Deep silver, p.4
Deep Silver, page 4
part #2 of Alexis Silver Series
“Hi,” says the girl, waving.
I wave back and gesture at the two chairs facing my desk. “Please, have a seat. Care for anything to drink? I have coffee or bottled water.”
“Thanks, we’re good. I just finished a giant latte.” Lindsay slouches with a heavy exhale. “Sorry. Lots of late nights.”
Shiloh picks up my nameplate and tilts it back and forth making a spot of reflected light dance on the wall. Her mother gently urges her to put it back on the desk after a few seconds.
“All right.” I sit and open the file I started for her. “So, as I understand, you’re having a child support issue?”
Lindsay nods. “My ex-husband is―”
“I gotta pee,” says Shiloh.
“I’m sorry,” groans Lindsay. “Do you have a bathroom she could use?”
I point at the only hallway leading away from the office. “First door on the left.”
They walk off. A moment later, Lindsay returns alone and sits. “Sorry about that. So, umm. Yeah. My ex-husband Justin is making way more money than he claims.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He got a new truck like two weeks after the divorce finalized. Justin said his parents helped him out, but I know that’s total BS.” Lindsay swipes at her hair, which promptly falls right back to half-cover her face. “The whole time we were married, he barely talked to them, and when he did, they always gave him crap for not applying himself.”
“Applying himself?” I ask.
A flush comes from the hall.
“Yeah. He’s like smart and stuff, but he works at some techy place that doesn’t pay much. I mean, it’s way better than retail, but it’s still not much money. To hear his parents talk, he should be making six figures, but he didn’t finish school and he’s lazy as hell.”
I lean back, rubbing my chin. “I’ve read that a lot of exceptionally smart people are considered lazy.”
Shiloh wanders into the room and heads to the right, away from my desk. She gazes around at the walls, traces her fingers over the leaves of my fake rhododendron, and heads to the Keurig.
“Maybe,” says Lindsay. “He’s supposed to pay child support, but the judge lowered the amount to almost nothing because he doesn’t make a lot of money, and has to pay his rent and stuff. I was hoping you could find some kinda proof he’s hiding money somehow. I know it in my gut he’s got money coming in from something else. Neal said you might be willing to help me out.”
“Pro bone,” says Shiloh, spinning the rack of K-cups next to the Keurig.
Lindsay goes scarlet in the face. I can’t help myself and crack up.
Shiloh looks back over her shoulder at me. “What? That’s what the lawyer man said. He’s helpin’ my mom wif a pro bone too.”
While Lindsay attempts to shrink into a tiny black hole and disappear from the face of the earth, I’m in tears from laughing. This, of course, only confuses Shiloh more.
“Can I make a cocoa?” asks Shiloh, holding up a small white cup.
What are the odds I could convince you to eat this woman and keep the girl? Licinia laughs.
Still snickering, I hop up and head over to the Keurig and brew it for her. I’ve only got ceramic mugs, so I carry it back to the desk and hand it to her after she sits down. My still heartbroken master hovers right inside my eyelids like a little girl eyeing a puppy in a store window. How much she misses being a mother is almost painful. At least with her fawning over this cute kid and not freaking out like she did with Hannah, I relax. That means she’s not getting a sniff on the mystical winds about bad stuff happening.
Lindsay drills holes in the rug with her stare.
“It’s all right, Miss Adams,” I say. “I know what she meant. Neal Stephens is a friend of mine, and I know he does pro bono work all the time, as do I. I’m happy to waive my fee given your circumstances.”
Of course, had I not been so well off, I might not have been so happy about it. Luckily, I’m in this business to help people, not cash checks from those who couldn’t otherwise afford my services.
Lindsay finally looks up to make eye contact again, though it’ll take a while for the blush to fade. “Thank you! Umm, so how does this work?”
“Well, the more information you can give me about Justin, the better.”
