Several hours after stealing Elise's new identity from Perry's apartment, Brent pushed open the door of the Giardino di Ade restaurant and stood for a moment in the atmospheric gloom. Not seeing who he was looking for, he went to the bar; a black marble affair, lit by candles in red globes. Brent settled himself onto a stool and ordered a glass of Chianti. He was sipping his wine and ignoring the inexplicable glower of a fat, tuxedoed man at the other end of the bar when the woman he was waiting for walked in the door. He set down his glass and went to meet her.
"Brent, so good to see you." The elegantly dressed woman reached out both hands to take his.
Brent pulled her close in a quick embrace then took a step back, taking in her sallow skin, unlined face and smooth blonde hair. She was dressed in black and pearls, and Brent nodded approvingly. "You look great Selene. Still the prettiest girl in the Little Sisters, and still the best dressed."
"And you're still the worst flatterer I ever met." Selene took Brent by the arm. "I'm sorry I'm late. I hate to keep people waiting, but I ran into some delays."
"Oh?"
Selene shrugged. "I'm a married woman, you know. But let's not talk about depressing things."
The hostess led them to a corner table by a window overlooking a garden of creeping vegetation and pale statuary. Selene barely glanced at her menu before craning her neck for a waiter. After a moment a young man in a white uniform approached. Selene started to order a glass of Chianti, but Brent stopped her and ordered a bottle instead. After the waiter left he said, "So how have you been? I wasn't kidding that you still look as pretty as our college days."
Selene ducked her head but appeared pleased. "I manage okay."
"You make it sound like things aren't what they could be."
"Are they for anyone?"
"Such cynicism." He took her hand and squeezed it, causing her rings to bite into her flesh. "I appreciate you meeting me like this on such short notice."
"It's my pleasure." Selene pulled her hand away. "I'm always looking for an excuse to get out of the house. Getting to see an old friend in the bargain is a treat, although knowing you, I'm sure you have other motives besides just wanting my company for a few hours."
"I hope I'm not just an excuse to get out of the house."
One of Selene's eyebrows went up. "You're not arguing with my assertion that you have ulterior motives. Why am I not surprised?"
Before Brent could answer, the waiter appeared at their table and set glasses in front of them both. He presented the wine and uncorked it with practiced ease. After he poured them each a glass, Brent turned back to Selene. "What have you been doing with yourself? I don't think we've corresponded more than once or twice since your wedding."
"I've been doing what all trophy wives do: shopping, charity balls, facials at the salon...don't tell me there's other things I could be doing with my college education."
"I can't think of any better way to use a psychology degree."
"Well, I can." Selene sighed. "Being an old man's doll pays the bills, though, and keeps me in designer labels."
"If that's what you want."
Selene reached for her wineglass. "Let's not talk about me. I'm always interested to hear what my ex-boyfriends are up to, especially when they call me out of the blue. You must have a favor to ask."
Brent looked up as a busboy set bread and herbed olive oil in front of them. "Why would you think that?"
"Because I know you so well? You're right, though. It's gauche for old friends to jump straight into shop talk. Why don't you tell me what brings you to St. Argent? I heard you moved."
Brent reached for a piece of bread. "You know my father had a few companies."
"Who could forget? You were always the guy with the fat wallet, thanks to Daddy."
"There were plenty of guys who had it better than me. My education wasn't for show; it was so I could work."
"And do you work?"
"Of course. It's not a daddy's boy job, either. I'm expected to pull my weight."
"I'm sure you are," Selene said with a disbelieving smile.
"In fact, I'm probably going to be out of a job as of tomorrow. I walked out."
Selene shook her head. "So typical. You had a lot of anger toward your father. It sounds like you still do."
Brent reached for his wine. "You've got it all wrong, but why shouldn't I be angry at him? He used to beat the crap out of me."
"A lot of us were treated like accessories, and when we didn't measure up..."
Brent shrugged. "The toys were good, at any rate."
"Guilty parents give the best presents," she agreed.
They both sipped their wine in silence for a few minutes. "So if you didn't walk away from your job to spite your father, what's this all about? And why are you in St. Argent?"
"Remember Elise Riddissee?"
Selene frowned. "Your little ballerina friend? Something of a charity case, as I recall."
"She had to earn her own money, but she never needed any handouts."
"Other than jobs." Selene played with the stem of her glass. "What does she have to do with anything?"
"She was working for me in Troy as a graphic illustrator."
"Still looking for handouts, I see."
Brent ignored Selene's cattiness. "She left her husband two days ago. He and I are here trying to find her."
Selene's eyes narrowed. "Why does this concern you? Don't tell me you want to become a detective now."
"I'm learning how to be a detective, but I'm not very good at it. Every time we get close, she slips away."
"That doesn't tell me why you're involved in the first place."
"I think she might be pregnant with my child." Brent picked up his bread and began tearing it into pieces.
Selene drained the rest of her Chianti and allowed Brent to refill her glass before speaking. "I guess that's a pretty good reason. The husband doesn't mind having you along?"
"He minds," Brent admitted. "But I think he realizes we're more likely to find her by working together than at cross-purposes."
"What a noble guy."
The waiter reappeared at their table. "Are you ready to order?"
A guilty expression flitted across Brent's face and he reached for the menu. "Can you come back in five minutes?"
"How about an appetizer while you decide? Some baked mozzarella, perhaps? Calamari?"
"How about the portabella mushrooms?" Selene said.
The waiter hurried away to place the order.
"So." Selene glanced at the menu, then set it aside. "Tell me about this saint that your little friend is married to, and how you managed to steal her away from him."
"Joe's an artist," Brent explained. "You've probably heard of him. He does those religious statues you find in a lot of the churches around here and some of the other cities around the state. He does other things, too, but he's got a national reputation for angels and things like that."
Selene nodded. "Appropriate work for a saint. He sounds pretty different from the guy she was seeing when she used to come to some of your parties. Wasn't he in some two-bit thrash band?"
Brent waved a hand, as if trying to dismiss that particular memory. "Joe isn't much like your typical artist. To meet him, you'd think he was just an ordinary guy; a plumber or construction worker maybe. But then you see his woodwork and it's like a revelation. Hard to believe such beautiful things can come from the hands of someone so..."
"Common?"
"Maybe I would've called him that a few months ago, but now I'm not so sure."
Selene picked up a slice of bread and dunked it in the olive oil. "So how did Elise end up with you?"
Brent sighed. "She'd been working for me for nearly a year. During most of that time she was friendly, but professional. Then about six months ago she started working late when I worked late, came in early when I came in early, made up excuses to spend time alone with me. She even volunteered for a project she hated because she knew it was one I was personally involved in."
"Sounds like trouble."
