They both knew that the personal visit was a must. They could easily get the man’s phone number and call him, but Lauren’s face was the key. So they put back the few things they’d taken out of their suitcases, returned to the airport they’d landed at less than twenty-four hours before, and caught the first plane to Miami.
The flight was short and uneventful. As always, they were watchful, alert to any face that would be familiar, or threatening, or in any way suggestive of a tail. As always, they saw none.
After the plane had landed, they took a taxi straight to the address printed on the index card—a modest house on the outskirts of the city. Various bicycles and toys littered its driveway. Instructing the driver to wait, they approached the door.
It was opened by a gentleman in his early seventies. The children crowding behind him called him “Papa,” but his actual name was Henry Frolinette.
Matt repeated the story they’d given the maître d’ at Terrance Cove, stressing simultaneously their regret at disturbing him and the urgency of their mission. The man nodded, looked closely at Lauren and nodded again.
“I don’t know the name,” he admitted, “but I do remember the face. They came to the restaurant more than once.”
“They,” Matt echoed. “Then she was with the man.”
“Oh, yes. A dapper sort, and a generous spender. There were usually eight or ten in his party, though the individuals differed—except for the woman. Miss … Miles, you say?” When Lauren nodded quickly, he went on. “Miss Miles was always with him. And Mr. Prinz always picked up the check for the entire group. He paid in cash, too, I might add.”
Lauren’s gaze met Matt’s. “Prinz,” she breathed.
Matt was already looking back at Henry. “Do you know his first name?”
“Oh, yes. He’s been quite a presence in the islands over the years. Theodore Prinz, from Los Angeles. Not that everyone speaks highly of him, mind you. There have been rumors about the nature of his work. I never believed them, personally. He is a good-looking man, very well behaved and dignified, and he was always more than gracious to me.”
Unfortunately, Henry Frolinette was unable to give them any specific information on Susan Miles. Lauren and Matt discussed it that night over dinner at the beachfront hotel they’d checked into.
“At least we have the boss’s name,” Lauren mused, “but that’s about all. I suppose we could show up on his doorstep and tell him he’s made a mistake, but—”
“He wouldn’t believe us, and we’d only be putting ourselves right back in his hands. No, if anything’s going to stick, we have to find Susan Miles. If Henry had been able to pinpoint a marina, maybe we could have gone back and found someone who might give us a clue to where she went when she left Prinz. But to use Theodore Prinz’s name alone would only be asking for trouble. Word is bound to get back to him, and if he’s half as powerful as I suspect, we’d be playing with fire.”
“So?”
“We call Phillip, who can use his contacts to get the lowdown on Prinz. If Prinz is involved enough with that boutique to have his own man running it, the name of the place will be sandwiched in there with the rest of the information. At least, it will be if Phillip is worth his salt, and from what I’ve seen, he is.”
Lauren didn’t understand. “But what good will it do to know the name of the boutique? We can’t show up there, any more than we can show up at Prinz’s home. If we start asking questions of nearby shopkeepers, they’re apt to call Prinz. Besides, I’m sure he had his men question everyone in sight when he started looking for Susan himself.”
“True. But what if we go further back? What if Phillip can get hold of the original papers for that shop?”
“What if Prinz bought it for her in the first place?”
“Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. If he didn’t, there might just be some information—even data on loan applications—that could lead us to where she came from—or even to a friend or a family member whom she might have contacted when she relocated.”
“But wouldn’t Prinz have done that?”
Matt’s eyes were filled with excitement, and his voice held a kind of restrained glee. “Prinz went forward. He obviously felt he knew Susan well enough to anticipate what she’d do. He must have known of her visit to the clinic when they were in the Bahamas. That’s why his men went there right away. They found what they were looking for, so why look further?”
“But you’d go backward,” Lauren stated with sudden comprehension. And admiration. “Cautious Matt. Wants to know the ingredients before he takes a taste.”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does. And in spite of the danger, you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Sure am. I read somewhere—maybe not in a Spenser novel, but somewhere—that private investigators often locate people who’ve been missing for years by staking out the graves of their parents. Unless this Susan Miles is truly made of ice, she’s been in touch with someone from her past, and more likely than not, that someone is a family member.” He straightened in his seat and sighed. It was as though he’d suddenly set down the mystery novel he’d been reading and returned to reality with a jolt. “Allwehave to do is find that family member.”
“What’s happening?”
“They flew back to Boston. Looks like she’s not trying to disappear. Kruger’s with her constantly. They’re staying in a hotel in town, but that may be because workmen have started tearing up her farmhouse.”
“Tearing it up?”
“Remodeling. At least, that’s what it says on the side of the truck parked out front. I don’t think she’s planning to abandon the place, Boss.”
