“I can tell,” she said with a laugh, giving him a hug and curling him into her lap.
“How’d it go?” I asked gently.
“It went . . . ,” she said, and her voice trailed off as she searched for the right words. “Unexpectedly well.”
I brightened. “Well, that’s good, right?” I couldn’t get a feel for what was going on with her. Her slightly red eyes suggested she’d been crying, but there was also this odd peace about her.
“Abs,” she said softly, “did you know that my grandmother was a millionaire?”
My eyebrows shot up. “She was?”
Candice nodded. “Multimillionaire,” she amended.
“So the house doesn’t have a mortgage?”
“No,” Candice said. “No mortgage on that one, and none on the condo in Arizona that she never told me about, or on the hundred and fifty acres down in Texas currently being drilled for natural gas.”
I did a double take. I’d heard so much about Texas lately that it was freaky. “So what does all that mean?” I asked cautiously as I noticed Candice’s eyes begin to water again.
“She left it all to me,” she said in a voice so soft I could barely hear her. “Real estate, bonds, stocks, treasury bills . . . Abby, the woman had more assets than Donald Trump!”
I gasped. “Candice!” I said, throwing my arms around her. “Honey! You’re rich!”
Candice laughed and sobbed at the same time, no doubt overwhelmed by a mixture of emotions. “I guess I am,” she said when she could talk again.
I hugged her even tighter, both elated for her and incredibly sad as well. I’d lost my own beloved grandmother many years before, and I still missed her every single day. “With time it gets a little easier,” I said, hearing her sniffle. “I swear it does.”
The door opened then and I saw Dutch over Candice’s shoulder. “Hey there, ladies,” he said.
“Hi, Dutch,” I said, still hugging Candice.
“Everything okay?”
“Candice is rich,” I told him.
“You don’t say?”
“Yep.”
“Why is she crying, then?”
“She misses her grandmother.”
“I have a good cure for the blues,” he offered.
Candice backed away from me and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, yeah?” she asked. “What’s that?”
“Lasagna.”
Candice and I laughed. “Bring it on,” I told him. “And Candice gets the biggest piece.”
Dutch cooked dinner while Candice and I shared a bottle of wine. She told me everything the estate attorney had said. How Madame DuBois had been a savvy speculator and had snatched up acreage down in Texas in the early seventies. Ten years ago her hunch had paid off, and her property now produced a healthy income in natural gas. In addition to her two homes, she had various stocks, bonds, and treasury certificates worth a small fortune and she’d bequeathed it all to her granddaughter with specific instructions that Candice feel free to follow her passions and not be held back by any financial concerns.
“What will you do?” I asked her, thinking that she might take a trip around the world or retire young and pursue a life of leisure.
“Exactly what I’m doing now,” she said.
“You mean you’re going to keep working?”
“Absolutely,” she said without a hint of doubt. “I love what I do, Abs. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
I thought back to a time when I’d been faced with a similar circumstance over some lottery winnings I’d donated when I’d made the identical choice to continue my day job. Maybe that was what made Candice and me such a good team. We were both doing what we were meant to do, and despite the ups and down of the industry and the occasional dangers, we loved what we did.
“At least now you’ll be able to take the cases that interest you and turn down the ones that don’t,” I said.
Candice winked at me. “Exactly,” she said, then sighed contentedly. “God love my grandmother. That old bird was always rescuing me.”
“I think it went both ways,” I reminded her.
“Dinner’s ready,” Dutch called, and we headed to the dinning room for some really divine comfort food.
“How’s it going with Internal Affairs?” I asked Dutch as he portioned me out a helping.
He handed me the plate and grinned. “I’m all clear,” he said.
“Ohmigod!” I yelled. “That’s fantastic! Why didn’t you say anything when you came in?”
“You guys were having a moment,” he reminded me.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, so what does this mean? Are you back on street patrol?”
“Yes and no,” he said, then eyed me with a curious look.
“What?” I asked.
“Did you happen to say anything to Gaston today about my noninvolvement with the missing-teens case?”
Candice and I exchanged a look. “Er . . . not exactly that you shouldn’t work the case so much as you shouldn’t get blamed if it goes south.”
“Well, that explains it, then,” Dutch said.
“What?” I asked again.
“Gaston pulled me into his office to congratulate me on clearing Internal Affairs and when I asked him if I could join your group, he turned me down flat and said that he doesn’t want me anywhere near the case right now. Then he says it’s for my own protection.”
“So what will you be working on?”
Dutch winked. “That’s classified, babycakes.”
“Well, at least you won’t have to work with Oscar the Grouch.”
Dutch laughed. “Aw, come on, Abs. Harrison can’t be that bad.”
“No,” Candice said evenly. “He’s worse.”
“Still,” Dutch reasoned, “he seems to be warming up to you two.”
My mouth fell open. “How do you figure?”
“He didn’t threaten to resign over being forced to work with you like he did last time.”
My eyes bulged. “No way! He threatened to resign?”
Dutch nodded and took a sip of wine. “I thought you knew.”
“Uh . . . no!”
Dutch shrugged. “I will give you credit, though; Denny Harrison you seriously impressed.”