"It was, but I never stopped wanting her just because I married someone else. We never seemed to catch each other between relationships. That's the only thing that stopped me then, you know."
"No, I didn't know. I always thought it was because she didn't care for you that way." Selene reached for her wine. "Not much seemed to stop you seeing any of the other girls at school, even while you were supposedly involved with me."
Brent's face reddened. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it." Selene shredded a piece of bread into crumbs. "I got over that long ago."
Brent opened his mouth to speak, but the waiter arrived with their appetizers, and set the plates in front of them. "Would you like to order your entrees now?"
Brent gestured for Selene to order first. Selene ordered a salmon dish, and Brent pointed to the first pasta entrée on the list without bothering to read the description. After the waiter went away, Brent turned back to her. "You know, of all the women I've known, you're the one I most regret having treated badly."
Selene rolled her eyes. "We've been doing just fine without your famous flattery." She brushed a few bread crumbs off her lap. "Let's stick to your story, okay? Why do you think this girl started coming on to you all of a sudden? Doesn't make any sense to me." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Are you sure you weren't hitting on her? That seems a more likely scenario."
Brent rubbed his forehead. "There have been so many times I deserved the shit people gave me for the way I collected other people's girlfriends, but for once I'm completely innocent, and everyone acts like it's just another falsehood."
Selene reached for the Chianti bottle. "Karma is a bitch."
Brent opened his eyes. "Do you believe me? Just this once?"
"I'm trying, but I can't imagine why this girl would go doing such a thing. You don't think maybe her husband fooled around on her and she was trying to get even?"
Brent shook his head. "If it was any other man, I'd say you were probably right. But Joe? No way."
"Any chance she could've been seeing someone else? Someone who dumped her, so she was looking for an easy conquest to gratify her ego?"
Brent started to shake his head, but stopped and considered. While he was thinking, the waiter stopped by again. He picked up the bottle of Ruffino to top off their glasses, but found it empty. Before he could ask the obvious question, Brent waved a hand for him to bring another. After he was gone, Brent frowned again. "Elise was always a bit of a runaround," he said, picking up where he left off. "That's one of the things I liked about her back in school. She was like me."
"Maybe she's more like you than you realize."
"I don't even want to consider that possibility." Brent cut his portabella into pieces and pushed them around his plate. "Besides, it's not like she needs another man. Joe is completely devoted to her. She's his whole world." He put down his fork and leaned across the table. "Do you know that even after Joe found out about us, he still forgave her? Elise didn't lack for love, and she knew it."
Selene was smiling now. "There's your answer. A woman doesn't want to feel like a goddess."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm saying love isn't about being put on a pedestal. It's about friendship, not worship." Selene waved a hand. "Look at me. My husband would do anything I asked; go anywhere, buy me anything, but that doesn't keep me faithful."
"I didn't know you were having an affair," Brent said.
Selene laughed. "Not one affair. Many." She took another sip of wine. "Not all at the same time, of course. One after the other."
"But why? I mean, if your husband is so good to you..."
"Come on, Brent, he's old. I want a man who knows how to have a good time and who can satisfy me in bed. I want--"
"I get the picture. Spare me the details."
Selene's lips curled down in a smirk. "For a man who got another man's wife pregnant, you sure are squeamish on the subject of affairs. Kind of hypocritical, don't you think? Do I detect some guilt?"
Brent pretended sudden interest in his food. "None of us is perfect, and besides, you're talking about a different scenario entirely."
Selene gave a skeptical smile. "Am I really?"
"Yes. Joe isn't some old guy. He's older than her, but not like that ancient consul you married. Elise always said the sex with Joe was fine, when she could tear him away from his work."
"Well, this is starting to fit together, don't you think? When a man is working all the time, a woman gets lonely."
"How could she get lonely? She was in the same studio with him. She was his model."
"She was his muse, but it sounds like she wasn't his companion. Being an object of worship can be fun for awhile, but in the long run, it's cold comfort to a woman who wants real love."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
"That was a pretty slick move back there at the bar," Joe said, once they were in the truck and on their way again. "What have you got in mind for when we find Perry?"
"I don't know." Brent sighed. "I'm sure we'll think of something."
"Since it doesn't sound like he's a particular friend of Elise, he might be susceptible to a little persuasion."
"Violence?"
"No, a bribe."
Brent's eyebrows flickered. "We could stop at an ATM, I guess."
"Actually, I wasn't thinking money. I've known a few people who work off the books like that, and they usually have enough cash."
"Well, if you don't think he'll want money, then what?"
Joe grinned. "Don't worry. I know how bartenders and people with shady business operations think. I've got it covered."
"But that's ridiculous. We're in this together, and I insist--"
"No, I insist." Joe cut over to the left lane and started looking for Jupiter Street. "I think I have something he'll want more than money; something I helped myself to back at Sylvia's place."
"Back at Sylvia's..." Brent turned and stared. "Tell me you didn't do what I think you did."
Joe shrugged. "That'll teach them to leave valuable stuff like that unattended."
"I can't believe this. I thought criminal activities were a thing of your past."
"Once a crook, always a crook, I guess," Joe said. "Don't worry, though. I was never into anything big-time. Petty larceny at best."
"Oh, hell, it's not the stealing I care about. What if we get pulled over and searched?"
Joe's face clouded into annoyance. "Why would anyone want to search us? Even if a cop did pull me over for something, as long as I say 'yes sir' and 'no sir,' he'll just write me a ticket and let us go." Seeing the Bona Dea apartments ahead, he slowed down. "I swear you prep school boys watch too many episodes of 'Cops.'"
He pulled into the small visitors' lot. "That might be him over there." He pointed to where a small black pickup sat reversed in a parking spot, its rear wheels against the curb, the tailgate lowered in front of an open door. A futon and a few boxes were in the back.
"Can't be too many people moving in or out of here today," Brent agreed.
"Well," Joe said, cutting the engine. "Let's give it a try."
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Brent and Joe sat gloomily on the curb, watching the loaded black pickup until it was out of sight. "That was a fiasco," Brent muttered.
"You're telling me," Joe agreed. "And to think he took that gram of blow, too. Bastard."
"I told you that shit was trouble."
"That has nothing to do with it. He's just an asshole, is all. At least we're not out any money."
"Maybe not, but he threatened to call the cops on us."
"He won't do it."
"What makes you so sure?"
"If you were running a counterfeit ID operation and you had accepted a gram of cocaine from two people who knew all about it, would you go putting the cops on them?"
Brent considered. "I guess you're right. I noticed his computer is still in there. He sure wouldn't want anyone snooping around that."
"Yeah, I bet has all kinds of stuff on there. Probably keeps one of those databases or something."
Brent nodded. "A shame we couldn't have pissed him off enough to make him forget to lock the door."
