The Innocents by Nathan Senthil (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

investigate crimes that weren’t international or serial killer related, but Gabriel refused to work on any case until he caught Lolly. So Conor went several extra miles in supporting Gabriel.

“Yes, Gabe?” he said.

“Zesty. It’s the candy Lolly uses.”

“Hold on,” Conor said.

Gabriel heard papers rustling in the background, then Conor came online. “Come again.”

“Zesty.” Gabriel repeated and spelled it out for him.

“Okay, got it. What now?”

“I have a list of thirteen shops that sell Zesty in Detroit. Could you check their histories?”

“Let me boot my computer,” Conor said, and the line went blank.

While Gabriel was pressing the warm phone against his face, Conor took almost three minutes to come back. “Sorry. Had to pee.”

“Could have done without that trivia.”

“I concur,” Conor said. “I’m ready. The first shop’s name and address, please?”

“Or I can give you their license numbers? To save us all the time.”

“Much better. May I have the first number then?”

Bill passed the paper to Gabriel and he read it from there.

“Okay. The shop was opened in 1987 and registered—”

“Nope. Not it.”

“I barely began,” Conor said. “How can you know?”

“Lolly’s first crime was in 1981. This shop didn’t exist back then,” Gabriel said and read the next license number.

This was not it either. Seemed like most candy shops that operated in 1981 hadn’t survived until 2019. Paradoxical. Shouldn’t businesses that sold sweets have thrived, given that diabetes and obesity had skyrocketed in the last few decades?

As the list decreased in number, Gabriel became hopeful. The fewer the shops, the sooner they could take the next step.

Whatever that was.

A steadfast hater of multitasking, Gabriel rarely worried about many problems simultaneously. He believed in solving one at a time, giving it his undivided attention and doing it cleanly, before moving onto the next.

At last, they ended up with only two shops which were open both in 1981 and 2019.

“Great. Thanks. I’m heading there now.”

“Heading where?”

“Haven’t decided that yet. Whichever is closer to me, I guess.”

“Well…” Conor dragged on.

“What?”

“One of the shops, when it opened in 1963, was an electronic shop.”

“What happened then?”

“I-I don’t know. In 1968, they switched their products to pastry and candies. As their location remained unchanged, they have the same license number.” Then Conor proceeded to fill in other tidbits about the shop and its address.

“Thanks.” Gabriel turned on the ignition. “Bye now.”

As he eased the car back onto the main road, Bill grabbed the paper. “Where are we headed?”

“Goodwill.”

“Strange name for a candy shop.”

Gabriel nodded and programmed Rosa Parks Blvd into the GPS, the street where Goodwill was located.

Bill studied the display and then looked at the paper. “You’ve entered the wrong address.”

Gabriel shook his head. “It’s correct. Conor told me that the shop was registered on ‘63 and its street name has since been changed.”

“Oh? Did he say why?”

“Apparently, that place was the epicenter of the 1967 Detroit Riot. So they renamed it to hide history associated with it,” Gabriel said. “Rosa Parks Blvd was previously known as 12th Street.”

Chapter 32

May 10, 2019. 03:12 P.M.

Ten minutes later, Gabriel pulled over in front of Goodwill. The one-story building, sandwiched between a poultry and an automobile parts shop, was painted in the color of rainbows. No child in a hundred-yard radius would miss the vivid purveyor of sweets.

A bell jingled overhead when Gabriel held the door open for Bill before following him in.

Although he had just eaten, the smell of freshly baked cookies and cinnamon buns made him salivate. There’s always room for desserts. He looked around at the shelves. Candy corn, tootsie rolls, cupcakes, jellybeans, gummy bears, chocolate truffles, and several hundred other goodies, small to big, all colorful, teleported Gabriel to his childhood.

And it was an uncomfortable place to be.

Joshua always let him stuff his pockets as much as he wanted whenever he took him to a candy shop. No limits. This world didn’t have a sweeter dad—

Gabriel grabbed the bridle of his thoughts and halted them before they took pace and ran amok in his mind, ruining his mood. Crying in a candy store, he was not young enough for that shit.

An old lady behind the billing counter stood up. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Gabriel said, and Bill nodded at her.

“I said hello,” she repeated in a stern voice.

“Hi, ma’am.” Bill lifted his hand. “Sorry about that.”

Trying not to be obvious, Gabriel studied her. She was old only on the outside—her hair was as white as milk, her skin wrinkled—but her bone structure and muscles looked strong. Neither did she stoop nor hold her hips when she stood to greet them. Though shorter than Gabriel, she somehow appeared taller, because of her ramrod posture.

He recognized her as one of those people that life just couldn’t beat down, and in the end surrendered at their feet, whimpering like a dissatisfied dog.

The way she addressed them, something was off, but he couldn’t put a finger on it.

“Nice shop you got here,” Bill said.

“Thank you, dear. One of the oldest in the city,” she said. “Are you just going to stand there or come inside and browse?”

“We’re not here to shop, ma’am.”

“Well, you can’t rob me. All transactions here are done electronically.” She laughed. “I’m just kidding.”

“We’re cops,” Bill said, offering a little smile. “Do you get robbed a lot?”

“Not once,” the old lady said. “I couldn’t be in a safer place. Everyone knows me around here.”

“Even the kids?” Gabriel asked. It was often the desperate kids that turned to the life of crime.

“Especially the kids; they love me.” She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb.

Gabriel leaned towards his right and craned his head to see the back wall.

A plaque on the top of the wall