“Bernard asked me to check him out.”
“Holy shit!” I covered my mouth and looked around the office. Apparently my outburst had gone unheard, or people were used to them. Not drawing attention, I lowered my voice. “Don’t. He’s a cop. We’ve only just started discussing allowing Fred to visit. Seriously, he’s a detective. I promise we’re good. He’s good.” I ran my hands down the length of my ponytail and twisted the end.
“Fred?” Foster asked.
“Never mind. Actually, this pisses me off.”
“Cool your jets. Bernard comes across all corncob-up-the-ass-ish, but listen, I’ve worked for him for a long time. He’s got good instincts and, well, he said he’d feel better if everything checked out.”
I straightened my neck and shook my shoulders. After pursing my lips, I asked, “And what else did you find?”
“Stuff I’m sure you know, criminal justice at Wayne State, straight to DPD where he spent five years as a patrolman before making detective and moving straight to narcotics and homicide. That’s a bit unusual, but the flags aren’t red, only amber. I mean, usually people start with less prestigious assignments. Your man went to the top. Personally, he’s been dating this hot investigative journalist . . .”
If Eddie weren’t happily married with two kids I might have been offended, but since he was I just laughed.
“Seriously,” he went on, “commendations, few complaints. The only thing that struck me as odd was the one-point-four-million-dollar home owned by MOA with his name on the gas bill. I’m diving deeper into MOA. I just wanted to ask if he had that kind of money lying around. Did a rich uncle die?”
“Foster, you’ve got the wrong Dylan Richards. I’ve been to his house. It’s a nice renovated two-story in Brush Park: backyard, fence, and plenty of shelf room for Fred.” I giggled. “He’s my fish. I hate leaving him. He gets depressed.”
Foster scoffed. “Well, Fred should be glad he doesn’t live at my house. I don’t know what my kids do to their goldfish, but I bet we buy a new one at least once a week. Kim said that when she enters the pet shop, all the goldfish try to hide behind the little castle.”
“OK, remind me not to let your kids babysit Fred.”
“Listen, Stella, I’ll look into this. You’re probably right, and don’t say anything to Bernard. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s a nice guy. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Hey, wait.” I had an idea. “Did Bernard ever have you check on anyone for Mindy?”
“Stella . . .”
“Come on. Did he?”
“You know she wasn’t dating anyone when she disappeared.”
I nodded. “I know, but before that. I mean we were tight, but I was super busy when I worked for Preston and Butler. I didn’t know if . . . ? Or did he ever have you investigate her?”
“I wish I could tell you yes. If I had, I would have already given it to the police. Stella, we all want her back. I wouldn’t hold anything like that without sharing it.”
I shrugged. “It was worth a try. Thanks, Foster. Go find Bernard some more stories and stop worrying about Dylan.”
“Yes, ma’am. Bye.” The line went dead.
I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure Mindy’s disappearance would ever get easier, not as long as I didn’t know. The thought of identifying her came back. I scrolled through my contacts until I found Tracy Howell, and I hit “Call.”
“Charlotte, so nice of you to call.”
I snickered. “I only do it because I love my new name. It’s like I have this whole dual personality thing happening.” After the first time she’d called me that, I’d learned that Charlotte was her sister. She’d recently spoken to her and it was the first name that had popped into her head.
“I was going to call you.”
“You were? Is it about Min—”
“No,” she interrupted. “No, this was about something else. Could I call you back tonight? Will you be free?”
“I can be. Give me a time.”
“How about six?”
“Sounds good, bye.” It was funny how even a glimmer of hope could make my body tingle with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to find out what she had to say. I looked at the corner of my screen. Damn, it was after one and I’d forgotten all about lunch. Grabbing my purse and phone, I logged off my computer and walked toward Bernard’s office, but before I reached the door I made myself stop and take a deep breath. I didn’t care if he was being nice. Having Dylan investigated was definitely a violation of my privacy. Another deep breath. I walked to his door.
“Bernard, I’m heading . . .” His office was empty. So I grabbed a Post-it from his desk and wrote him a note:
Bernard, Grabbing lunch and going to stake out a church for a couple hours. If you need me, call. Stella.