“I know,” I said smugly. “I love when that happens.”
“Yeah, well, tread carefully, okay? Brice might not be as upset as he was about having you on board, but he’s still itching to get rid of you two the first chance he gets. Just don’t overstep your bounds, follow his instructions, and it should be fine.”
“We’re headed south to talk to Kyle’s parents tomorrow,” I told him.
“That’s what I hear,” he said. “It’s a long car ride to Ohio, as I’m sure you two know all too well. Try to be civil.”
“We’ve always been civil,” I snapped defensively.
Dutch held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, Edgar. Take it easy. You’ve always been civil.”
“Damn straight,” I grumbled, thinking that I wasn’t really going to like tomorrow.
The next morning Candice picked me up and we drove over to the bureau office’s parking lot. We spotted Harrison right away and got into his car without much more than an exchange of “Good morning.”
The trip to Ohio was quicker than expected because we didn’t have to drive all the way to Columbus. Kyle’s parents actually lived in Toledo, which was just past the Michigan border. It also helped that I’d called the backseat before Candice, and upon entering Harrison’s car, I’d immediately donned my headphones. I was halfway through the greatest hits from the seventies when I noticed we pulled off the highway and into a more residential area.
We drove up to the guardhouse at a gated community and Harrison flashed his badge at the guy working the gate. We were waved through without even a question and I looked out the window at the fairly affluent surroundings.
From the front seat I heard Harrison turn and say something to me. I pulled off the headphones. “Sorry???
?
“When we get to the residence, I would appreciate it if you let me do all of the talking. If you get any . . .” His voice trailed off as he looked for a way to finish his sentence.
“Hits?” I suggested.
“Yes, that’s a good word. If you get any hits, I would ask that you initially keep them to yourself and we will discuss them later in private. I would also ask that you not make the Newhouses aware of your abilities at this particular meeting, as Mrs. Newhouse has had a particularly difficult time and we’ve become aware that she’s been struggling with an old alcoholism issue. I do not want anything to upset her more than it has to at this stage. Am I clear?”
“Crystal,” I said woodenly, feeling a little put off that I was being effectively muzzled.
“I thought we were going to be allowed to ask questions?” Candice said, and I could hear the flinty edge to her voice.
“We can always request a second meeting,” Harrison said easily as he braked for a stop sign. “I want you here only as observers. I do not want a repeat of the Lovelace interview.”
I saw Candice open her mouth to further argue the point, so I said quickly, “It’s cool, Agent Harrison. I’ll keep my impressions to myself for now.”
I saw Harrison’s eyes flicker to me in the rearview mirror. “Thank you,” he said, while Candice turned her head pointedly away and glared out the window.
Shortly thereafter we pulled into the circular driveway of a traditional colonial with red brick, black shutters, and limited landscaping. At one end of the driveway was a basketball hoop, and I felt a pang as I thought about Kyle playing a game of pickup there probably not too long ago.
The doorbell was answered by a statuesque brunette with lovely features and kind gray eyes. “Agent Harrison?” she asked as she opened the door.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he said formally. “Thank you again for agreeing to meet with us.”
“Of course,” she said, and ushered us into the entryway. We handed her our coats and were shown back to the kitchen, which was open and lovely. She indicated a breakfast table and said, “We might be more comfortable here than in the dinning room.”
We took our seats and she offered us a beverage. Candice and I both took coffee, but Harrison declined. As I was taking a sip from my mug, a very handsome man who looked to be in his mid-fifties entered the kitchen. He wore black slacks and a pale yellow shirt that went well with his skin and was unbuttoned at the neck. In his hand he carried a tie that he offered to his wife as he greeted us. “Good morning,” he said with a small nod before pivoting his body so that Mrs. Newhouse could help him with his tie. “She always gets it perfectly straight,” he explained as we looked on.
“Thomas never wore a tie before I came along,” she chided.
Once Mr. Newhouse’s tie had been secured, both he and his wife came to the table and sat down. I had a chance to observe them carefully as they went through their morning rituals, and I could sense that these were people who were going through all the motions while holding themselves very tightly. Mrs. Newhouse in particular looked so fragile I was even more nervous about sitting near her, afraid that she’d read my body language like Terry had and be shattered into a million pieces.
“You said you had some new information for us?” Mr. Newhouse said, taking his wife’s hand and directing his question to Harrison.
“Yes, sir,” Harrison replied, clearing his throat. “We have been suspicious all along that perhaps there was more to the disappearance of your son than first met our eye. And we believe we have uncovered a possible point of origin, a moment that could have acted as the catalyst for a possible abductor.”
Mr. Newhouse leaned forward. “Like what kind of point of origin?”
“First, I must ask you if you remember attending a family caucus for Midwestern political leaders two years ago.”
Newhouse’s face clouded in confusion for a moment, but he answered, “Yes. I attended. It was in Chicago.”
“Did your son go with you to the conference?”
Newhouse’s expression turned to surprise. “Yes,” he said. “He did go with me.”
“And do you remember being on a committee focused on bringing some economic relief to the Midwest?”