Shiloh sips cocoa while swinging her feet back and forth. She does the Felix the Cat thing with her eyes, shifting them back and forth from her mother to me, over and over again.
“I’ve got some stuff here.” Lindsay hoists a massive denim handbag off the floor and plants it in her lap. She rummages around for a moment until locating a fat envelope sealed with Scotch tape that she hands over. “That’s everything I could find or remember. It includes everything I got from the court, too.”
I nod. “Thanks. Well, at this point… the rest is up to me. I’ll start looking into this as soon as I can and hopefully get back to you with some good news. Do you have any more questions?”
“What if his money is coming from illegal stuff? Would that affect child support?”
“It would… but not in a good way.” I purse my lips. “He wouldn’t earn much from prison. Do you think he’s breaking the law?”
She shakes her head. “Not really, no. I don’t see him having the nerve to do anything illegal.”
“All right.” I flip through the envelope, noting a pay stub, some court documents, and what looks like a bank statement. “This should get me started.”
“Thank you,” says Shiloh, while putting the empty mug up on the desk.
“You’re welcome, sweetie.” I smile at her.
After confirming her phone number one more time, I walk them to the door with a promise to call them before the end of the week with at least a status update. This one shouldn’t take too much time, especially not with my special advantages.
Once Lindsay and Shiloh drive off, I flop in my chair, feet up on the desk, and call Neal Stephens.
It rings enough that I’m expecting to land in his voicemail, but he surprises me by answering.
“Hello?” asks Neal, sounding apprehensive.
“Neal… it’s me, Alex Silver. Guess you have a new cell, or your contacts got wiped?”
“Oh! Yeah. New phone. Stupid thing that’s supposed to transfer everything wound up eating most of it. How are things?”
“Fine. I just met with Lindsay Adams.”
“Great. Sorry if I presumed too much. She’s not in a great place financially. I’m working her case pro bono, too.” I snicker before I can catch myself.
“What? Not all lawyers are mercenary.”
“Oh, not that.” I fill him in on Shiloh’s unintentional slip-up. “So you’re giving Lindsay the pro bone?”
He stifles a laugh—guess he’s in a court building—and sighs. “That’s hilarious.”
“So are you doing this out of the kindness of your heart or are you trying to get her in bed? That Lindsay’s quite a Sheba.”
“Umm, what?”
“She’s rather pretty.”
“Hey,” says Neal, “you know I’ve only got eyes for you.”
That makes me laugh. “Nice try, Neal.”
“So, you took her case?” he asks, clearly changing the subject.
“Yeah.”
“Cool. If I can help at all, let me know,” he says.
“Sure thing.”
We hang up, both chuckling. Neal’s totally not my type. He’s damn awkward around women, and flirts in a sarcastic way with zero expectation it’ll get him anywhere. I mean, he’s a nice guy, mid-twenties, not bad looking… but yeah. There’s no chemistry there. Plus I’m too old for him. To me, he’s really a kid.
I ran into him two years ago when some jackass dragged me to court. The whole thing would’ve been a perfect made-for-Lifetime movie. Two rich people getting a divorce, the guy’s cheating. Wife hires a PI to find evidence, takes the guy to the cleaners to the tune of three million and change, slightly more than half their combined worth. Anyway, the guy tried to sue me out of spite. Fortunately, the judge wound up being a man, and this little mermaid isn’t above using her powers of charm in situations like that.
So… I pick up the envelope and pull out all the assorted paperwork. Some of the forms have scrawled pink writing on the back, no doubt Shiloh’s work.
“Okay, Justin…” I lean up to my computer. “What are you up to?”
Chapter Four
The Adventurer
Over the next half hour or so, I do the usual electronic snooping on Mr. Justin West.
I may wind up naming my notes file for this one the Justin Case.
I may also invoke black magic on you, says Licinia.
“Hah!” I laugh.
