“Why doesn’t she go after him?”
I shrug. I can’t answer that one any more than I can answer why an aunt rather than a father has custody of him.
“Aria’s working with Gardenia on investigating her father’s death, and so are we. This might be a conflict of interests.” Michella exchanges a glance with Carla.
“Are you paying her?”
“No, Gardenia is.” Carla’s reluctance to get involved is obvious.
“Then I don’t see the conflict.” I’m pushing them, but I don’t have a choice.
“This really isn’t any of your business, unless—” Michella lets that sentence hang.
“It’s not like that between us,” I rush to clarify.
“Then how is it?”
“I’m fond of the kid, and I want the best for him. If Aria won’t go after the dad, I will.”
“I don’t think it’s wise. You should mind your own business. That being said. If you’re sure you want to investigate them, I’ll do it,” Michella says. “If you don’t have a problem, Carla? You’re doing the bulk of the work on Gardenia’s case anyway.”
“I don’t like it, but what you do in your spare time is up to you.”
“Then you’ll help me?” I smile at Michella, and she nods. I know she doesn’t like Aria much. No one associated with the team does except Gardenia. She’s probably salivating at finding dirt on Aria considering all the mud she’s slung at the team these past two seasons. I know Aria went hard at Briggs when she first came to Portland.
“I will. I’ll need all the info you have.”
“I already compiled it.” I produce a folder with what little I know about Aria, her sister, and Noah, which is minimal.
She skims the single sheet of notes. “This isn’t much to go on.”
“I know,” I say apologetically.
“I’ll do what I can.”
Carla stands as a hint for me to leave, and I do so.
I drive away from Gone Missing and arrive early at the arena. I clear my mind of thoughts of Aria and Noah and concentrate on the game. We can’t lose this one. I’m not ready to end the season, but then, what hockey player is? We’ve come further than anyone outside of Portland dreamed possible. The pundits all predicted we’d lose in four straight games. That’s how certain they were of the lack of talent on our team. What we lack in superstars, we make up for in sheer grit and teamwork. We’re playing as a team. No show boaters or guys thinking only of their stats. Even our most selfish players are playing for the team not themselves.
Chapter 22
The Storage Unit
~~Aria~~
After winning Game Six, the guys flew to Colorado for game seven. I wish I were attending in person, but I’m not. I’ll have to be satisfied watching on TV tonight.
I’ve spent the past few days diving into Gardenia’s case with both feet. I’ve pored over records I found on the internet and through other means. Through my efforts, I hunt down the neighbor, Sally McClanahan, who might have a story to tell. The detective on his case has never interviewed her. Carla tried but had no luck making contact. Sally refused to speak to me at first. Being in my line of work, I’m persistent and convincing. After expending a great deal of effort and pleading with her, Sally reluctantly agrees to a meeting. She was nineteen and a college student living at home next door to Gary Bliss at the time of his death.
Since I have a few hours to kill before the meeting, I put the storage unit key in my purse and drive there. It’s time to dredge up the truth behind what my sister was actually doing in Vegas, even if I’d rather not know. It’s also important I find any and all paperwork pertaining to Noah before I can breathe easily. I feel as if the walls are closing in, and Drakos might put two and two together.
The storage unit is a small one on the second floor of an urban storage facility. I unlock the door, flip on the light, and pause. The room is a haphazard chaos of stacked boxes leaning precariously against each other. There’s a complete lack of large items, only the cardboard boxes of various sizes. A lone plastic lawn chair sits near the door. I pull it over to one of the front stacks, remove the top box, and place it on the floor in front of the chair. Taking a seat, I open the lid and stare at the contents with puzzlement. It’s full of clothing, but not business suits or casual clothing. I pick up the top item. It’s a red silk negligee. I rummage through the box to discover it’s filled with sexy underwear and clubbing dresses that don’t cover much more than the negligee. In the bottom, there’s a French maid outfit, a revealing cheerleader outfit no cheerleader would be allowed to wear, and various other items all designed for maximum exposure.
Why would my conservative, buttoned-up sister have clothes like this?
Then again, nothing I’m finding out about my sister matches the image she portrayed to our family. The credit card fraud, the lies about her doctorate degree and her professor position, the empty bank accounts, and now this.
I feel sick, and I’m certain I’ll find out more secrets in this storage unit, things I don’t want to know, yet I need to unearth the truth.
