by T. G. Ayer
He must have been thinking along my lines because he said, "I tried her cell phone. She's not the type to be online all the time."
Odd for a teenager.
"She never answered. I left a couple messages in the evening but even then it never occurred to me something might be wrong. That she wasn't just off with her friends, having too much fun to let us know she was safe." Another deep sigh. "When dinner came and went without Gia, I began to get concerned. I got Gina to give Gia's closest friends a call, but none of them knew where she was."
Please tell me you searched her room.
"Gina and I checked her room.”
When Santiani had spoken the girl’s name his voice had hitched the tiniest bit. Most people wouldn't have picked up on it but it was a definite giveaway. Something was up there, something regarding his relationship with the only remaining member of his family.
He took another breath and faced me, turning his back to the view. “I don't usually pry. The girls rooms are private, their haven. But I had to. I was too worried to care about privacy." He was shaking his head as if violating her privacy was a bigger crime than her having gone missing. "Gina checked her closet. Some clothes, her rucksack . . . They were missing. But not her tablet. Gia doesn’t go anywhere without her tablet. She's an avid researcher. You say tomato and she'd want to know how many varieties there are, and its vitamin and mineral properties."
Sounded like an interesting kid.
"Her tablet . . . That made me certain something was wrong. I knew she'd never leave us of her own free will. I called the police. A couple of cops came over to talk about it. But when I told them some of her things were missing they shook their heads and smiled patiently. I could just see the pity in their smug little faces. Bastards acted like they were dealing with some spoiled rich kid who ran away from home."
I was still leaning towards the cops opinion myself.
"They took my statement and left, promising to get in touch if they hear anything. After that, no matter how many times I called to check if they had any news, I was ignored. The file is blank too. As if it was inactive from day one. They didn't give a damn that my child was missing and that she could have been in grave danger." He turned to look at me. "They say the first forty eight hours are critical? The police let those two days pass without lifting a finger. They didn’t help and for all I know they could have found her. But to them Gia was not of any importance. Just because of her missing clothes. Just because it looked like she'd run away."
At last he returned to his chair, his shoulders drooping as if he was defeated, body and soul. Reaching to his left, he lifted a brown folder and slid it across the table. "The police report. There isn't much in it."
He was right. Just a copy of the initial report filed by Santiani, a photo of Gia, with a comment about possible runaway. She'd been entered into the National Missing Persons Database, but that had been as far as the investigation had gone. I wondered who the incompetent assholes had been who'd brushed over the case instead of actually investigating a little deeper.
On the other hand I could see why they'd felt little need to investigate. Everything pointed to a kid who’d run away from her troubles.
And yet, something about the whole case bugged me enough that I was actually considering taking it. Was it the generous pay the man was offering me? I had to wonder, and then I suppressed an eye-roll.
Leave it to me to keep myself in check when it came to my principles.
To get my mind off my reasons for taking the case, I focused on the details. "Who gave you the file?"
Santiani bestowed me with a poker face. "I'm afraid I can't divulge the name of the person."
I shrugged. "It's not a big issue. I just want to ascertain if the file could have been tampered with in any way." Even as I spoke the words I doubted it. With a sigh I said, "Which I doubt, considering it’s patently clear the police did nothing on the case."
"Which is why I came to you," said Santiani. He managed to make it sound like an accusation.
I ignored it and studied the face of the young girl in the picture. Blonde, blue eyes, milky skin. She had the kind of perfect beauty that too often went hand-in-hand with the wealthy. The quintessential socialite good looks. Perfect teeth, perfect skin, perfect bone structure. Only a mole beside her left eye which managed to add to her beauty than detract from it.
I had to learn more about the girl and collect biological evidence. I glanced up from the photo. "I'll need access to her bedroom, the house and the grounds of the property."
"You'll have everything you need. Just speak to Marshall if I'm not in." Santiani got to his feet and headed for the door. Opening it, he popped his head out and within seconds the butler appeared in the doorway. "I'll leave Ms Morgan in your capable hands. I have a meeting at the Tower. See to it Ms Morgan has access to whatever part of the house and grounds she requires."
Marshall dipped his head in a shallow bow, and followed Santiani as he headed out of the office without a backward glance, leaving me staring from Gia's pretty face to the now empty doorway.
Chapter 5
Getting to my feet, I slung my bag over my shoulder and grabbed the file before heading out the door. I looked up just in time to stop myself from walking right into Marshall.
"My apologies, Ma'am." He bowed again.
I forced myself not to cringe and gave him a weak smile. "I'd like to see Gia's bedroom. I need personal effects."
My sentence ended a little too abruptly, but it didn't seem to matter to Marshall. He just turned and beckoned me to follow him up the stairs.
Perhaps the man was used to being ignored, and talked at. I'd seen his interaction with Santiani, who'd spoken to him as if he wasn't worthy to breathe the same air. Hard to like a man like that, and yet the butler appeared to be loyal.
But then of course, the term 'the butler did it' wouldn't have come into existence if all butlers were loyal. I hid a smile and followed the man up the wide staircase. He turned left with sharp military precision. Army maybe? Or navy? It didn't matter.