Again, Newhouse looked confused, but then his eyes lit with understanding. “Oh, my God,” he gasped. “Do you think it was that nut in the audience?”
“You remember the man who disrupted your meeting?”
“Of course I remember him!” Newhouse said. “He was a wacko with these crazy eyes! Do you think he took Kyle?”
Mrs. Newhouse had gone deathly pale as her eyes flicked rapidly between her husband and Harrison. “Oh, no,” she whispered as tears formed and trickled down her cheeks. “Oh, please tell me he’s not with some lunatic!”
Harrison’s gaze moved to her. “We don’t know anything yet, ma’am,” he said calmly. “But I feel compelled to tell you that your son was not the only teen who attended the conference to go missing.”
“There was another?” Mr. Newhouse asked as I worked to hide my surprise that Harrison was breaking Gaston’s rule about keeping the parents in the dark about the other missing kids.
“Yes,” Harrison said, and I could tell he was being careful here.
“Who?” he asked. “What was his name?”
“Her name was Bianca Lovelace,” Harrison replied. “Her father is a representative from Michigan.”
“Jeremy’s daughter?” Newhouse gasped.
“You know the representative?”
“Of course,” said Newhouse. “He chaired the committee and we shared a few drinks later that night. Kyle palled around that weekend with Jeremy’s daughter and two other teens.”
“Do you remember who else besides Bianca your son was with that weekend?”
Newhouse rubbed his temple as he tried to remember. “There was a girl from Wisconsin and I believe her mother was also on the committee, but for the life of me, I can’t remember her name. And another boy whose name was Matt or Mike, something with an M, I believe, but I don’t remember his parents either. He was a quiet kid, kind of shy. Just the type Kyle enjoyed befriending and bringing out of his shell,” he added proudly, and my heart gave another pang for the man, who clearly loved his son.
“Kyle sounds like a great kid.”
“Yes,” said his father. “I don’t know what I’d do without him, Agent Harrison. You’ve got to find my son and bring him home for us.”
I had to give Harrison credit, because as Mr. Newhouse looked at him with such an open, imploring expression, Harrison held it together, while I had to avert my eyes and take a breath. “We’re doing everything we can, sir,” Harrison said. After a bit of a pause, he added, “Can I ask you if the name Leslie Coyle sounds familiar to you?”
The Newhouses looked at each other and frowned. Turning back to Harrison, they both said, “No.”
“So Kyle never mentioned a girl named Leslie to you? Maybe as a friend or an acquaintance?”
Both of Kyle’s parents shook their heads. “Kyle has a lot of friends,” his mother explained, and her eyes became teary. “Not a day goes by without one of them stopping by to see if we’ve heard anything about Kyle.”
Harrison closed his notebook and looked gravely at the worried parents. “We will of course keep you apprised of any new developments in your son’s case. Thank you very much for meeting with us and we’ll let you get on with your day.”
The couple looked surprised. “That’s it?” Mr. Newhouse asked.
“For now,” Harrison said, and he got up from the table.
Candice rose too and I took the cue and got up. We all shook hands, then left the house and went out to the car. Once we were on our way, Harrison eyed me in the rearview mirror again. “Thank you for cooperating.”
I shrugged. To be honest, my radar hadn’t gotten much and I wasn’t really sure why. “We should try and find a place to eat before we get back on the highway,” Candice said,
pulling out her iPhone and poking the screen with her finger. “What sounds good, Abby?”
“Anything you guys want,” I said noncommittally.
“I know of a nice Italian restaurant not far from here,” Harrison said cordially. “Or there’s also a great authentic Mexican joint I know.”
Candice and I both stared at him slack-jawed. He caught us gawking. “What?”
“That’s the first time you’ve been nice to us,” I said.
Harrison rolled his eyes. “I’m not a total asshole, you know,” he said gruffly.
“Yeah, but who knew?” Candice said, and I started to laugh and then so did she and soon Harrison even cracked a smile.
We put the choice of restaurant to a vote and I was the tiebreaker. We headed to the Mexican place and were seated right away with chips and salsa, which we ate with relish while we each surveyed the menu. “So,” Harrison said, his eyes still focused on the menu, “did you pick up any hits?”
I took a big swig of water and sighed. “Not really,” I said. “I mean, I still think Kyle’s dead, but when I ask where his body might be, all I see is dirt.”
“He’s been buried?” Candice asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “But it’s weird. . . . I don’t know that what I’m seeing is underground.”
“What do you mean?” Harrison asked, closing his menu and focusing on me.
“I mean that the dirt I see in my mind’s eye looks like it’s piled into hills. And if I had to guess, I’d say they looked more like sand dunes than mounds of dirt.”
“You think he’s near some sand dunes?”
I shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say yes. But I don’t know that I see water around. I mean, all I keep seeing is something metallic mixed in with the sand. I see the dunes and then, like, thousands of little flecks of sparkling silver. It’s weird, huh?” And then something else popped into my mind and I cocked my head.
“What are you getting?” Candice asked, reading my body language.
“Agent Harrison?” I said slowly.
“Yes?”
“Can you just confirm one thing for me?”
“That depends on what you want me to confirm,” he said in all seriousness.