Joe started, as if he hadn't considered this. "Are you suggesting that if you could get in there, you could get onto that computer and maybe find what we're looking for?"
"Depends on how easy a password he's got, but that's a moot point. I saw him lock the door."
Joe flexed his hands. "If it's only a door that's keeping us from finding her, that's a problem I can fix."
Brent said nothing as Joe walked to the heavy door and jiggled the knob. After scrutinizing the lock, he went to his truck and removed a long metal object from his toolbox. Brent jumped to his feet. "What do you think you're going to do?"
"I'm going to get you into that apartment."
"But--"
Joe stopped in front of the door and turned around. "You said this is what you needed, right?"
"Not like this."
Joe's eyes narrowed. "Don't go getting weird on me. Keep a lookout, will you? This won't take long."
Reluctantly, Brent took up a post a few feet away where he had a clear view of the parking lot and street.
Joe set the end of the rod against the lock and slid the bolt forward. Then he released it and pulled back hard, ripping out the core. He pulled a screwdriver out of his back pocket and scrabbled inside the empty lock, releasing the bolt. In a matter of minutes, he swung the front door open. "The old boy still has it in him."
Brent hurried over. "I don't know if that's such a good thing."
"Neither do I."
"Good job, anyway."
Both men went inside. "You do whatever you have to do," Joe said. "I'll keep an eye out for Perry."
Brent headed toward the dining nook, which had been converted into a study. Finding no chair, he stood hunched over the computer as he booted it up and began earnestly tapping keys.
"You're going to want to wipe that keyboard off good when you're done," Joe pointed out. "And try not to touch anything else. Finger prints, you know."
"Yeah, I just thought of that."
Joe took up position by one of the front windows, peeking through a crack in the blinds. There was the sound of the occasional car passing, and more than once a car pulled into the lot and someone got out and headed toward one of the apartments. One man walked right past Perry's apartment, but was so absorbed in his thoughts that he failed to notice the damaged door. Nearly twenty minutes passed, and Joe began pacing. "Haven't you found anything yet? He probably won't be gone much longer."
Brent was staring at the screen, his face ashen in the blue light. "In one way he made it easy for me. He didn't password protect anything, although I can't for the life of me figure out why not. But he's got so many files on here, and they've all got such illogical names, I'm having trouble finding the right one. I mean, come on. Mickeymouse.dat?"
"Well, just hurry it up, would you?"
"I'm doing the best I can."
A few more minutes followed, silent except for the sound of Brent tapping on the keyboard and the occasional obscure thump from the upstairs apartment. Another tenant walked past. She noticed the ripped out locks on the door and stopped. Joe waved to Brent and he turned off the computer monitor and ducked into the bedroom. Slowly the front door opened and Joe backed out of the way, temporarily out of sight. The door closed again and Joe heard the sound of footsteps hurrying away.
"She's gone, but she'll be back. How much more time do you think you need?"
"I don't know. A minute or two, maybe?"
"Go, then. But if the next file isn't it, wipe off that keyboard and give it up."
Brent turned on the monitor while Joe ran to the window and peeked outside. Seeing no signs of trouble for the moment, he found a rag and opened the bedroom window. There was a screen, but he gave it a shove and it fell neatly into the grass below. Then he returned to the front room and checked outside again.
"Bingo. Now I need something to write this down with."
"Can't you just memorize it?"
"Man, this is a complete history here. Social security number, driver's license, everything. We can use it all."
"Well find something, quick! But don't--"
"I know, I know." Brent was opening the desk drawer, using his coat to keep from leaving prints.
Joe looked around and saw what he was doing. "Oh hell, that's going to leave fibers. Don't you know anything?" He ran to the back room and found the rag he had used earlier. "Use this."
Brent opened the desk drawer and found a blunt pencil stub. He found an old gas bill, too, and began scribbling information.
"Shit, here they come," Joe said from the window. "Looks like she's got the apartment manager with her."
"I've almost got it."
Joe turned away from the window. "Almost is too late. Shut it down and get out that back window."
"Wait, there's just--"
"No waiting. Do it."
"Just one more second--" Brent was scrawling frantically now.
"Have you got the full name?"
"Yes."
"Social?"
"Yes."
"That's it, then." He hit the power switch with his knuckle and the screen went black. "Now get in that other room, and get out the window. Take the pencil with you, don't drop anything, and try not to leave any prints."
Brent stuffed the paper and pencil into a pocket and made a run for the other room, not noticing that Joe wasn't following him. He scrambled onto the windowsill, dangled his feet hesitantly over the ledge for a moment, then jumped out. When Joe didn't follow, he paced anxiously, trampling weeds and the window screen that Joe had pushed out. Suddenly he heard a sound and moved away as Joe propelled himself out the window, landing gracefully for a man his size.
"What are you waiting for?" Joe demanded.
"I'm waiting for you!"
"You wouldn't have lasted half an hour where I grew up," Joe muttered. He motioned toward an alleyway and they took off running.
* * *
Brent strolled around the corner in front of Bona Dea, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, his face a study in unconcern. He noted a scurry of activity in front of Perry's apartment, but didn't stop. He glanced around the parking lot to make sure the black pickup was nowhere in sight, then let himself into Joe's truck. As he started the engine, a young woman turned from where she was staring at Perry's empty door. She gave Brent a long steady look, but he smiled and waved and she ducked her head with a shy smile.
After a few twists and turns through the narrow side streets Brent pulled the truck in front of a dilapidated laundromat. Joe emerged from inside, and jumped in. Brent hit the gas and they took off toward Delphi Grove.
"Anyone see you?" Joe asked.
"Just the girl," Brent said. "She didn't seem to think I was important."
"No one ever thinks a blond, well-dressed man is guilty of anything, unless it's insider trading."
"That's not true."
"Sure it's true. How would you know?" Joe didn't wait for an answer. "You didn't see Perry's truck, I guess?"
Brent shook his head. "If he caught our license plate number earlier, we're for sure going to be in deep shit. He's going to know who did this and why."
"That's okay. He's also going to know we've got enough dirt on him to do him a lot worse than anything he can do to us. Breaking and entering with no actual theft of goods will get us probation at worst, with our clean records."
"But you don't have a clean record."
"Sure I do. I may have been a thief, but I was also a juvenile. They wipe that stuff off your record. I've got a clean slate."
"So this is the first time you've done this kind of thing in, what, over twenty years?"
"Nearly thirty." Joe allowed himself a wry grin. "Makes me feel kind of old."
"I wouldn't have guessed you weren't a pro, the way you handled that door. What are you doing with tools like that, if you don't mind my asking."
Joe looked surprised. "What, my slide-daddy?" He had hidden the tool under his coat and now he took it out and studied it. "It's a legitimate tool. It's used for pulling dents. I'm a welder by trade, remember?"
