Chapter Eight
Lance skimmed through the remaining documents in Chelsea’s file. Nothing jumped out at him. He closed the file on the card table in his office and sat back, letting the information sink into his head.
Sharp walked into the room. “I made you a shake.” He handed Lance a nasty-looking green concoction.
“I will never get used to the way these look.” Lance held up the glass and stared at the thick green liquid.
After he’d been shot in the thigh and almost died last year, his recovery had been long, painful, and frustrating. He’d gone back to the police force only to quit when his leg didn’t hold up. He’d wallowed in pity at home, seeing little progress with his rehabilitation, until Sharp had convinced him to join his PI firm—and to try his organic-crunchy lifestyle. Several months after Lance had embraced his boss’s way of life, his leg was mostly healed.
He doubted it would ever be 100 percent, but he could do most of the things he enjoyed. He’d even returned to coaching the hockey team for at-risk youths he’d volunteered with when he’d been on the police force.
Now instead of heading to the bar when he was stressed, Lance downed a green protein shake and went to bed early.
He was quite the party animal.
“Luckily, these drinks taste better than they look.” Lance no longer questioned the ingredients. He’d learned his lesson and simply drank whatever his boss handed him.
To be fair, Sharp was more than his boss. After he’d been unable to find Lance’s father, he’d taken ten-year-old Lance under his wing. Over the years, Sharp had driven him to hockey practice, given him the sex talk, and taught him to drive. He was the closest thing to a father Lance had.
Sharp took the empty glass back. “Ready to head over to Tim’s house?”
Lance stood and reached for the flannel shirt he’d draped over his chair. “Yes. Want to ride along? We should get a good look at the wife’s personal space.”
“Let’s go.” Sharp fetched a jacket from his office.
Lance went to the closet and grabbed a high-capacity USB drive, then met Sharp and Morgan in the foyer.
“I’m off to see the sheriff.” She slung her giant purse over one shoulder. She’d changed into what Lance called her lawyer uniform: a fitted navy-blue suit, white silk blouse, heels, and pearls. They all went outside together, and Sharp locked up the office.
Lance thought about kissing her goodbye, but the gesture felt awkward. Their relationship felt awkward, especially in front of Sharp. Instead, Lance said, “Good luck.”
They parted on the sidewalk. Lance watched her walk away. The skirt and heels did magical things to her legs. She was all at once ladylike, professional, and unbelievably hot.
At least she was to him.
Morgan got into her minivan and drove off. Lance and Sharp settled in Lance’s Jeep.
“What’s going on between you two?” Sharp said before he’d even fastened his seat belt.
“It’s hard to quantify.” Lance started the engine and pulled away from the curb. “Her grandfather has been sick. She has her hands full, and we both know my mom is a lot to manage.”
Sharp stared over the console. “Stop overthinking. You are not going to find another woman like that one. Make time for her. Do not fuck this up.”
“That isn’t my goal.”
“You can’t possibly manage every single piece of your mother’s life forever. You’re entitled to some happiness.”
“I know.” But it didn’t feel that simple. His mother’s mental health and physical safety required a delicate balance of medication, routine, and vigilance. He’d slacked off during college, and she’d needed inpatient treatment to get back on track. Since then, he’d erred on the side of micromanaging, but that didn’t allow much room for a social life.
They drove the rest of the way in silence.
Chelsea and Tim lived in a quiet subdivision. As Lance turned the Jeep onto their street, he slowed to drive around a couple pushing a baby stroller. Ten feet ahead of them, a small child pedaled a tricycle. At three o’clock in the afternoon, grade school-aged kids swarmed a play lot in the center of the cul-de-sac.
Lance parked in front of Tim’s house. It was a nice starter home, small but generally well kept. The lawn needed raking, but Lance supposed Tim had had little time or interest in yard work since his wife had vanished.
Two sedans were parked in the driveway, the Toyota that Tim had driven to Sharp Investigations and a late-model Dodge sedan.
Tim answered the door and let them into the house.
“Has the press been hounding you?” Sharp asked.
“They hung around the first day, then they seemed to lose interest.” Tim ushered Lance and Sharp into the kitchen. Suitcases crowded a corner of the adjoining family room. “My in-laws just arrived. I don’t know how I survived the last few days without them.”
He introduced them to a couple in their late fifties.
Chelsea’s mother, Patricia, was a tall, fit blonde woman who looked as if she could still hike all day. She wore black yoga pants and a sweater that ended midthigh. She had the sleeping baby draped over one cloth-covered shoulder while she rubbed his back in a circular motion.
Chelsea’s dad, Randall, sat at the kitchen table with a little girl of about three perched on his lap. Lance assumed the child was Tim and Chelsea’s oldest. Bella and her grandfather were working on a large-piece puzzle.
“We’d like to ask you both a few questions,” Sharp said.
Dark circles and worry lined Patricia’s eyes as she nodded. She glanced at the little girl on her husband’s knee, clearly concerned about the child overhearing the upcoming conversation. “Tim, maybe you could take Bella and William to the playground.”
“Yay.” The little girl jumped off her grandfather’s lap.
