Yoda inserted himself to clarify. “Actually, Ryan, a fig is technically an aggregate fruit lined with tiny flowers inside it.”
Ryan made an impatient sound. “Fine. It doesn’t matter. As long as I’m visualizing the right thing. Figs…” He sounded as confused as Claire. “Is that part of the town’s name?”
“I don’t think so,” Claire murmured. “It’s more intangible. I just don’t know in what way.”
“Intangible figs.” Ryan tapped his fingers on the desk. “Okay, Yoda, you have another task to tackle when you track this Audrey.”
“I’ve already begun the process,” Yoda replied. “You continue to work. It is now three thirty-two on the sixteenth of March. Your time is running short. And my sensors tell me you’re low on energy. May I suggest sending out for more food? You’ve finished your subtemperature pizza.”
“Yeah, okay. Just research Audrey and figs. Right now, I’m working solo anyway…” Ryan was already back on task, not even hearing the part about food.
“I’ll make the call for takeout, Yoda,” Claire said through the phone. “Sustenance will be arriving shortly—and without breaking Ryan’s concentration. Talk to you both later.”
“If you think of anything…” Ryan murmured.
“I’ll let you know.”
Offices of Forensic Instincts
Ryan’s Lair
Tribeca, Manhattan, New York
Thursday, March 16, 6:30 p.m.
Ryan was tweaking a crucial piece of software code when Yoda spoke up again.
“I apologize for interrupting, Ryan. But I have the information you were seeking regarding the specific Audrey in question.”
Ryan’s head shot up. “Go on, Yoda. I’m all ears.”
Yoda complied. “A young woman named Audrey Melnick graduated high school with Caitlin. She met and married her husband, Douglas Harrington, after getting an engineering degree at Tufts University. The couple and their two young children reside in Newton, Massachusetts, which is an affluent suburb of Boston.”
“That holds promise. Did you find anything to indicate that Caitlin and Audrey were more than just classmates?”
“I did indeed,” Yoda replied. “I accessed Audrey Harrington’s Instagram presence and determined that her handle is indeed @mimosagirl121. I located the identical photo and caption that Claire described as being on Caitlin Walsh’s page. Audrey’s entry was more detailed, and designated January 21 as the annual date that they met—and I quote: ‘to revive the holiday festivities that were lost during the January doldrums.’”
Ryan’s adrenaline was running high. “Makes sense. What about Claire’s visions about figs? Anything on that?”
“Indeed there is. My research indicates that the Fig Newton was the first commercially baked cookie in the United States. It originated in the late nineteenth century from the work of a Philadelphia baker and a Massachusetts-based bakery, and was named after the location Newton, Massachusetts. It became a staple in American households from then until this very day, and even has its own holiday. National Fig Newton Day is celebrated annually on January 16.”
“Yess!” Ryan pumped his fist in the air. “Given what Claire told us, this information points to Newton as the suburb where Audrey lives.” He paused, pursing his lips. “Although I doubt Caitlin is staying at Audrey’s house. That would be too hard to explain and too disruptive for her family. Audrey would put Caitlin nearby, but in a more generic location.”
“I agree,” Yoda said. “So I checked further. There are two motels that are within a comfortable driving distance from Audrey’s house.” Yoda supplied Ryan with the names, addresses, and phone numbers of both places, as well as a list of registered guests at each.
“Great work.” Ryan leaned back in his chair. “I’ll take a hard look at that list. But I’d be willing to bet a month’s income that Caitlin is staying at one of those places, under an assumed name.”
“I’m certain you’re correct. Still, I’d be negligent if I didn’t point out that a bet of that caliber isn’t wise. Your income here has reached a substantial level. Should you choose to share that wager with the team, I would choose something less extreme to bet.”
Ryan chuckled. “You make a good point. So, even though I’m as sure as you are, I’ll protect my interests by betting something smaller. However, once I make my case, I doubt anyone will take the bet. So I’ll keep the original wager between you and me. This way, I can still be smug.” Smile vanishing, Ryan looked back at the computer. “I can’t take a break now. But I’ll share this information with the team before all of us head out in the morning.”
18
Offices of Forensic Instincts
Entranceway
Tribeca, Manhattan, New York