"I'd just never seen one before."
"Of course not. When have you ever had to pull your own dents? Or do any kind of manual labor, for that matter?"
"Well, excuse me for living," Brent mumbled.
"Hey," Joe said, "I didn't mean that as a way of giving you shit. You were actually pretty good back there, for an amateur."
Brent dug in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "I only wish I could've done it faster. I got as much as I could, though." He handed over the paper.
Joe took a look. "Allison Alonia Grennaker?"
"The name she used at the hospital was just a front. I get the impression Perry pulls the legit records of dead people of approximately the same age and race as the ones needing fake ID and just reuses them. The real Allison probably died as a kid or something."
Joe made a face. "That's kind of sick. I don't know if I'd want to be running around with a dead person's name. Sounds like asking for trouble."
"As long as you don't run into any of the dead person's friends or family members, it's probably safe enough," Brent pointed out.
"It sounds like bad luck to me."
"I think it's pretty clever, actually."
"You would."
Brent pulled into Delphi Grove. "We're almost there," he said needlessly.
"A good thing, too. I could really go for one of Petra's roast beef sandwiches."
"You aren't going to say anything to Cece about this, are you?"
Joe frowned. "I got the impression we wouldn't be seeing her tonight, but even if we do, I'm not telling her anything. Much as I hate to admit it, I have a feeling she wouldn't be too happy about us getting closer to finding Elise."
"We're still on for tomorrow, right? We're going to make sure she calls this time?"
"I guess so."
"Well," Brent said, turning onto Cece's street. "After we eat, I'll do an internet search on Allison Grennaker and see if I turn up anything. I doubt I will. It'll mainly be useful for finding her later on at jobs, hospitals, airports and stuff."
"She better not be going near any airports."
"She got a passport. Didn't you notice?"
Joe looked at the paper again. "Damn," he muttered. "You don't think--"
"The only thing I think is that we may be running out of time."
"I don't know." Brent sighed. "I'm sure we'll think of something."
"Since it doesn't sound like he's a particular friend of Elise, he might be susceptible to a little persuasion."
"Violence?"
"No, a bribe."
Brent's eyebrows flickered. "We could stop at an ATM, I guess."
"Actually, I wasn't thinking money. I've known a few people who work off the books like that, and they usually have enough cash."
"Well, if you don't think he'll want money, then what?"
Joe grinned. "Don't worry. I know how bartenders and people with shady business operations think. I've got it covered."
"But that's ridiculous. We're in this together, and I insist--"
"No, I insist." Joe cut over to the left lane and started looking for Jupiter Street. "I think I have something he'll want more than money; something I helped myself to back at Sylvia's place."
"Back at Sylvia's..." Brent turned and stared. "Tell me you didn't do what I think you did."
Joe shrugged. "That'll teach them to leave valuable stuff like that unattended."
"I can't believe this. I thought criminal activities were a thing of your past."
"Once a crook, always a crook, I guess," Joe said. "Don't worry, though. I was never into anything big-time. Petty larceny at best."
"Oh, hell, it's not the stealing I care about. What if we get pulled over and searched?"
Joe's face clouded into annoyance. "Why would anyone want to search us? Even if a cop did pull me over for something, as long as I say 'yes sir' and 'no sir,' he'll just write me a ticket and let us go." Seeing the Bona Dea apartments ahead, he slowed down. "I swear you prep school boys watch too many episodes of 'Cops.'"
He pulled into the small visitors' lot. "That might be him over there." He pointed to where a small black pickup sat reversed in a parking spot, its rear wheels against the curb, the tailgate lowered in front of an open door. A futon and a few boxes were in the back.
"Can't be too many people moving in or out of here today," Brent agreed.
"Well," Joe said, cutting the engine. "Let's give it a try."
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Brent and Joe sat gloomily on the curb, watching the loaded black pickup until it was out of sight. "That was a fiasco," Brent muttered.
"You're telling me," Joe agreed. "And to think he took that gram of blow, too. Bastard."
"I told you that shit was trouble."
"That has nothing to do with it. He's just an asshole, is all. At least we're not out any money."
"Maybe not, but he threatened to call the cops on us."
"He won't do it."
"What makes you so sure?"
"If you were running a counterfeit ID operation and you had accepted a gram of cocaine from two people who knew all about it, would you go putting the cops on them?"
Brent considered. "I guess you're right. I noticed his computer is still in there. He sure wouldn't want anyone snooping around that."
"Yeah, I bet has all kinds of stuff on there. Probably keeps one of those databases or something."
Brent nodded. "A shame we couldn't have pissed him off enough to make him forget to lock the door."
Joe started, as if he hadn't considered this. "Are you suggesting that if you could get in there, you could get onto that computer and maybe find what we're looking for?"
"Depends on how easy a password he's got, but that's a moot point. I saw him lock the door."
Joe flexed his hands. "If it's only a door that's keeping us from finding her, that's a problem I can fix."
Brent said nothing as Joe walked to the heavy door and jiggled the knob. After scrutinizing the lock, he went to his truck and removed a long metal object from his toolbox. Brent jumped to his feet. "What do you think you're going to do?"
"I'm going to get you into that apartment."
"But--"
Joe stopped in front of the door and turned around. "You said this is what you needed, right?"
"Not like this."
Joe's eyes narrowed. "Don't go getting weird on me. Keep a lookout, will you? This won't take long."
Reluctantly, Brent took up a post a few feet away where he had a clear view of the parking lot and street.
Joe set the end of the rod against the lock and slid the bolt forward. Then he released it and pulled back hard, ripping out the core. He pulled a screwdriver out of his back pocket and scrabbled inside the empty lock, releasing the bolt. In a matter of minutes, he swung the front door open. "The old boy still has it in him."
Brent hurried over. "I don't know if that's such a good thing."
"Neither do I."
"Good job, anyway."
Both men went inside. "You do whatever you have to do," Joe said. "I'll keep an eye out for Perry."
Brent headed toward the dining nook, which had been converted into a study. Finding no chair, he stood hunched over the computer as he booted it up and began earnestly tapping keys.
"You're going to want to wipe that keyboard off good when you're done," Joe pointed out. "And try not to touch anything else. Finger prints, you know."
"Yeah, I just thought of that."
Joe took up position by one of the front windows, peeking through a crack in the blinds. There was the sound of the occasional car passing, and more than once a car pulled into the lot and someone got out and headed toward one of the apartments. One man walked right past Perry's apartment, but was so absorbed in his thoughts that he failed to notice the damaged door. Nearly twenty minutes passed, and Joe began pacing. "Haven't you found anything yet? He probably won't be gone much longer."
Brent was staring at the screen, his face ashen in the blue light. "In one way he made it easy for me. He didn't password protect anything, although I can't for the life of me figure out why not. But he's got so many files on here, and they've all got such illogical names, I'm having trouble finding the right one. I mean, come on. Mickeymouse.dat?"
