“I gave you my number when you asked for it yesterday. Why didn’t you call me last night?”
“Because I didn’t get the information last night, Miss Saunders,” I say staring at her. She can be demanding.
“Oh, okay, partner, we can’t do everything together, now can we? It’s easier to allow you to do your thing and I do mine without either of us being the boss of the show. What do you have?”
“Don’t get too excited just yet, Aleta. It’s not much. Look, do not tell anyone and I mean anyone, we’re talking to each other, okay?”
“Sure.”
“No. I’m serious. I have a future reputation that has to be secured and I can’t have Lowell finding of our communication. Once word gets out, believe me, it will get back to him.”
“I’m so sick of everyone tiptoeing around him. When will this stop?”
“If you have to ask, be thankful, that means you’re still here to speak for yourself.”
“I’m glad we’re still here, then,” she says. “Has anyone come forward about a missing person besides Alan York, like someone hasn’t shown up for work or hasn’t come home? I would hope somebody will be missing this guy at some point.”
“Well, think about it. If you wanted to get rid of this guy, why would you come forward?”
“That’s true,” she says in a quiet voice. “I was going to find out more about those Ray-Ban sunglasses. I want to know if they are made for women. I’ve been looking at online ads and I can’t tell from the photos.”
“Well, what should we do now?” I ask breaking the silence. Hoping she doesn’t ask to break into the police department or something illegal like that.
Aleta slides her chair closer to her my desk. “Thank your insider for me when you get a chance.”
“No problem, it’s the least I can do for you.”
“So, when are we going over to the mansion where Alan York laid his head for the last time?”
I drop my head into my hands. “Aw shit.”
◆◆◆
“Hello, Mrs. Casillas, we’re going to do a little experiment today,” I say to her coming from the kitchen of Alan York’s home. “Can you get a sheet for us to hang out of the window?”
Alan York’s maid stared at me and Aleta in wide-eyed bewilderment. After a few seconds, she rushes off and came back placing the items on the table. I pull out a water bottle. Aleta took out her cell phone to prepare to record the procedure. I take out surgical gloves from the box in my backpack and put on the blue gloves. Alan York’s assistant walks into the kitchen eyeing us with a bit of skepticism. I look in his direction, gave him a nod, and continue with the bottle of white powder.
“You all have an odd project to do today,” he says as if thinking out loud. “You said your father talked to the police chief?”
“Yes, we’re doing a forensic science project for an internship we’re trying to get.” Damn, I’m lying my head off with this guy.
“Sounds interesting,” he says studying us with more suspension.
“Yes, it is,” says Aleta.
I told her not to talk too much. I can’t have them knowing her name.
“Ma’am, Mrs. Casillas can you help us out here because she has to record we need another set of hands. Pour some of this powder over the edge of the water bottle while it is sitting here and do the same thing with this sneaker.”
The older lady does what she is told.
“Mrs. Casillas sounds formal, but I like to be respectful of my elders. You have a steady hand too. Oh yes, now, we can see the fingerprints there. We just taught you something here today. No, no, don’t touch them. Now, let’s look at this beard brush you have the privilege of holding, Mrs. Casillas. Can we go to Alan’s bedroom”
“Sure, this way sir,” asked the maid.
They all walked to the room where Alan York slept. The group watched Joshua loop the sheet into knots and opened the window to lower it outside.
“Nice work,” says the assistant giving slow claps of applause. “Now, we’re going to see how well a few sheets can work to get close to the ground as we can. Mrs. Casillas, I’m sure you know how much of a pain it is having mud tracked into the house. We’ve seen it before.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it before with the kids,” says Mrs. Casillas with a small laugh. “Then I have to hunt down the guilty party. I guess you could call me an expert, too.”
“Yes, the guilty can make a mess of things,” says Aleta looking around the bedroom at the clothes folded neatly on the shelves of the open closet. “You do a good job of keeping things neat in here.”
“I do quite often for the whole family, Miss. I do for my own family when I’m home with them too.”
“Don’t forget, I do my part too,” the assistant remarks. “These rich people are used to others picking up after them. They don’t even have to look for anything, their clothes, keys, shoes. They have it easy so they can focus on other things.”
“Mr. York didn’t have anybody to find his shoes, clothes, or keys the morning he left for the last time?” asks Aleta.
Come on, stop asking questions. What is she trying to prove?
The assistant pauses a second before answering. “Yes, maybe the clothes, but not all of the keys. He was a pretty thoughtful person though. He was always thinking about how he impacted others, so I know he wouldn’t have done anything wrong to get in this position.”
“Well, let’s hope for the best,” states Mrs. Casillas. “I don’t believe a word of the rumors their saying. People think he lost his mind or changed his identity or such foolishness. I’m not having it.”
“Nice to hear you still have faith he’ll return,” I say pulling up the sheets to the window. “It’s good to