From his Facebook profile, he comes off as a slacker type—into Japanese anime movies, video games, Marvel Comics, and general science fiction. Perhaps the most illegal thing this guy looks capable of doing is trading bootleg movies, but I don’t think there’s real money in that—at least not for a one-man operation. I spend a while clicking on some of his friends. Most have at least a tertiary association with technology, a few look like programmers. He doesn’t have an employer listed, though a ways down his wall he posted, “Woot! Finally off the unemployment.”
The photo section has about an equal number of pictures of Shiloh at various ages as it does cartoon robots and little figurines lined up like he’s building a model battle or something. I have no idea what Warhammer 40k means, but this guy seems to adore it. A few pictures show four other guys posing over the table, which appears to be in a basement loaded with bookshelves. Judging from the amount of empty two-liter bottles and Dorito bags, the guy has gone beyond bachelor living to ‘unsupervised fourteen year old.’
Yeah, there’s no way this guy is selling drugs. Those people would eat him alive.
So I’m going to have to—
My front door swings open.
Hmm. A walk in. I wonder who’s cheating on who this week.
A thin woman in a beige skirt suit hesitantly steps into the room while pulling off sunglasses. Only people who don’t want to be recognized wear sunglasses in Washington State. Today isn’t one of the fourteen sunny days we’re permitted per year. I can’t quite place the designer, but her clothing looks expensive. She’s also taking strawberry blonde a bit too far, in that the fragrance of strawberries saturates everything about her.
“Umm, pardon me,” says the woman with the faintest hint of a British accent. “I’m looking for Alex Silver?”
“You found her,” I say.
The woman stares at me with an expression as if I’d slapped her with a raw salmon. Mmm. Salmon. Getting hungry. “Oh. Well, then. That’s not quite what I was expecting.”
“You perhaps thought you’d find a man in a raincoat with a cigar and a tumbler of whiskey on the desk?”
She laughs nervously, but takes a step closer. “Well, yes, something like that. Up until a few days ago, I didn’t even think private eyes were real.”
“We are, and no one’s called us ‘private eyes’ for a while. Though I suppose that’s better than ‘private dick.’”
Her cheeks pink, but she still takes a step closer.
Oh boy. This is going to be dangerous or ridiculous.
I’m thinking dangerous.
For me or her? I think.
Unclear.
I force myself not to roll my eyes at Licinia since this woman would think it’s meant for her. Is this a real psychic hit or do you have a magic eight ball in there somewhere?
A what? Before I can answer, she sees the explanation in my head, and sighs. No dear. That is a child’s toy. My lack of clarity at present is likely due to distance in the future.
“It’s the name,” I said. “You were expecting Alexander, not Alexis.”
The woman grimaces. “Yes, but it’s not a problem. Merely a surprise. I didn’t think this sort of work would be the thing a woman had any interest in.”
“Let’s just say I get the feels when I help people.”
“The feels?”
“Yes.”
“You enjoy helping others?”
“It’s why I do what I do.”
“Are you good at it?”
“This office doesn’t pay for itself.” Actually, it kind of does. Truth be known, I operate at a loss. But she didn’t need to know that.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” She sits in the spot Shiloh had been in. “Are you accepting new clients?”
I shift my weight to the right, leaning an elbow on the arm of my chair, chin atop my knuckles. “Despite the fact that I’m a woman?”
“Like I said, it’s a surprise, not a problem. I expect if you’ve got the nerve to do this, you’re capable enough.”
“I wouldn’t have hung out my shingle if I didn’t feel confident.” I wink. “You have me at a disadvantage already though. You know my name, but…”
“Pippa Ainsley-Carrington,” she says. “I’d like to hire you to locate my brother, Ethan. He has been missing for quite a while, though that’s not totally unusual of him. What is unusual is that he hasn’t sent an email on time.”
“On time, or for some time?”
“On time.”
“Sure,” I say. “And it’s not unusual for him to disappear for long stretches?”