"Well, just hurry it up, would you?"
"I'm doing the best I can."
A few more minutes followed, silent except for the sound of Brent tapping on the keyboard and the occasional obscure thump from the upstairs apartment. Another tenant walked past. She noticed the ripped out locks on the door and stopped. Joe waved to Brent and he turned off the computer monitor and ducked into the bedroom. Slowly the front door opened and Joe backed out of the way, temporarily out of sight. The door closed again and Joe heard the sound of footsteps hurrying away.
"She's gone, but she'll be back. How much more time do you think you need?"
"I don't know. A minute or two, maybe?"
"Go, then. But if the next file isn't it, wipe off that keyboard and give it up."
Brent turned on the monitor while Joe ran to the window and peeked outside. Seeing no signs of trouble for the moment, he found a rag and opened the bedroom window. There was a screen, but he gave it a shove and it fell neatly into the grass below. Then he returned to the front room and checked outside again.
"Bingo. Now I need something to write this down with."
"Can't you just memorize it?"
"Man, this is a complete history here. Social security number, driver's license, everything. We can use it all."
"Well find something, quick! But don't--"
"I know, I know." Brent was opening the desk drawer, using his coat to keep from leaving prints.
Joe looked around and saw what he was doing. "Oh hell, that's going to leave fibers. Don't you know anything?" He ran to the back room and found the rag he had used earlier. "Use this."
Brent opened the desk drawer and found a blunt pencil stub. He found an old gas bill, too, and began scribbling information.
"Shit, here they come," Joe said from the window. "Looks like she's got the apartment manager with her."
"I've almost got it."
Joe turned away from the window. "Almost is too late. Shut it down and get out that back window."
"Wait, there's just--"
"No waiting. Do it."
"Just one more second--" Brent was scrawling frantically now.
"Have you got the full name?"
"Yes."
"Social?"
"Yes."
"That's it, then." He hit the power switch with his knuckle and the screen went black. "Now get in that other room, and get out the window. Take the pencil with you, don't drop anything, and try not to leave any prints."
Brent stuffed the paper and pencil into a pocket and made a run for the other room, not noticing that Joe wasn't following him. He scrambled onto the windowsill, dangled his feet hesitantly over the ledge for a moment, then jumped out. When Joe didn't follow, he paced anxiously, trampling weeds and the window screen that Joe had pushed out. Suddenly he heard a sound and moved away as Joe propelled himself out the window, landing gracefully for a man his size.
"What are you waiting for?" Joe demanded.
"I'm waiting for you!"
"You wouldn't have lasted half an hour where I grew up," Joe muttered. He motioned toward an alleyway and they took off running.
* * *
Brent strolled around the corner in front of Bona Dea, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, his face a study in unconcern. He noted a scurry of activity in front of Perry's apartment, but didn't stop. He glanced around the parking lot to make sure the black pickup was nowhere in sight, then let himself into Joe's truck. As he started the engine, a young woman turned from where she was staring at Perry's empty door. She gave Brent a long steady look, but he smiled and waved and she ducked her head with a shy smile.
After a few twists and turns through the narrow side streets Brent pulled the truck in front of a dilapidated laundromat. Joe emerged from inside, and jumped in. Brent hit the gas and they took off toward Delphi Grove.
"Anyone see you?" Joe asked.
"Just the girl," Brent said. "She didn't seem to think I was important."
"No one ever thinks a blond, well-dressed man is guilty of anything, unless it's insider trading."
"That's not true."
"Sure it's true. How would you know?" Joe didn't wait for an answer. "You didn't see Perry's truck, I guess?"
Brent shook his head. "If he caught our license plate number earlier, we're for sure going to be in deep shit. He's going to know who did this and why."
"That's okay. He's also going to know we've got enough dirt on him to do him a lot worse than anything he can do to us. Breaking and entering with no actual theft of goods will get us probation at worst, with our clean records."
"But you don't have a clean record."
"Sure I do. I may have been a thief, but I was also a juvenile. They wipe that stuff off your record. I've got a clean slate."
"So this is the first time you've done this kind of thing in, what, over twenty years?"
"Nearly thirty." Joe allowed himself a wry grin. "Makes me feel kind of old."
"I wouldn't have guessed you weren't a pro, the way you handled that door. What are you doing with tools like that, if you don't mind my asking."
Joe looked surprised. "What, my slide-daddy?" He had hidden the tool under his coat and now he took it out and studied it. "It's a legitimate tool. It's used for pulling dents. I'm a welder by trade, remember?"
"I'd just never seen one before."
"Of course not. When have you ever had to pull your own dents? Or do any kind of manual labor, for that matter?"
"Well, excuse me for living," Brent mumbled.
"Hey," Joe said, "I didn't mean that as a way of giving you shit. You were actually pretty good back there, for an amateur."
Brent dug in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "I only wish I could've done it faster. I got as much as I could, though." He handed over the paper.
Joe took a look. "Allison Alonia Grennaker?"
"The name she used at the hospital was just a front. I get the impression Perry pulls the legit records of dead people of approximately the same age and race as the ones needing fake ID and just reuses them. The real Allison probably died as a kid or something."
Joe made a face. "That's kind of sick. I don't know if I'd want to be running around with a dead person's name. Sounds like asking for trouble."
"As long as you don't run into any of the dead person's friends or family members, it's probably safe enough," Brent pointed out.
"It sounds like bad luck to me."
"I think it's pretty clever, actually."
"You would."
Brent pulled into Delphi Grove. "We're almost there," he said needlessly.
"A good thing, too. I could really go for one of Petra's roast beef sandwiches."
"You aren't going to say anything to Cece about this, are you?"
Joe frowned. "I got the impression we wouldn't be seeing her tonight, but even if we do, I'm not telling her anything. Much as I hate to admit it, I have a feeling she wouldn't be too happy about us getting closer to finding Elise."
"We're still on for tomorrow, right? We're going to make sure she calls this time?"
"I guess so."
"Well," Brent said, turning onto Cece's street. "After we eat, I'll do an internet search on Allison Grennaker and see if I turn up anything. I doubt I will. It'll mainly be useful for finding her later on at jobs, hospitals, airports and stuff."
"She better not be going near any airports."
"She got a passport. Didn't you notice?"
Joe looked at the paper again. "Damn," he muttered. "You don't think--"
"The only thing I think is that we may be running out of time."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They pushed open the door of the Bellona Grill and were struck by the warm aroma of garlic, tomato sauce and fresh pesto. A nondescript girl in black reached inside her podium for a couple of menus. "Table for two?"
"No, thank you," Brent said. "We're just going to the bar."
