“Yes,” I answered, “Clark emailed me everything he found on it.” I knew where Greg was going with this. He was going to suggest that I go through it and research anything I could find that looked interesting. It could be busywork—or maybe not. I’d thought of it myself but honestly was just in a pity-party mood.
“If you haven’t yet, Odelia,” Greg said in an almost school-marmish voice, “why don’t you read through it and see what you find? Maybe you can do some online research on the names of the kids he went to the game with, if they’re mentioned. I’m sure wherever Zach’s been, he wasn’t using his real name, but I’ll bet those kids are still around.”
Bingo! Told ya.
“I’m sure the feds have already reached out to them,” I said. I shifted my legs, careful not to wake Muffin, although why I bothered escaped me. She sure isn’t shy about waking us when she wants something.
“Maybe they have or maybe they’re waiting until Zach’s identity is released.” Another pause. I heard someone say something to Greg and Greg answer. Then Greg said to me, “Sweetheart, I have to go and take care of something in a minute. If you’re bored and feeling helpless, then do something to take control of the situation. Do some research. Make some calls. Just be careful not to tread on Shipman’s toes too much. We don’t need the FBI as an enemy. Fehring might forgive you, but I’m not sure the feds would.” Another pause, but this time I didn’t hear anyone interrupt him. “It’s not like you to be so passive and at a loss for ideas in such a situation. What’s really up?”
I gave it some quick thought. “I don’t know. I think I’m kind of bummed about Dev leaving.”
“Yeah,” Greg said gently. “Me too.”
“And I don’t like that I was specifically targeted in this.”
“Yeah, me either,” he agreed. “So get to work on it as much as you can and we’ll discuss what you find tonight.” Another pause, then Greg said, “By the way, I talked to the insurance company. There isn’t anything they can do about your car. It’s not a loss claim or a damage claim. Their thinking is that we’ll get the vehicle back when the cops are done with it, so for now it’s in limbo.”
“So I keep leasing the car I’m using until the police decide to release my car back to me?” I didn’t like the sound of that one bit. “That could get very expensive, especially if the insurance company isn’t going to cover it.”
“Yep,” Greg confirmed. “So how about you and me going car hunting this weekend—maybe look at one of those hybrids? We’ve discussed getting you one before.”
“But I liked my car,” I whined.
“Then we’ll get you another just like it,” Greg said, placating me. “We’ll sell yours when we get it back. It’s paid for, so it’s not a big deal. You really didn’t want it back, did you?”
“No, I really didn’t.” I shivered but not from the chill in the air. “Whenever I think about it, it kind of creeps me out. It would be like driving around with a ghost in the car.”
Greg softly laughed. “That’s what I thought you’d say. We’ll go look at cars this weekend, unless you want to start window shopping today on your own.”
“A hybrid would be nice, but I’ll wait for you. I might look up some models online though.” I smiled at nothing in particular. “You are so good to me, Greg.”
“It’s my job, sweetheart; my main career. This graphic design and printing stuff is just a hobby.”
nine
“The deed is done,” Clark said when I answered my cell again. “Now we just have to wait it out.” The call had come shortly after I’d hung up from Greg. I had tried to go back to reading, but it was of no use. It was also starting to rain. Very small but steady drops hit the roof of our patio, making a light tapping noise.
“I’m not good at waiting, Clark,” I told him, as if he didn’t already know that about me. “It drives me nuts.” Muffin had woken up at the sound of the ringing phone and was now nudging my hand to be petted. I rubbed her behind her ears. She started purring again, lowered her head, and went back to sleep.
“Isn’t your middle name Patience?” Clark asked.
“Mom slapped that on me as a joke. I’m sure of it.”
He laughed. “What are you up to now?”
“I don’t know,” I told him. “Greg suggested I do a fine-tooth combing of the information you found on the kidnapping to see if I can find any of Zach’s friends from back then. I also thought I might walk down to the beach, but right now it’s raining. What are you up to?”
“Not sure. I have some work to do for the office, so I might go back to Mom’s and take care of that.”
“Come on over later for dinner,” I told him. “I’m thinking of either throwing a beef stew into the slow cooker or making meatloaf. It’s that kind of day, and I have the stuff on hand for both. Mom should be back by then, so bring her along if she’s not too tired. Have you heard from her?”
“Yeah, just a few minutes ago. She said she won two hundred dollars playing a video poker machine.” He laughed. “Figures. She hardly gambles, and when she does, she wins. I also checked her blog, and there’s nothing there about the body found in your trunk. She posted about her windfall in the casino and about the show she saw last night, but that was it.”
“Good,” I said and meant it. “Although once the news breaks about Zach’s identity, she might decide to blog about it, seeing that it will be out in the public arena.”
“Yeah, I’m betting that too,” Clark said with a sigh. “But as long as it’s after the story goes public. I also checked to make sure there’s no way to track her physical whereabouts on her blog. I was pleased to see she’s been pretty careful to keep that private. All it says is that she’s a transplant from New England.”