Or perhaps it did matter. With Gia's disappearance all the members of the household were suspects.
As Marshall opened the second door on the left, I asked, "Can you tell me what you remember of the day Gia went missing?"
His eyebrows rose in surprise as if it hadn't occurred to him he'd be questioned. "Gia went to school as normal on that day. She had a banana and a glass of milk for breakfast. She was late and almost forgot her lunch."
"She takes lunch to school?" Odd.
Marshall nodded with a smile. "Gia has coeliac disease so the chef cooks her specialty lunches. His meals were so successful with the girls that both of them now take the gluten-free meals to school. I believe chef's food is better than what the school cafeteria has to offer."
I smiled as I studied the room. "I'm sure it is." Stepping inside, my feet sank into the deep pile of the carpet. Like walking on clouds. "Who took her to school?"
"Her friend Bailey Carpenter. I remember because Gia left the front door open in the rush to leave and I went to close it. The girls were racing down the drive and Bailey almost clipped the gate on the way out." He was shaking his head, a look of affection on his face.
"So, Bailey spent a fair amount of time in the house?"
Marshall nodded, again surprised. "How did you know?"
I shrugged. People never liked being told that they are easy to read. Then they got defensive and nine times out of ten they ended up lying to cover up what they revealed, even if just out of embarrassment,
"Just a hunch. Teen girls with girlfriends. I used to be one."
He gave a weak smile and headed to open the blinds. "Gia keeps the blinds shut in the afternoon or the room gets too warm and stuffy." Sunlight filtered inside and lit up the room. Gold, bronze and white vied for attention within the room. Chandeliers and vases, sconces and jewellery trays decorated the room in a haphazard yet well coordinated way. A very elegant grown up decor
for a teenager.
Either Gia was a very mature teen with an eclectic eye for room decor or her mother had had a hand in the room's decor. Bronze silk curtains bracketed the two windows that opened out onto a wide balcony. A narrow staircase led downstairs to the pool.
I glanced at Marshall. "Did Gia come and go as she pleased?"
"Not usually. She'd always tell someone where she was going. Especially since her mother passed. She was concerned for her father and her sister. The whole family took Mr Santiani's death pretty hard."
I turned to face the butler. Taking a deep breath I asked, "So do you think she ran away?"
I maintained eye contact with him, watching for telltale signs of evasion or deceit.
I got nothing.
He simply met my gaze with deep sadness. "Gia Santiani has a heart of gold. There is no way she'd run away from her family. Not even if there was any friction or unhappiness. She's the kind of person who fixes things. Relationships, people. She'd know the effect her disappearance would have on her family and she'd never put them through such horror."
I nodded. His description of Gia made me understand why Marshall and his master both believed the girl had been taken. I was convinced enough by now that there was more to this than your standard runaway teen.
"Any troubles recently? Arguments with her family or friends. Any emotional upheavals?" Considering the death of the mother having such a deep effect on the family it wouldn't have surprised me to discover the missing girl had taken her mother’s death badly.
Marshall gave a half nod and then cut it off with a shake. "Yes, in that her grief was deep, and she had the usual outbursts of anger after the funeral. And no, in that she managed to be the main source of support for her father when he was failing to handle his wife's death."
"Failing how?"
Marshall shrugged. "He lost interest in eating and exercising. He'd sunk into a deep depression up to the point that work didn't even help to distract him. When he stopped going into the office, Gia sat him down. Whatever she said to him seemed to have worked because the very next day it was business as usual. Not that he didn't continue to grieve."
"Gia helped him heal." I spoke the words because I'd heard the hitch in his voice. "You're very close to the family?"
He nodded, shifting from one foot to the other. "I've worked here for almost a decade now."
"And before that?"
"I was Mr Santiani's driver."
So Santiani wasn't as unfeeling as he appeared. He'd taken an interest in Marshall enough to upgrade him from mere driver to glorified housekeeper. I was reluctantly impressed.
"And you like the work?" I was trying to get a feel for the man, trying to strike him off my list of possible suspects.
"Very much so. It's . . . fulfilling."
"And the girls? Are you close?"
Marshall smiled. "Gina is a little distant. She treats me like a servant. But Gia is all heart. To her, I'm a part of the family." He paused, then looked away. “Gina used to be the same, but in the last year she changed. Guess all kids grow up eventually.” He sighed softly, then checked himself.
So he was invested in the family. As a suspect he wasn’t panning out too well. Maybe the last thing he'd have done was to remove the one daughter who’d treated him well. Then again, people had a way of being every level of effed up, so I still couldn't be one hundred percent certain he wasn't involved.
I took a breath and turned on my heel, scanning the room. On the left wall a heavy oak dressing table bore a gilt edged mirror almost as tall as I was. Bowls of jewellery, hair accessories, pens and stacks of little notebooks, cluttered the surface.
"Did she keep a diary?"
He shook his head. "She always said it was too dangerous to put her thoughts on paper." We both laughed.
"I can agree to that."
He nodded. "She wrote poetry. Short stuff. Limericks, Haikus. Stuff like that."
Creative, empathetic, caring, considerate, trustworthy.
Gia was a nice person.
