Read Online Pleasantville by Attica Locke - Free Book Online

seventies, utterly striking. Johnetta, at the sight of her, rolls her eyes. “What’s her name?” Viv asks, her voice soft and bell-like. “The girl?”
    â€œNowell,” Arlee says. “She wasn’t from around here.”
    â€œWhat was she doing in Pleasantville?”
    â€œShe work for your uncle’s campaign?” Jay asks.
    He remembers the description of the blue, long-sleevedT-shirt she’d been wearing. And the reports from at least two residents in the area that Alicia was leaving leaflets on doorsteps in the hours before she went missing.
    â€œShe wasn’t on the payroll, no,” Neal says.
    â€œWhich means what exactly?”
    â€œShe wasn’t employed by the campaign, that much we know.”
    â€œWhich is exactly what everyone in this room needs to say if asked,” Marcie says, looking up from her legal pad. Her upper lip is sweating.
    â€œWas she a volunteer?” Jay asks.
    â€œWas she?” Vivian says, alarmed. “Sam? Was she working for Axel?”
    Sam, staring into the bottom of his glass, doesn’t answer right away.
    â€œSunny?” It’s Mr. Wainwright, pushing for an answer.
    Neal sighs. “The truth is, we don’t really know.”
    â€œShe was off the books?” Jay says. He makes a gesture with his right hand, rubbing his fingers together to suggest the untraceable cash that might have landed in Alicia Nowell’s hands, street money to get out the vote.
    â€œEvery campaign does it,” Neal says.
    True, Jay thinks. But if the missing girl was indeed volunteering for Axel’s campaign, it will mean nothing but trouble for the former police chief.
    Johnetta, sensing the political danger of being in this room for even another second, tucks her purse under her arm. “I wasn’t here,” she tells Sam. “Until you fix this, I wasn’t here.” She makes a quick survey of the room, eyes lingering on Jay Porter, probably wondering if she’s already hit him up for a contribution to her reelection campaign, before deciding now probably isn’t the time. She turns to Mr. Wainwright. “Lend me a smoke, would you, Jim?” She waits for him to light it, then turns on her black heels and walks out.
    At her exit, Vivian says, “Don’t let that woman in my house again.”
    â€œWe don’t keep records of all our volunteers,” Sam says.
    Not the ones paid under the table, Jay thinks.
    Now, more than ever, he understands why the meeting was moved from the community center at the last minute. The building may have Sam’s name over the door, but it’s city property, open to any resident, or any member of the press for that matter. This room, with its curtains drawn, is Sam’s domain. “You have to disclose the possibility,” Jay says, looking at Sam first, then Neal. “You can’t play coy with the cops, not about this.”
    â€œWe’re working in-house to look into it,” Neal says. He pulls his phone from his pocket, checks a missed call on the screen, then flips it closed again. “As of right now, none of our staffers remember her, nor does Tonya Hardaway, our field director, remember assigning her to Pleasantville. But if she was working for us, we have every intention of cooperating fully with the investigation.”
    â€œLast reports had Alicia in a blue shirt, long sleeves,” Jay says.
    Sam nods, but is unmoved. “Her mother said she never heard anything about her daughter working for a campaign. She didn’t follow politics.”
    â€œThe color might have confused some people,” Neal says.
    â€œClarence and them,” Jim says, looking at Arlee, in particular, “they may have seen a blue shirt and just assumed she was walking for the campaign.”
    â€œSo you didn’t have anybody in the field Tuesday?” Jay asks.
    â€œIn Pleasantville?” Neal says, glancing at his grandfather.