Tim did not appear to share his daughter’s enthusiasm, but he simply said, “Good idea. Bella, get your coat and shoes. I’ll put William in the stroller.”
Bella skipped out of the room. The sounds of Tim getting the children ready floated back from the hallway. Bella chattered. The front door opened and closed.
After Tim and the children left, Patricia sat next to her husband at the kitchen table. The older couple joined hands, their fingers intertwining in a show of solidarity Lance admired. This was the way marriages were supposed to work. Couples should lean on each other.
“We usually stay in a hotel. The house is small. But this time . . .” Patricia said, “Tim needs help.”
“When was the last time you talked to your daughter?” Sharp settled across from Randall.
Lance took the chair opposite Patricia.
A tear leaked from Patricia’s eye. “Chelsea calls us almost every day. I spoke to her Friday morning.” She pressed a clenched fist to her mouth. “She was looking forward to going out that night.”
The poor woman.
“How was her mood? Did anything seem off?” Lance swallowed his pity and pushed aside memories of his own mother’s confusion and grief after his father disappeared. More than two decades later, he could still see her as clear as day in his mind. The tears, the dark circles, the pale skin.
The way she’d seemed to fade away over the following months and years.
Patricia sniffed and wiped a fingertip under her eye. “She’s had a rough time since the baby was born.”
“It didn’t have to be that tough. Tim could have been more useful.” Randall scowled.
“So Tim isn’t a good husband?” Lance asked.
“That’s not fair, Rand.” Patricia’s knuckles whitened around her husband’s. “Tim loves Chelsea. He’s a hard worker who’s trying to build a future for his family. And he’s a nice boy.”
“As smart as he is, that’s exactly what he is—a boy.” Randall didn’t look convinced. “He needs to grow the hell up.”
“Anyway, we’re so glad Tim agreed to hire a private firm,” Patricia said. “After speaking to the sheriff over the phone, we didn’t have much confidence in his investigation.”
“You asked Tim to hire us?” Lance asked.
Patricia’s forehead wrinkled. “Not exactly. We were discussing our frustration with the sheriff. No matter how many times I told him Chelsea would never leave her babies, he seemed convinced that she was depressed and left on her own. Tim said he wished he could afford to hire his own investigator, but he didn’t have the cash. So we gave him the money.”
“Does Chelsea have an agenda book, a calendar, a place where she leaves notes for herself?” Lance asked.
Patricia slid a USB drive across the table. “Tim said he copied everything from her computer and phone onto this. As far as I know, she keeps her calendar and address book on her phone.”
Lance pocketed the USB drive.
Of course, having all the information filtered through Tim had its downsides. Tim was skilled with computers. He could have purged any damaging tidbits before he handed the information over. But such was the challenge of working in the private sector. Lance couldn’t go to a judge and get a subpoena for Tim’s records.
“How about friends?” Sharp asked. “Do you know of any besides Fiona? Someone from back home?”
Patricia shook her head. “She lost touch with everyone back home when they moved here. Young children take up so much time. She has her coworkers, though she never mentioned being especially close to any of them. Randall, did she ever mention anyone to you?”
“Just her boss. What’s his name?” Randall tilted his head, thinking. “MacDonald. Curtis MacDonald. She seemed to have a pretty good relationship with him.”
“In what way?” Lance asked.
Randall shifted his weight as if suddenly uncomfortable. “Nothing inappropriate. She mentioned he was letting her work a little from home. She was supposed to go back to the office weeks ago, but William hasn’t been cooperative.”
“Is it all right if we take a look around?” Lance asked.
“Please do.” Patricia wiped a teary eye. Randall put an arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulled her closer, and kissed her temple. She closed her eyes and leaned into his shoulder.
Lance led Sharp from the room, giving Chelsea’s parents privacy. But he glanced back at them over his shoulder. What would it be like to be that close to someone for thirty years? It would be amazing to have that level of comfort and support and love no matter what life threw at him.
Then he imagined having that partner ripped away, which is exactly what had happened to both his mother and Morgan. His mother had never recovered, and it had taken Morgan two years to come out from under her grief.
Everything had a price.
Even love.
Especially love.
In the foyer, Sharp poked him in the arm, breaking his depressing train of thought. “Earth to Lance.”
“Sorry.” Lance shook off the sad memories. “Where are we starting?”
Sharp opened the hall closet. “I’ll go through coat pockets. You want to check out the bedroom?”
Lance turned toward the stairs. “On it.”
At the top landing, he glanced in each doorway. One bedroom was an explosion of pink and purple with a clear princess theme. Primary colors and trains decorated the nursery. Lance stopped in the doorway of the master bedroom. A man’s watch on the nightstand told him that Tim slept on the right side of the bed.
Lance went to the left side and opened the single drawer. ChapStick. Moisturizer. Pens. Normal stuff. Nothing interesting. The bottom shelf held a few mystery and romance novels, plus a reference book on infant care. Lance picked each book up and made sure nothing was stashed between the pages. The dresser was piled high with clean, folded laundry. Next to the laundry sat a laptop.
Tim’s?
No. Patricia said that the computer downstairs was used by both Tim and Chelsea.