Joe was already making his way toward the long mahogany bar, and Brent paused a moment to admire its baroque scrollwork. "I wonder where they got this antique," he murmured to Joe as they pulled up bar stools. "It's gorgeous."
Joe glanced around but was unimpressed. "Nice craftsmanship," he acknowledged, "But it would look a damn sight better if there was a bartender back there."
Before Brent could answer, a gnome-like man, hair and mustache defiantly red, pushed through the kitchen door, ducked under the service counter and hurried over. "Hello, gentlemen." He briskly slapped a cocktail napkin in front of each of them. "What can I get you?"
"Well, actually--" Joe started, but clamped his mouth shut when Brent kicked his stool.
"How about a Bombay on the rocks," Brent said.
"You got it." The bartender turned to Joe. "You, sir?"
Joe begrudgingly ordered a Budweiser. When the bartender went to get their drinks, Joe turned on Brent. "I thought we were going to ask about Perry and get the hell out of here."
"We've got to be social," Brent said patiently. "He might get suspicious."
Joe picked up his cocktail napkin and began shredding it. "We don't have all day."
"And what else are we going to do without knowing how to find this guy?"
Before Joe could answer, the bartender returned and set their drinks in front of them. "How about some menus?"
Brent started to accept, but Joe cut him off. "We already had lunch, thanks."
"So would you like to keep the tab open, or will this be all?"
While Joe reached for his wallet, Brent took a sip of his drink and pretended to look around the room. "I guess this will be all," he said, seeing that Joe had taken out a twenty and set it on the bar. "But actually we were hoping to see Perry. I guess he's not working today?"
"Nope," the bartender said. "He's on vacation for a few days. He should be back next week. Tuesday, I think."
Joe grabbed his beer and took a long desperate pull at it.
"That's too bad," Brent said. "I needed to talk to him."
"Friend of his?"
"Just an acquaintance. I'm actually a friend of John and Julie who were in town visiting not too long ago. But I wanted to see him because I have some good news for him."
"Why don't you just call him?"
"I hate to bother the guy, if you say he's on vacation."
"He's not going anywhere. Not out of town, at any rate. He's taking some time off so he can move."
Brent sat a little straighter. "How nice for him. Where to?"
"Oh, nearby." Just then a waitress called to him from the end of the bar. "Gotta go do some work, I guess. I'll be right back."
After a few minutes the bartender returned. By now the men's drinks were low. "Another round?"
Joe and Brent exchanged glances. "We really ought to go find Perry," Brent said cautiously. "Where did you say he was moving to?"
"Around here." The bartender picked up Joe's twenty. "But you can probably still catch him at his old place."
"And where is that?" Brent jiggled the ice in his glass tried to appear detached. "I mean, I went there once for a party, but that was awhile back and I don't remember exactly."
"Bona Dea." The man handed Joe his change.
"I'm sorry?"
"Bona Dea," he said again. "You know, that small complex on Jupiter Street near the freeway." His bushy eyebrows came together in a frown. "You ought to remember it if you've been there before," he said. "Hard to forget that miserable rat-trap."
"Oh, right. I do remember now. I remember thinking that place was kind of... small for someone making such good money."
The bartender laughed. "I know that's right, but the place he's moving to is real nice. It's one of those townhouses over near the museum. You know, the new brick ones they just built. The three-story ones."
"Hey, those are nice," Brent said appreciatively. "Staying at Bona Dea and saving his money sure paid off."
"I'll say it did." Two more waitresses waved to him from the end of the bar. "What do they want now?"
Joe and Brent jumped to their feet. "Don't let us keep you from your work," Joe told him.
"Thanks a lot for your time, though." Brent added.
"Hey, no prob." The bartender started to head toward the service well, then stopped. "When I see Perry again, should I tell him you came by?"
"No need," Brent called over his shoulder as he and Joe headed toward the door. "I'm sure we'll see him before you do."
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"No, thank you," Brent said. "We're just going to the bar."
Joe was already making his way toward the long mahogany bar, and Brent paused a moment to admire its baroque scrollwork. "I wonder where they got this antique," he murmured to Joe as they pulled up bar stools. "It's gorgeous."
Joe glanced around but was unimpressed. "Nice craftsmanship," he acknowledged, "But it would look a damn sight better if there was a bartender back there."
Before Brent could answer, a gnome-like man, hair and mustache defiantly red, pushed through the kitchen door, ducked under the service counter and hurried over. "Hello, gentlemen." He briskly slapped a cocktail napkin in front of each of them. "What can I get you?"
"Well, actually--" Joe started, but clamped his mouth shut when Brent kicked his stool.
"How about a Bombay on the rocks," Brent said.
"You got it." The bartender turned to Joe. "You, sir?"
Joe begrudgingly ordered a Budweiser. When the bartender went to get their drinks, Joe turned on Brent. "I thought we were going to ask about Perry and get the hell out of here."
"We've got to be social," Brent said patiently. "He might get suspicious."
Joe picked up his cocktail napkin and began shredding it. "We don't have all day."
"And what else are we going to do without knowing how to find this guy?"
Before Joe could answer, the bartender returned and set their drinks in front of them. "How about some menus?"
Brent started to accept, but Joe cut him off. "We already had lunch, thanks."
"So would you like to keep the tab open, or will this be all?"
While Joe reached for his wallet, Brent took a sip of his drink and pretended to look around the room. "I guess this will be all," he said, seeing that Joe had taken out a twenty and set it on the bar. "But actually we were hoping to see Perry. I guess he's not working today?"
"Nope," the bartender said. "He's on vacation for a few days. He should be back next week. Tuesday, I think."
Joe grabbed his beer and took a long desperate pull at it.
"That's too bad," Brent said. "I needed to talk to him."
"Friend of his?"
"Just an acquaintance. I'm actually a friend of John and Julie who were in town visiting not too long ago. But I wanted to see him because I have some good news for him."
"Why don't you just call him?"
"I hate to bother the guy, if you say he's on vacation."
"He's not going anywhere. Not out of town, at any rate. He's taking some time off so he can move."
Brent sat a little straighter. "How nice for him. Where to?"
"Oh, nearby." Just then a waitress called to him from the end of the bar. "Gotta go do some work, I guess. I'll be right back."
After a few minutes the bartender returned. By now the men's drinks were low. "Another round?"
Joe and Brent exchanged glances. "We really ought to go find Perry," Brent said cautiously. "Where did you say he was moving to?"
"Around here." The bartender picked up Joe's twenty. "But you can probably still catch him at his old place."
"And where is that?" Brent jiggled the ice in his glass tried to appear detached. "I mean, I went there once for a party, but that was awhile back and I don't remember exactly."
"Bona Dea." The man handed Joe his change.
"I'm sorry?"
