A few minutes later Sam joins me in the kitchen. While I make coffee, she rests her chin on my back and hugs me tight. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me too. Want to help me finish the bathroom?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
Mostly, for you to stay out of trouble.“You could help me finish tiling the shower stall.”
We work together real well until suddenly, she looks at the time. Finding her phone, she thumbs, and puts it to her ear. “I almost forgot. I need to call Mrs. Rossini.”
Shit, I was hoping she forgot.
She waits, frowns, then thumbs in another number. “Hello? Is Martha there? Uh-huh. Well, when do you expect her back? Yeah, I will. Thank you.”
Brows creased, my barefooted partner pads back to where I kneel in the bathroom. “She’s missing and her daughter doesn’t seem worried. Maybe we should call NYPD.”
“And say what? A woman is missing who thinks she saw a murder?” I slather more thin set onto the wall then run the toothy edge of my trowel through it.
Sam places tiles onto our basket weave mosaic and frowns. “Martha’s daughter said she was driving upstate but when I asked her where, she said she wasn’t sure.”
“Let’s drive over and have a little chat with her. Maybe, in person, she’ll be more forthcoming.”
“All over it.” She grabs her coat and stomps her foot impatiently at me because I don’t move. “What?”
“Maybe get dressed first?”
“Oops.” Blushing, she glances down at her pajamas and runs upstairs.
A few minutes later, she leans over the banister. “Do you think she’s alright?”
I picture someone like the asshole who beat up Sam going after the elderly woman and shudder. “We should hurry. I’ll get the car.”
Before going, I review the online weather and moan. There’s rain now but it’s supposed to turn to snow by tonight. I grab my Patten Securities parka from the closet in the foyer and slip on a heavy pair of non-skid boots.
Fifteen minutes later, we stand in front of a small house, similar to the one her cousins live in, and ring the bell. Footsteps sound, the door cracks open, and Martha’s daughter pokes out her nose.
Her eyes narrow to slits as Sam pushes on the door. “We want to talk to your mother.”
“I told you, she’s not here.” Elena swings the door shut but I’m done fooling around.
I stick in my steel-toed boot, put a shoulder to the heavy oak, and shove. “You want we should go to the police and tell them you murdered your own mother?”
“What?” Her eyes go wide and her mouth drops open. “You wouldn’t dare. I didn’t do anything.”
“We don’t know that. When did you see her last?” Sam steps closer, the woman pales.
“Sh-She went to get groceries.”
“What time?”
“Yesterday, a-around noon. She usually goes to Right Food, the big one near Saint Paul’s.”
“Didn’t you think it was strange your ninety-year-old mother didn’t come home?”
“Not really. She does stuff like that all the time.” The way she crosses her arms and glares, I’m betting she’s telling the truth.
While Sam pauses, I point to a small black sedan in the driveway. “Is that her car?”
“Yes. She walks almost everywhere nowadays.” Elena juts out her chin while I shake my head.