She nods. “My brother is what I suppose you might call an adventurer. He travels here and there whenever he gets it in his head that he simply must be somewhere. Lately, he’s taken a fancy to places like Peru, Mexico, South America, and so on.”
“I’m afraid I’m not entirely equipped to track someone around the globe… Mrs. Ainsley-Carrington?”
“Yes, I’m married. Ethan Ainsley is my brother. Bryce Carrington is my husband, but he’s got nothing to do with my brother. The two men couldn’t be any more different.”
As Pippa melts into a soliloquy about why she decided to hyphenate her name, I zone out a little and Licinia groans.
“… so you see, it’s not at all unusual for Ethan to toddle off without notice to some Godforsaken corner of the globe. But he always emails me every three days. That’s sort of his signal, you see. If he misses an email, it means something dreadful has happened.”
Like having to listen to this woman prattle on. That qualifies as dreadful.
Fortunately, one doesn’t live for over a century without developing the ability to control one’s facial expressions. Snickering at Licinia’s quip right after this woman told me she suspects her brother has been hurt would not have gone over well.
“Do you have any reason to believe something might’ve happened to him?” I ask.
“Yes.” She nods, fidgeting with her sunglasses. “There’ve been strange people about. I might’ve even been followed here. Ethan had a rather cross phone conversation with someone a few days before he left the house. I thought it not unusual at the time for him to leave without a word. That’s rather normal for him, you see. He gets inspired and can’t wait to race off to make his discoveries or what have you, but it’s been two weeks now and not a single email.”
“He lives with you?”
“Yes.”
“How old is he?”
“Forty-four.”
It’s not too often I have someone dangling a case in front of me and I find myself looking for an excuse to pass on it. Though, I once had this genuine loon who claimed to have married his pet chicken and wanted me to find her after she ran off. I had no trouble sending him on his way. Still, Pippa’s giving me a giant headache already, and it’s not only from her overpowering shampoo. Something about this case feels like it’s going to be a tremendous pain in the ass. More than likely, this guy has done exactly what she thinks he did—he ran off somewhere on the spur of the moment and got a flat tire in the Peruvian jungle. Or ran out of money and was too proud to tell her.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Ainsley-Carrington, but international cases aren’t my forte.”
Pippa’s head moves side to side in the most minimal of head shakes. “Oh, he’s nearby, Ms. Silver. His car is still at the house, and I couldn’t find any indication that he’d taken a flight anywhere, or a train. Wherever he went, he got off to there on foot. Or had someone pick him up, but he’s never done anything like that. I’m sure he’s not too far from here. Certainly still inside the state.”
This woman is genuinely worried, but she also looks like the sort of person who would be this worried about the wrong table settings at a dinner party. I rub a finger back and forth over my lips while trying to figure out if I want to deal with this. “You’re certain he’s not camping in the Cascades?”
“He would have told me. Or he would have found a way to send me the email.”
“Every three days.”
“Yes. Now, I’ve never worked with a private investigator before. Will $5,000 be enough of a retainer for you to get started?”
Hmm. I suppose I do enough charity cases to warrant overcharging once in a while. Besides, this woman offered, so I figure five grand probably isn’t a big deal to her. It’s not all that big a deal to me either—my supernatural ex-husbands were all rather generous.
“All right.” I offer a handshake. “I’ll take your case.”
Chapter Five
Few Crumbs
I spend the rest of the day gathering all the information I can on Justin West, who may or may not be hiding extra income, then head home around six. A nice relaxing swim and fresh salmon later, I curl up and fall asleep in bed with The Maltese Falcon (remastered) on DVD playing in the background.
***
Much of the next morning into afternoon goes toward investigating the missing Ethan Ainsley.
I call all the jails, hospitals, and morgues within a 200-mile radius. That’s typically the first step when dealing with a missing person case. Though, if the missing person’s a juvenile, I usually skip the jails since the cops are pretty good about notifying parents. However, it’s wildly unlikely that a forty-four-year-old man is going to wind up in a youth shelter.