I shuddered. “That’s all we’d need right now—some ghoulish crackpot becoming a fan of Mom’s.”
The rain was coming down harder, and it was getting colder. Still on the phone, I tucked my Kindle under one arm and Muffin under the other and made my way inside. The cat didn’t protest. Unlike Seamus, Muffin enjoyed being carted around like a furry sack of bones. “It’s getting pretty nasty out,” I told Clark once I was inside and had put the cat down on the floor. “I might not make that walk.”
“Then I think going through the details of the kidnapping information will be a good job for you today,” Clark said. “That and making a nice big pot of beef stew.”
“I gather you’re voting for that over the meatloaf?” I smiled as I spoke.
“It’s not even a contest,” he answered. “Any of that chocolate cake left that Jill brought last night?”
“Yep,” I said after double-checking the fridge just in case Greg had taken the leftovers into work. Once again, I marveled at my husband’s intelligence. He’d taken the leftover store-bought cheesecake and left Jill’s cake for us. “Be here around seven.”
“Okay then,” Clark said. “I’ll see you then, with or without Mom. Can I bring anything?”
“How about some crusty rolls or French bread?”
“I’m on it. Just call if you need anything else or come across anything interesting in your research.” He hesitated. “And call me if you hear from Elaine Powers.”
I saluted the phone and ended the call.
After talking to Clark, I prepared the ingredients for the stew and threw it all into my slow cooker. It would be perfect by dinnertime. Then I stretched out on the recliner with my laptop on my lap and kicked the foot rest up. Not happy with my lap being occupied, Muffin curled up on the back of the chair behind my head, purring a soft lullaby into my ear as I read every word of the information on Zach’s kidnapping that Clark had been able to get his hands on.
As Clark had said the night before, it had happened after a Friday-night football game. Zach had gone to the game with three buddies. After the game, they had stopped off at a local pizza place to celebrate their team’s win. All three of his friends confirmed to the police that they had dropped Zach off at ho
me between 10:40 and 10:50, before his curfew of eleven. One friend told the police he remembered Zach letting himself in through the side door by the garage. None of the other boys remembered seeing any evidence of Zach’s parents or sister when they left Zach.
Sister? I didn’t recall anyone—the police or Clark or even my mother during her short research—mentioning a sister. I continued reading, looking for other signs of her. She showed up several pages later in the report. She was two years older than Zach and had graduated from high school earlier that year. At the time of Zach’s disappearance, she’d been attending a local community college and lived at home. Her name was Jean Finch. I did a search of the report for her name and located the report of her questioning. The night of Zach’s disappearance, Jean had gone out with her boyfriend, Ryan Wright, and another young couple to the movies. She’d returned home before midnight and claimed she’d gone straight to bed after saying hello to her mother, who’d been waiting up for her children. Jean reported that her mother had asked if she’d seen Zach while out because he was late, and Jean responded that she had not.
I searched again, this time looking for the mother’s testimony. Her name was Maryanne Finch. She’d told the police that after Jean came home, she had remained in her chair, watching late-night TV and waiting for her son. She didn’t remember when she fell asleep, but she woke up around sunrise. Thinking Zach had come in but had not wanted to disturb her, she went to his room to check on him but found it empty and his bed not slept in. That was when she woke her husband. According to Mrs. Finch, she was the parent who had stayed up late waiting for their children, stating that her husband kept long hours at the office and was often too tired in the evenings to stay up much past ten.
Attached to Clark’s report was a photo of the Finch family taken from a newspaper. Maryanne Finch looked like the typical Midwest wife of a wealthy man. Her hair was honey blond and coiffed in a beautifully cut style that I remembered as being in vogue during that time period. In the photo she was wearing tennis togs and looked fit and confident. The rest of the family was also dressed in tennis clothing. The caption read that the Finch family had captured first place in their country club’s annual family tennis tournament. It had been their second win in a row, and from the ages of the kids, I guessed this photo had been taken shortly before Zach evaporated. It was possibly the summer between then and his sister’s high-school graduation. Next to his wife, Alec Finch was tall and tan and held his racket like a weapon at the ready. Mr. and Mrs. Finch were flanked by their offspring. Maryanne had her arms around the waists of both her husband and son. On the other side of Alec was Jean, who looked a lot like her mother but with her father’s strong jaw. Both kids held their rackets in both hands like their father. All four flashed smiles of perfect white teeth and looked ready to beat off anyone who threatened their tight-knit family.
But someone had threatened the family and torn it apart by grabbing Zach, and tennis rackets and tournament-winning backhands had not been able to stop it.
Toggling from the screen with the report, I brought up a clean page and started typing out the names of the players: Alec Finch, Maryanne Finch, Jean Finch, and Zach Finch, for starters. I put the names in a table I created first and in a column headed Family. Then in a column with the heading of Friends, I added the names of Zach’s friends who’d been with him that night: Chris Cook, Ben Myers, and Nathan Glick. I also added Ryan Wright, Jean’s boyfriend, since he was mentioned in the report. I wanted to look them all up and see if I could find out where they were today.