"Bona Dea," he said again. "You know, that small complex on Jupiter Street near the freeway." His bushy eyebrows came together in a frown. "You ought to remember it if you've been there before," he said. "Hard to forget that miserable rat-trap."
"Oh, right. I do remember now. I remember thinking that place was kind of... small for someone making such good money."
The bartender laughed. "I know that's right, but the place he's moving to is real nice. It's one of those townhouses over near the museum. You know, the new brick ones they just built. The three-story ones."
"Hey, those are nice," Brent said appreciatively. "Staying at Bona Dea and saving his money sure paid off."
"I'll say it did." Two more waitresses waved to him from the end of the bar. "What do they want now?"
Joe and Brent jumped to their feet. "Don't let us keep you from your work," Joe told him.
"Thanks a lot for your time, though." Brent added.
"Hey, no prob." The bartender started to head toward the service well, then stopped. "When I see Perry again, should I tell him you came by?"
"No need," Brent called over his shoulder as he and Joe headed toward the door. "I'm sure we'll see him before you do."
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Chapter Twenty-Six
Joe walked into Brent's room and watched for a moment while he tapped on his laptop. "Did you find anything on Ellen James or on that guy Clyman, who gave her the fake ID?"
Brent didn't look up. "Not yet. Being stalled like this is driving me crazy. We haven't had a new lead in over twenty four hours."
"I know," Joe said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I wish I could think of something."
"Relying on Cece is starting to feel useless."
"She might still turn out to be playing straight with us."
"And if she's not?"
"We're screwed." Joe rested his elbows on his knees and stared glumly at the carpet.
Brent turned back to the computer and began tapping again. Suddenly he cursed. "This is just what I don't need right now."
Joe craned his neck to see. "What?"
"My job. I was supposed to have a meeting with a major client yesterday and I forgot all about it. Now they're bitching to the CEO, who called my dad. He wants me back at the end of the week or else."
"End of the week is when? Tomorrow?"
"Yes." Brent composed a response to the email. "But what's worse is what isn't in my inbox."
"No word from the wife," Joe guessed.
"This isn't like her. I haven't written or called since I told her I had to go on an emergency business trip. If she's not trying to contact me, something's really wrong. She must've talked to my dad and found out this isn't a business trip."
"What are you going to do?"
"There's nothing I can do. I can't stop looking now."
"You just said we're stuck." Joe stood and began pacing the room. "Maybe you can do more from home than you can here. I suppose I could give you the key to my house and--"
Brent shook his head. "You aren't getting rid of me that easy. I promised I was going to find her and that's what I intend to do."
Joe stopped pacing. "Suit yourself, but I'm beginning to wonder what your real motives are."
"My real motives?" Brent stopped typing and turned around in his seat. "What are you talking about?'"
"You know, why you're tagging along, acting like you want to help. No other man would've done it."
"Don't be so sure. I told you I feel bad about what happened and this is the closest I can come to putting things right. If you want to read something into that, go ahead."
"What about your job, though? What about your wife? A guy doesn't walk away from all that unless there's something in it for him."
"As far as the job is concerned, it's only my dad. He'll get over it. And if he doesn't, screw the job. I have other means of income, and things were kind of ripe for a change, anyway."
"And your wife?"
Brent sighed. "It's not like we were getting along so great, you know."
"Well, either you're crazy, or you're lying about not being up to anything, because no one gives up a wife and a good job to chase after a woman he has no intention of keeping."
"I thought I already explained all that to you," Brent said with as much dignity as he could muster. "Last night I was told I'm a martyr and today I find out I'm crazy. Thanks a lot."
"What would you think if you were me?"
Brent looked away. "I guess I'd think what you're thinking. All I can tell you is it isn't true, and you'll have to take my word for it."
"Why should I do that?"
"For the same reason you're giving Cece a chance. What else are you going to do? You can send me away, but I think we've been pretty effective together so far. If we start working at cross purposes, what then?"
Joe turned away and feigned great interest in the cuffs of his flannel shirt. "Okay," he said. "I'll pretend to take your word for it, since I don't seem to have a choice. But we've got to do something soon about this situation with Cece. I'm feeling real uncomfortable with all the stuff she's doing for us. The rooms, the maids and having the run of the house were one thing, but now clothes? I'm thinking she doesn't want us to leave and she's just stringing us along."
"I've been thinking the same thing," Brent admitted. "Why don't we insist she call on the land line next time?"
Joe's eyebrows went up. "We should've thought of that before. I can say I want to listen on the other line, and we'll see what kind of reaction we get."
"If she refuses or gets weird about it, that means for sure she's lying to us," Brent added.
"That's a good plan, but what if it turns out she is lying to us? We have no other leads."
"We could try going back to Sylvia's."
Joe dropped his gaze. "I don't think so."
"Why not? It's a long shot, but at least it's a plan."
Joe shook his head adamantly. "Maybe you can go back there, but I can't." When Brent gave him a quizzical look, he added, "Just trust me on this, okay?"
* * *
Half an hour later Brent burst into Joe's room, waking him from a nap. "I found something."
Joe jumped to his feet, all drowsiness gone. "You found her?"
"No, of course not. I've got something almost as good, though."
Joe followed Brent into his room.
"Check it out." Brent waved Joe into the leather desk chair then leaned over and tapped a few keys. "What do you see?"
"It says John and Julie's St. Argent anniversary trip." He looked at Brent. "Who's John and Julie?"
"Doesn't matter. Scroll down and take a look at the pictures. Be sure to read the captions."
Joe did as he was told. "They stayed at a B&B somewhere around here, they rode bikes on the rail trail and John fell and had to be treated for road rash and a laceration on his arm.... dammit, will you just tell me what I'm looking for?"
"You'll know it when you see it."
With a frown of annoyance, Joe returned to the computer. "They went to a coffee shop, a few museums... they had a barbecue with some old high school buddies...."
"What are the names of the friends?"
Joe squinted at the screen, then sucked in his breath. "Well, I'll be god-damned."
"Scroll down two more frames." Brent reached to do it himself, but Joe shoved his hand away. "You'll want to click on the picture and get a bigger view."
Joe's eyes widened in surprise when he found the photo in question. It seemed an ordinary enough photo of a dark-haired young man in a starched white shirt and black tie, shaking martinis. He expanded it so he could take a closer look and read the caption out loud. "Our friend, Perry Clyman in his element as bartender at the Bellona Grill." His face lit up in a grin and he cuffed him playfully on the arm. "Good work. Now all we have to do is find this place and go over there." His face suddenly clouded over. "You think he still works there? How old is this information?"
Brent shrugged. "It was posted about two months ago, so that's good. Of course the pictures could've been taken years ago, but I have a feeling it's all pretty recent. It looks like these people were here over the summer, so I'd say there's an excellent chance Perry is still at Bellona's."
