Dina said she’d called the detective in charge of the investigation, and he’d said he’d look into it, but she wanted me to know. I’d looked up private airstrips, but the ones I’d found weren’t in the area the woman had indicated. That was the main reason I was driving north on I-75.
Exiting the interstate, I made my way into Bloomfield Hills. As I drove around the beautiful area, I thought about Foster’s suggestion that Dylan could afford a home here. Honestly, it was too bad that he and I together couldn’t afford one. Though I wasn’t ready for full-time cohabitation, as I drove the curvy roads around the majestic homes I found myself imagining the interiors with a very nice shelf for Fred’s bowl.
The last known address of Uriel Harris wasn’t one of the big homes lining the hilly streets. The address took me instead to a large solid gate. Shrugging, I parked my car, walked up to a box beside the gate, and pushed the button.
A man’s voice came from the box. “May I help you?”
“I’m looking for Uriel Harris.”
“You have the wrong address.”
I knew I didn’t. “Maybe I have his old address. Can you tell me how long you’ve lived here?”
“This is private property. I suggest you leave.”
Well, that was rude.
“Thank you for your time,” I said as I released the button.
Going back to my car, I grabbed my Nikon and walked the perimeter along the front wrought-iron fence. It didn’t seem to matter where I tried—I couldn’t see the house, or even get past the trees to take a picture. Though most leaves were gone, this property was lined with rows of pine trees, creating a living wall beyond the fence. Not only couldn’t I see the house, I couldn’t even get a feel for the size of the property. Still I snapped a few pictures here and there.
I hoped that once I downloaded the photographs, I would be able to enlarge them and make out more than I could see in person. When I reached the end of the front fence, I saw that the angle of the side fence indicated that the property was wider in the back. As I took a few more pictures, I decided I should get the schematic of the property from the assessor, but first I’d try Google Earth.
It wasn’t until I got back into my car that I noticed the security cameras at the gate. Sighing, I fought the urge to wave. Well, I couldn’t see them, but apparently they could see me.
Next I spent an hour driving in circles. If there was an airstrip off Woodward Avenue and Eastways Road, I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t even find the access road. Maybe I did, but instead of an accessible street it was another one of the gated private driveways like the address on Kingsway Trace. The more I drove the more frustrated I became.
Dead ends, I was so damn sick of dead ends!
While I was on my way back to WCJB, lamenting my progress, my phone rang. Dylan’s name appeared on the screen in my car. I hit the green image and said, “Hello.”
“Stella?”
His voice sounded different. Maybe something had happened at work. “Hey, is everything all right? You don’t usually call during the day.”
“Where are you?”
Shit!
I’d been so frustrated with the dead ends I’d forgotten to take the interstate and was on Woodward Avenue, approaching Highland Heights. “Why? I’m on my way back from checking out a lead.”
Wanting to be able to honestly answer that I wasn’t in Highland Heights, I turned east toward the interstate, just north of the city limits.
“I just had . . . never mind.”
I wasn’t used to hearing Dylan anything less than confident.
“Did something happen?” I asked.
“No, I was just wondering if you could do dinner tonight?” His tone lightened. “Or do you have drinks with that hot fireman again?”
I laughed. “Dinner would be great, but I need to be home tonight. I have things to do on my computer.”
“You work too much.”
“It doesn’t have to be all work. You could stay?”
“Only if you let me take you out to eat.”
“Sounds good. I’ll go home after work and you can come over. We can go out after that.”
“See you tonight.”
After dinner, while I downloaded my pictures, Dylan sat on my sofa. His legs were up on the ottoman as he watched TV. Looking at him, I wondered if this was what it was like when two people were together long enough to be comfortable. I’d never really dated anyone long enough to move into that stage. Maybe it was finding out about his parents, but since that morning a few days ago, I’d found myself thinking about him a lot more.
Once I had my pictures from the day on my computer, I entered the address of the house I’d visited. Google Earth wouldn’t show me the exact dimensions of the property, but I was curious what was beyond that gate. The house was huge—no wonder it was valued at more than $7 million. There were a pool and tennis courts. Beyond the tennis courts were multiple smaller buildings, and then behind that, away from the road, closer to Eastways, was what I’d been searching for. There was an airstrip.
“Holy shit!” I gasped.
“What?” Dylan asked, coming up behind me.