But nice girls also ran away from home. For various reasons. Within any family what you see on the surface doesn't compare with what lies beneath the glossy veneer. I walked to the dresser and lifted a heavy silver hairbrush.
"Can I take this with me?" I asked glancing back at him as I grabbed a plastic envelope from my bag.
"As long as you return it. I believe the set has been in the family for over a century.”
I nodded, somewhat disappointed. It meant the bristles were likely horsehair or at least something natural. It meant there was potential for me to get sidetracked as sometimes the essence of a person or animal remains within their epithelials for hundreds of years.
"You have my word. I'll return it as soon as I have collected samples." I tucked the bagged brush into my bag.
"What will you do with them?"
I gave him a neutral smile and met his eyes. He was merely curious though, his expression open and honest. This was likely the reason Santiani had moved him closer. The butler spoke with honesty, something few people in the corporate world would pride themselves on.
"I'll send the samples to a lab, they'd give me an idea of how healthy she'd been, if she'd been up to anything. . . Suspicious." I spoke the lies easily.
"You're talking about drugs?"
"Drugs, alcohol. Hormonal issues. Even deepest health issues. Some medical problems can manifest in emotional ways. I'd like to run some screens to verify she wasn't having any of these issues. But then, just because she took drugs or had too much oestrogen in her blood stream doesn’t mean she's run off. But it will help us eliminate what isn't possible.”
He nodded, satisfied, then took a step back. "If there isn't anything else, I'd better get back to work."
I narrowed my eyes. "Which is what?" I kept my voice neutral, but I was interested. What did he really do in the huge house? “The garden service will be arriving today. And I need to ensure that things are cleaned and tidy for the pool service who come tomorrow. Then I will consult with the chef on the weeks meals and verify the budget for what he is able to order. Mr Santiani loves truffles and sometimes they can be difficult to source."
I smiled, realizing I'd fallen into the assumption trap. The same one mothers used to be labeled with decades ago. What is a housewife or a homemaker or a home economist? Many things, more than just the label. And I'd labeled Marshall as glorified butler without thinking. So much for my open-mindedness.
An odd buzzing sound echoed through the room. The butler cleared his throat, glancing down at his belt. An ancient beeper was secured in his belt loop. "I'm being paged. If you need anything else, I'll be in the kitchen, or outside on the grounds."
With a slight bow he left the room, allowing me to get a better sense of the space. And not much else.
I gave the room one last scan before turning on my heel and heading to the door. My stomach tightened, and a cold trickle of ice ran down my spine. Gia Santiani, the girl I was hired to find, now stood in the doorway.
What’s going on?
And why did I feel that first rush of trepidation, and the slight edge of fear?
I blinked, convinced I was imagining the vision. Stepping forward, I frowned as I watched the girl watching me. When she lifted her chin defiantly, I paused.
Was this the ghost of Gia Santiani?
She tilted her head and stared at me, the expression questioning my presence in the room. I waited, partly because I didn't want to be seen speaking to the air in case she was just a vision, partly because I wanted her to speak first just in case she was a ghost.
When she took a step into the room, I had to control the urge to flinch.
"What are you doing in here?" She glared at me, fire sparking in her expression, angry I had intruded on the privacy of her room. And she didn’t look very ghostly to me.
Had she finally returned? If so why did the family not notify me?
"I'm Mel Morgan, the investigator." I wasn't sure wha
t else to say.
The girl folded her arms, the muscles in her neck bunching. Angry. "If you're done here, you can leave. We don't need people prying into our lives.”
I frowned. "I'm only trying to help. Your father asked me to come." Again I wasn't sure how to end that sentence. I was beginning to suspect this might be the sister Santiani had mentioned. Could it be possible the girls looked so much alike? Santiani hadn’t mentioned the the girls were twins. In fact, he’d barely spoken about the remaining sister.
I studied her closely, and began to notice slight differences. A slightly fuller lower lip. A nose that was a little bit too flared. Eyes the tiniest bit thinner.
And then , as she turned her face away, the skin beside her left eye came into view. Mole-free skin. This was not Gia.
"I'm really sorry for the circumstances. Must have been a really trying few weeks."
Though I’d dealt with children and young people all the time, it was difficult to empathise with the unfeeling girl staring at me.
She raised her eyebrows, the haughtiness in her expression clear to me. "It's been a trying few months. First mother, and now Gia. I don't think this family can take any more tragedy."
Without a single word, Gina turned on her heel and headed out the door. She paused on the threshold and from the cool look she gave me it was clear she wanted me to exit the room. I let it go, already done with the room.
What did it matter that she’d assume she’d won?
In silence we both walked down the hall to the landing. Just as we reached the bottom of the stairs Santiani walked out of his office. "I see you have met Gina?" he said with a stiff smile.
There was an odd look in his eye as he gave his daughter a glance. His eyes certainly didn't contain the same amount of affection it had had when he'd been talking about Gia. Had the mother’s death affected the relationship between father and daughter? People handled tragedy in different ways. It was likely Santiani blamed Gina for Gia’s disappearance. Or he could well have favoured the other daughter. Thus resenting the one who remained.