There I had him. “We’ve got a WiFi network complete with a broadband connection.”
“Cool,” he said.
That remark came with no need of translation. I was gratified that our telecommunications system measured up to his expectations. And I was also glad that, despite the considerable difference in our ages, cool was still cool.
Somehow I found that reassuring.
CHAPTER 11
Todd Hatcher was hustling around and setting up shop when my phone rang. “Hey, you are there,” Detective Jackson said. “I tried calling your office and they said you were off.” Off wasn’t quite the same as out, but I let it pass. “How was the memorial service?”
“Pretty low-key. Naturally Manning didn’t show, but we’ve got a lead on her this morning. According to our sources, she’s staying in a shelter up on Aurora. Hank and I are on our way to interview her right now. I’ll let you know what we find out.”
“Maybe I should talk to her, too. Want me to ride along? Meet you there?”
“Considering your persona non grata status around here, maybe that’s not such a good idea,” he said. “I can give you a rundown of what we learn—”
“I want to talk to her myself,” I said. “What’s the address?”
“You’re not listening,” he said irritably. “I’ll give you a call when we finish up the interview and let you know where to find her. I don’t want you showing up while we’re still there.”
“No,” I agreed. “Of course you wouldn’t.”
“And remember,” Jackson added, “no matter what, you didn’t hear any of this from me.”
That I understood completely.
My next order of business was to see about tracking down Thomas Dortman, but before I got to square one on that, Jeremy called.
“Wanted to say thanks for everything,” my son-in-law told me. “We really appreciate the hospitality, but we’re headed back to Ashland as soon as Kelly gets out of the shower and we can get packed up.”
Once again Jeremy had been drafted into doing the dirty work and talking with Kelly’s ogre of a father. I assumed that meant I was still in the doghouse.
“But I thought you were staying until Sunday…” I began.
“Kyle was awake most of the night last night, and so was everybody else,” Jeremy said. “We’ve decided we’ll all be better off if we’re back in our own place. At least that way we’ll have a little privacy when the baby is crying or Kelly is yelling.”
In terms of needing privacy, I suspected that the former was less of a problem than the latter. “My daughter can be a handful at times,” I said.
Jeremy’s sigh of agreement was heartfelt. “Yes, sir,” he said. “She certainly can be that. I’m really sorry about not coming to dinner the other night. I don’t know why she was so upset about Mel.”
“Don’t worry about it, Jeremy,” I told him. “Mel can take it and so can I.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Oops, gotta go.”
Kelly’s shower had evidently ended and so did Jeremy’s phone call. I know I should have been sorry at the idea that they were taking off two days early, but I wasn’t. Call me an old curmudgeon, but I was losing patience with Kelly’s theatrics. And that’s all I thought it was—theatrics. Kelly’s mother had certainly been good at pitching a royal fit in her time, and Kelly seemed to have inherited the same tendency.
I went out to the kitchen, poured the last cup of coffee, and made a new pot. With Todd now ensconced at the bar, I took myself and my laptop to my recliner and went looking for Thomas Dortman. He turned out to be a freelance writer and sometime Fox News contributor whose Web site’s home page said he lived in the Seattle area, although his 728 phone prefix hinted at a downtown location. I called the number and left a message, telling him who I was and asking him to call. And then, because there was always a chance he was off gallivanting around somewhere, I shot him an e-mail as well.