I thought about giving him a snarky reassurance that we’d ask permission before casing the joint, but reconsidered. People who liked to have petty amounts of power generally had egos bigger than their brains and I didn’t want trouble.
We drove through the perfectly manicured lawns, each more nondescript than the last, and finally pulled into the house numbered 4201. As we gathered our things and headed up the sidewalk, I looked around. I understood the need for gated communities, but they reminded me of prisons. Every house looked the same, every lawn had grass that was only so high, all the flowers and trees were from the approved list, as were outdoor decorations.
I pulled into Wendy’s driveway and turned off the ignition. As we stepped out of the car, I stretched, yawning. I needed to switch my focus, because all the way here, I kept flashing back to Benny’s call. It had distressed me when we couldn’t do anything for Greg. In fact, there was nothing in the world we could do for him. But now, hope sparked again.
Shaking my head, I turned to Dante. “Ready?”
“And able,” Dante said. “Let’s go.”
The porch was wide, with patio furniture on it. The double doors were ornate, and the house had to be worth a minor fortune. In our area, houses routinely went for a million or more for just a regular three-bedroom. Anything bigger than that usually cost substantially more. And this, was no standard three-bedroom rambler.
I rang the bell and we stood back. As we waited, I noticed security cameras over the door and on the sides of the porch eaves. We waited a moment more, then the door opened.
Peering out, a woman who was probably in her late forties looked seconds away from crying. Her hair, platinum blonde, was showing dark roots that I doubted were planned. She was wearing a beige sweatshirt and brown sweat pants, with sneakers. She gave us the once over.
“Are you?—”
“Kyann Sarasan, of Shadow Blade Investigations,” I said. “This is my co-owner, Dante. May we come in?”
She blushed and stood back. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Please.”
We followed her into the living room with cathedral ceilings. We were surrounded by the all-too familiar Bellevue beige that was so popular among the suburb cities, especially among the wealthy. The furniture was meticulously placed, and except for a few magazines, everything looked like it had been deliberately planned out. A tchotchke here, a knick-knack there, precisely set for effect.
“Please, have a seat,” she said.
We sat down on the sofa. Supple leather, the couch probably cost more than my car. A tray with three glasses on it sat on the coffee table, along with a pitcher of lemonade. A plate of shortbread cookies rested next to it.
“It’s good to meet you,” I said. I seldom offered to shake hands because a lot of people were odd about that, especially among the Supe community. “Why don’t we get down to business. You came to us because your husband has vanished, correct?”
She nodded. “Yes. Mark went to work on Friday morning as usual, and that’s the last time I saw him. He called me before leaving work, to ask if I wanted him to pick up anything on the way home. I told him no, we had everything we needed. He said he’d be home in half an hour. That’s the last I heard from him. He never showed up.”
“Is he often late?” Dante asked.
“No. Until the past few months, he’s always arrived home when he said he would. But… He just vanished. And he took money—he took over twenty-five thousand dollars of our savings. I think somebody forced him to withdraw the money but the bank said he was alone.” She gave a little sob, struggling to keep the tears pushed down. I could feel her frustration and bewilderment.
“Have you been having any problems? Any at all?” I asked. “Please don’t be embarrassed if you have—we need to know everything you can tell us in order to do our best work.”
She paused, then said, “Well…a few.”
“What kind of difficulties?” I watched her closely. Body language often told truths that even the conscious mind didn’t realize.
Wendy licked her lips, looking miserable.
I reached out and took her hand, something I seldom did with clients. But she looked so torn, and so worried, I couldn’t help it.
“You aren’t betraying him by telling us. He sounds like a wonderful man, but something had to interrupt his usual behavior. We won’t tell him what you said—not unless it might save his life. Trust us, please.”
She looked into my eyes and her shoulders sagged. It was like a drowning person realizing she could quit treading water. “Okay, I’ll tell you everything. I honestly don’t know if some of it’s just my imagination, but I’ll tell you what I noticed.”
We waited a moment, and she poured the lemonade, handed it to us, then took a sip. Dante and I accepted the shortbread cookies, mostly to be polite. I wasn’t feeling very hungry at the moment. We waited for her to begin.
She sighed again, then raised her head. “As I said, Mark and I weren’t a perfect couple, but we’ve always been solid. The times we have disagreed, we resolved matters. There’ve never been threats of divorce on either side. No affairs, no desire for them—our love life is still alive and thriving. Until the past few months, that is. And we’ve always respected each other. I wouldn’t say we’re soulmates, but we’re solidly happy.”
“Okay, what about the past month or so? I don’t mean to be indelicate, but when did your love life begin to change?” Dante asked.
Wendy gave a little shrug. “When I think about it…Something changed shortly after he joined that damned group. He started shrugging me off, like he didn’t want me to touch him. I asked him several times if I did anything wrong and he always said no, that he had a headache, or a stomachache, or he was too tired or too stressed. But he wouldn’t tell me why he was so stressed. I urged him to see a doctor to find out why he was so easily fatigued, but he kept pushing away the idea. He said if it got worse, he’d go.”
“What group are you talking about? Dante brought up a browser on his tablet.
