Nick was familiar with the type. Passive-aggressive little shits who would do the bare minimum and do it badly just to weasel out of any further responsibility.
“Is there a possibility he disappeared so he wouldn’t have to take the kids for your beach trip?” he asked.
Her expression darkened. “If that’s the reason why he worried me and my kids, then he’s going to be in a world of hurt when I find him.”
The faint song of a power saw erupted from outside. Riley’s nose twitched, and her face drained of color.
“Excuse me,” she said, jumping up from her chair and racing for the front door.
One second later, there was a shout and the saw cut off abruptly.
Nick waited a beat, and when no one started yelling for 911, he resumed the meeting.
“Shelley, I’m going to need as much information on your ex-husband as you can give me.”
“I’ll tell you whatever you want. Birth date, social security number, favorite food, shoe size.”
“Sounds as if you know him well,” he ventured.
“That’s what you do in a relationship. Well, unless you’re Larry. After twenty-plus years together, he still didn’t know when my birthday was or remember that I’m allergic to almonds. I knew him well enough to know that we couldn’t stay married. Some guys just never grow up. And eventually a woman needs a man who’s willing to put down the game controller and pick up the damn dry cleaning without being asked six times.”
Nick felt a little warm under the collar. He made a mental note to ask Riley if she needed anything dry cleaned.
“Let’s start with hobbies and friends.”
“He doesn’t have a lot of friends. The kids said he did just start jogging. Apparently getting a divorce reminds a man that he needs to put a little effort into his appearance.” She huffed out a breath. “He’ll just fix himself up for the next woman, and once he gets comfortable, it’ll all go to hell again.”
He made another mental note to go to the gym.
Riley came back inside carrying a circular saw. Neither she nor the saw was covered in blood. Nick considered that a victory.
“Great. Last question. Is there someone who will let me in to look around his place?” he asked.
Shelley reached into her luggage-sized purse and produced a key ring. “Help yourself.”
“We’ll take a look and see what we can find,” he promised.
4
7:03 p.m., Wednesday, August 12
Riley let herself in the back door of the mansion with her haul of groceries and packages. She made a right into the kitchen, Burt on her heels with a new chew bone clutched delicately in his huge mouth.
She found Gabe staring mournfully at a carton of ice cream that looked doll-sized in his hand.
“What’s wrong? Ice cream headache?” she asked, hefting the bags onto the counter.
He glanced up at her with pathetic brown eyes that held the pain of a thousand broken hearts. “I am saying farewell to a good friend.” With a whimper, he tossed the ice cream in the trash can.
Burt felt like the trash can put the ice cream in his territory and shoved his face in the can.
Riley wrestled the dog out of the trash. “No more farting,” she warned him. “Why are you giving up ice cream?”
“Elanora wishes for me to resume my practice,” Gabe said, still staring into the trash.
She shooed the dog out of the room and returned to her friend/sometimes spiritual adviser. “My grandmother does things her way. Her way doesn’t have to be your way.”
He shook his head slowly. “She is right. How can I guide you in your journey if I have strayed from my own?”
