ll look into that angle. I couldn’t find much on her. I don’t think it was her, but we should check anyway. You take the grandson.” Pete said as he slid a file named ‘Eric Cummings’ to him. “Here’s what I could find on him.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Jack sipped his latte. 

“Do you know how the parents died?” Pete asked.

“Yes. Sketchy car accident.” Pete nodded, eating the last bites of his muffin. “Foul play suspected, but never confirmed. After they died, Eric and Amanda went to live with their grandparents.” Jack took a sip of his latte before continuing. “The grandfather died shortly after, and then Amanda disappeared shortly after that.”

Peter furrowed his brows. “How did the grandfather die?”

“Sketchy circumstances. Could have been natural causes,” Jack said.  “Could have been foul play.” Jack handed Pete a stack of newspaper photo copies. “This was everything I could find. Like I said, I’ll work on the ring, you track Amanda.” Pete nodded.  “My sources tell me Eric frequents Club Velvet. Guess where I’m going tonight.”

“Aw,” Pete cried, “I was going to invite you to the Moon Room. This indie Denver band is playing tonight, thought you might enjoy it.” He paused to see Jack’s reaction. “I think some of the band members went to school with you.”

“I would,” Jack replied. Before Pete could smile, he added, “but we are working a cold case, so time is even more essential than it was two months ago.” Jack sipped slowly, watching the door. 

“So,” Pete started, “what are your plans for the afternoon, er, evening until then?”

“I’m planning on going back to the office. Even though I’m focusing on Eric, I want to look into the rest of the family. Something about all these deaths just isn’t sitting right with me, you know?”

“Yeah,” Pete agreed. “It does seem particularly unlucky to lose your son, daughter-in-law, husband, and grand-daughter in such a short amount of time.” Pete looked at Jack, who was still watching the door. “It seems to me that you don’t think this was all a coincidence.”

“That’s rule number two, Pete.” Jack raised two fingers. “There are no coincidences when it comes to a case.”

“What’s rule number one?” Pete asked.

“I thought everyone knew rule number one,” Jack laughed. “Rule number one,” he lowered his voice, “is never trust the dame.”