"Well, let's go." Joe jumped up and glanced at his watch. "It's 1:00, though. I wonder..."
Brent took a seat and began shutting down the computer. "Yeah, it's a long shot. I've never seen a restaurant have more than one bartender at lunch, and knowing our luck, it won't be him. But we can at least find out if he still works there and when his next shift is." The screen went dark and he snapped the case shut. "And who knows, maybe we'll get lucky. We know what he looks like now, so that will help."
"I'll say." Joe headed toward the door. "I'll go get my keys and jacket and meet you downstairs."
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Next Chapter >>
Brent didn't look up. "Not yet. Being stalled like this is driving me crazy. We haven't had a new lead in over twenty four hours."
"I know," Joe said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I wish I could think of something."
"Relying on Cece is starting to feel useless."
"She might still turn out to be playing straight with us."
"And if she's not?"
"We're screwed." Joe rested his elbows on his knees and stared glumly at the carpet.
Brent turned back to the computer and began tapping again. Suddenly he cursed. "This is just what I don't need right now."
Joe craned his neck to see. "What?"
"My job. I was supposed to have a meeting with a major client yesterday and I forgot all about it. Now they're bitching to the CEO, who called my dad. He wants me back at the end of the week or else."
"End of the week is when? Tomorrow?"
"Yes." Brent composed a response to the email. "But what's worse is what isn't in my inbox."
"No word from the wife," Joe guessed.
"This isn't like her. I haven't written or called since I told her I had to go on an emergency business trip. If she's not trying to contact me, something's really wrong. She must've talked to my dad and found out this isn't a business trip."
"What are you going to do?"
"There's nothing I can do. I can't stop looking now."
"You just said we're stuck." Joe stood and began pacing the room. "Maybe you can do more from home than you can here. I suppose I could give you the key to my house and--"
Brent shook his head. "You aren't getting rid of me that easy. I promised I was going to find her and that's what I intend to do."
Joe stopped pacing. "Suit yourself, but I'm beginning to wonder what your real motives are."
"My real motives?" Brent stopped typing and turned around in his seat. "What are you talking about?'"
"You know, why you're tagging along, acting like you want to help. No other man would've done it."
"Don't be so sure. I told you I feel bad about what happened and this is the closest I can come to putting things right. If you want to read something into that, go ahead."
"What about your job, though? What about your wife? A guy doesn't walk away from all that unless there's something in it for him."
"As far as the job is concerned, it's only my dad. He'll get over it. And if he doesn't, screw the job. I have other means of income, and things were kind of ripe for a change, anyway."
"And your wife?"
Brent sighed. "It's not like we were getting along so great, you know."
"Well, either you're crazy, or you're lying about not being up to anything, because no one gives up a wife and a good job to chase after a woman he has no intention of keeping."
"I thought I already explained all that to you," Brent said with as much dignity as he could muster. "Last night I was told I'm a martyr and today I find out I'm crazy. Thanks a lot."
"What would you think if you were me?"
Brent looked away. "I guess I'd think what you're thinking. All I can tell you is it isn't true, and you'll have to take my word for it."
"Why should I do that?"
"For the same reason you're giving Cece a chance. What else are you going to do? You can send me away, but I think we've been pretty effective together so far. If we start working at cross purposes, what then?"
Joe turned away and feigned great interest in the cuffs of his flannel shirt. "Okay," he said. "I'll pretend to take your word for it, since I don't seem to have a choice. But we've got to do something soon about this situation with Cece. I'm feeling real uncomfortable with all the stuff she's doing for us. The rooms, the maids and having the run of the house were one thing, but now clothes? I'm thinking she doesn't want us to leave and she's just stringing us along."
"I've been thinking the same thing," Brent admitted. "Why don't we insist she call on the land line next time?"
Joe's eyebrows went up. "We should've thought of that before. I can say I want to listen on the other line, and we'll see what kind of reaction we get."
"If she refuses or gets weird about it, that means for sure she's lying to us," Brent added.
"That's a good plan, but what if it turns out she is lying to us? We have no other leads."
"We could try going back to Sylvia's."
Joe dropped his gaze. "I don't think so."
"Why not? It's a long shot, but at least it's a plan."
Joe shook his head adamantly. "Maybe you can go back there, but I can't." When Brent gave him a quizzical look, he added, "Just trust me on this, okay?"
* * *
Half an hour later Brent burst into Joe's room, waking him from a nap. "I found something."
Joe jumped to his feet, all drowsiness gone. "You found her?"
"No, of course not. I've got something almost as good, though."
Joe followed Brent into his room.
"Check it out." Brent waved Joe into the leather desk chair then leaned over and tapped a few keys. "What do you see?"
"It says John and Julie's St. Argent anniversary trip." He looked at Brent. "Who's John and Julie?"
"Doesn't matter. Scroll down and take a look at the pictures. Be sure to read the captions."
Joe did as he was told. "They stayed at a B&B somewhere around here, they rode bikes on the rail trail and John fell and had to be treated for road rash and a laceration on his arm.... dammit, will you just tell me what I'm looking for?"
"You'll know it when you see it."
With a frown of annoyance, Joe returned to the computer. "They went to a coffee shop, a few museums... they had a barbecue with some old high school buddies...."
"What are the names of the friends?"
Joe squinted at the screen, then sucked in his breath. "Well, I'll be god-damned."
"Scroll down two more frames." Brent reached to do it himself, but Joe shoved his hand away. "You'll want to click on the picture and get a bigger view."
Joe's eyes widened in surprise when he found the photo in question. It seemed an ordinary enough photo of a dark-haired young man in a starched white shirt and black tie, shaking martinis. He expanded it so he could take a closer look and read the caption out loud. "Our friend, Perry Clyman in his element as bartender at the Bellona Grill." His face lit up in a grin and he cuffed him playfully on the arm. "Good work. Now all we have to do is find this place and go over there." His face suddenly clouded over. "You think he still works there? How old is this information?"
Brent shrugged. "It was posted about two months ago, so that's good. Of course the pictures could've been taken years ago, but I have a feeling it's all pretty recent. It looks like these people were here over the summer, so I'd say there's an excellent chance Perry is still at Bellona's."
"Well, let's go." Joe jumped up and glanced at his watch. "It's 1:00, though. I wonder..."
Brent took a seat and began shutting down the computer. "Yeah, it's a long shot. I've never seen a restaurant have more than one bartender at lunch, and knowing our luck, it won't be him. But we can at least find out if he still works there and when his next shift is." The screen went dark and he snapped the case shut. "And who knows, maybe we'll get lucky. We know what he looks like now, so that will help."
"I'll say." Joe headed toward the door. "I'll go get my keys and jacket and meet you downstairs."
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