Curiosity pulled Lance toward the dresser. He paused and listened for voices. Patricia and Randall were still in the kitchen. Tim hadn’t come back yet. Lance raised the lid and turned on the computer.
A few minutes later, he’d determined the laptop was owned by Skyver and MacDonald, the firm Chelsea worked for. Lance tried to poke around, but the files were password-protected. He took his flash drive from his pocket and plugged it in to the USB port. A few keystrokes later, the computer hummed as it copied files.
Had the police looked at the work computer? Probably not. They would need permission or a search warrant, given the confidential nature of accounting. Lance doubted Chelsea’s boss would have been able to give access without consulting each and every client whose files were on the computer. And a search warrant wasn’t likely to be granted with no link to Chelsea’s employer. Hell, the police didn’t even have any evidence that foul play of any sort had occurred in Chelsea’s disappearance.
Lance left the computer chugging away and searched the dresser and closet. Chelsea and Tim owned mostly casual wardrobes. Lance checked jacket pockets, then sifted through the garbage can for any important notes. He found nothing unusual.
Chelsea and Tim seemed perfectly ordinary, at least on the surface.
“Lance?” Sharp called from the hallway.
Lance relaxed. “In here.”
“I’ve checked most of downstairs,” Sharp said from the hallway. “I found two iPads. One must belong to Chelsea.” Walking into the bedroom, Sharp glanced at the computer on the dresser and raised his brows. Lance shook his head and put a finger to his pursed lips.
Sharp’s mouth flattened with suspicion. “Did you search the bathroom?”
“Not yet.”
Sharp went into the adjoining bath. Lance heard cabinets opening and closing.
Ten minutes later, Lance disconnected the hard drive, shut down the laptop, and slid the flash drive back into his pocket just as Sharp emerged from the bathroom.
“Nothing unusual,” he said. “Her travel makeup bag is still in there. No interesting prescriptions.”
The front door slammed, a baby cried, and a little girl chattered. Lance and Sharp went back downstairs.
In the foyer, Patricia took the baby from Tim, and Randall helped Bella take off her jacket while Tim hung his own in the hall closet. With a quick glance between them, Randall and Patricia led the children toward the stairway.
“Let’s read a story.” Randall took his granddaughter’s hand.
Lance waited until they disappeared at the top of the steps. “Tim, there’s another laptop upstairs. Is it yours?”
Tim shook his head. “No. That’s Chelsea’s work computer. In fact, I have to return it to her office today. I was supposed to do it yesterday, but I got hung up with the kids.”
“I don’t suppose the police had a look at it?” Lance asked.
“No. They said they couldn’t. I don’t know why it would matter. There’s nothing personal on it. It’s all spreadsheets. Chelsea was trying to catch up with her clients’ books.”
“Then I think we have everything we need for now,” Sharp said.
Lance and Sharp left the house and returned to the Jeep.
Sharp slid into the passenger seat. “Drop me at the office before you take Tim’s data to your mom.”
“We could just drive out there now.”
“No,” Sharp said. “Morgan is safe enough at the sheriff’s department, but if she beats us back to the office, she’s liable to head off on her own if the sheriff gave her a lead.” Sharp lifted a hand. “Don’t give me a bullshit argument about her being able to defend herself. I have enormous respect for her. I don’t want you looking for a potential kidnapper on your own either.”
“You don’t have to convince me. I worry about her more than you do for rational and irrational reasons.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.” Sharp fastened his seat belt. “So whose computer were you copying in the bedroom?”
Once again, Sharp earned his name. He didn’t miss a trick.
“It belongs to Chelsea’s accounting firm,” Lance admitted.
“You know that copying those files was illegal.”
Lance started the engine. “Only if I get caught. The operating system’s auditing capability wasn’t enabled. So there’s no record of my activity. No one will know the files were copied.”
“Sloppy data security for an accounting firm,” Sharp said.
“Definitely,” Lance agreed. “If there’s nothing suspicious in the files, no one will ever know.”
“And if there is?”
“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Lance drove toward the office. “But I’ll go through the computer files myself. I don’t want to bring my mom into anything . . . unscrupulous.”
“Illegal,” Sharp clarified.
“Technicality.” Lance felt Sharp’s laser gaze on his face.
“This case must bring back painful memories, but you can’t let your personal history affect your actions. You’ve come a long way since your dad disappeared. Don’t do something stupid because you can’t be objective.”
Lance glanced at his boss. “Good thing we have an excellent attorney in the building.”
“I mean it.”
“OK. OK.” Lance held up a hand.
“I will not bail your ass out of jail.” Sharp’s mouth went tight.
But Lance knew his boss would bail him out in a second. Sharp would be pissed, but he’d be there. As always.
“I’ll be careful.” To Lance this could never be just a case. A woman’s life—and the future of her two children—depended on this investigation.
He would not wish his own life upon those kids. All the years of not knowing. Of wondering if their missing parent was a victim of violence or if they’d been abandoned. Neither option was optimal, but both were better than no closure at all.
He wouldn’t be able to live with himself unless he did everything within his power to find Chelsea Clark, no matter how many rules he had to break.