According to Clark, Maryanne Finch had died by her own hand a few years after Zach’s disappearance, so I didn’t need to check on her. Still, I dug a little deeper into Clark’s information until I came across the notation about Zach’s mother. Despondent after her son’s kidnapping, Maryanne Finch fell into a downward spiral of depression, booze, and drugs until she finally took her own life two years later. She’d been dramatic about it. Using her husband’s handgun that he kept in the house for protection, Maryanne had shot herself in the head while sitting in her favorite chair in front of the TV. It had been on the anniversary of Zach’s failure to return from the football game. The report made me shudder.
Several years before, one of my friends had shot herself in the head. It had been the event that had brought Dev and Greg and I together. It had been filmed by her webcam, and I still have nightmares about watching Sophie kill herself.
Pushing that horror out of my head, I started the search on the various players, then remembered Barbara Marracino, a woman who did professional online searches to supplement her retirement. Her late husband, Larry, had been a corporate investigator, and Steele and I had used him a great deal over the years. Barbara was still running the online search business but not the fieldwork her husband had done, since she had trouble moving due to arthritis in her back and legs. Her research business didn’t just involve investigations but also research for writers and other people who needed unusual or historical information but didn’t have the time to do it themselves. We had used Barbara several months ago off the books, and she had come up with amazing results and was quick as a bunny about it.
I picked up my cell phone and scrolled through my contacts, hoping I’d had the presence of mind to save her number. I had, and I called. As soon as Barbara answered, I said, “Barbara, it’s Odelia Grey. How are you?”
“Not bad for an old broad with one foot in the grave.” She followed up her words with a throaty laugh. “It’s nice to hear from you, Odelia. How are you doing, and how is Mr. Steele?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I responded, “and Mike Steele just got married.”
“Seriously?” she asked with another short laugh.
“Yep. He’s on his honeymoon as we speak.” I paused to form a short gap between the pleasantries and the purpose of my call. “Barbara, do you have time to do a few searches for me?”
She paused too, but hers was longer, and I don’t think it was to change subjects. “I’m no longer in the business, Odelia. In fact, by the end of this week I’ll be moving into a rest home.”
I was taken back, but not that much. While Barbara was younger than my mother, who lived in her own place and was always on the go, she was not in the same good physical condition as Mom. This move probably meant her condition had deteriorated. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” I told her.
“I’m not,” she said in a voice filled with relief. “It’s really getting difficult for me to move around. My mind is still sharp, but my body can’t keep up, and lately my emphysema has worsened. I’m in a wheelchair now, but I’m a long ways from being a spitfire like that husband of yours.” She laughed. “My son’s house is too small and has too many steps inside and out for him to take me in, but he found a lovely place close to his home that can give me the care I need. I’ll actually be able to see him and his family more often now.” Her tone brightened at the last bit of information. Another pause, a tight raspy intake of breath, then, “But I had to give up the research biz. I hated to do it because it kept my mind focused, but them’s the breaks.”
In spite of her trials and tribulations, Barbara had an amazing upbeat attitude. “I’m sorry to hear that, Barbara, but happy that you’ll be well looked after,” I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Do you have anyone you can refer me to?”
“Why not do it yourself?” she suggested. “You’re a smart cookie and probably used to doing legal research. I don’t work magic. I just know and subscribe to a bushel of specialty sites that you’re probably not even aware exist.”
I used search sites all the time, but mostly legal sites or free ones or the ones that allowed you to pay per use instead of requiring a subscription. “Can you send me the links to some of your favorite sites and I’ll look into it?”
“Tell you what, Odelia,” Barbara said. “I’ll do you one better. You and Mr. Steele have always been good to me and to my dear Larry. I still have several months left
on my various subscriptions that I won’t use, and they don’t do refunds for unused time. How about I send you the links and the passwords, and you can use them until the time on them runs out?”
Now that was an offer I couldn’t refuse. “That’s very generous of you, Barbara.” I gave it some quick thought. “But I have a counter offer. How about I pay you for the remainder of those subscriptions, then when they come up for renewal I’ll let them lapse and set up my own subscriptions for the services I think I’ll use going forward?”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I’d like to,” I told her with conviction. “I’m sure you could use the refund money, and I’d consider it a training period without having to pay full price. When you email me the information, also email me your new address. I’ll drop a check in the mail.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone while Barbara considered the deal. Finally, she said, “Here’s my final offer, Odelia. You check out the sites and just send me the money for the ones you think you’ll need. I don’t want you paying for subscriptions just to be nice.”
“It’s a deal,” I agreed, knowing the check would include payment for sites I would use and those I wouldn’t.
“I’ll compile and send you the information in an email as soon as we get off the horn,” she said. “My son and grandson are coming over tonight to dismantle my computer setup and move it to their house. My grandson will be using it for school, so I need to remove anything personal and sensitive. I’m going to be getting a tablet or small laptop for what little Internet access I’ll be needing once I’m in the home.”
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