Page 36 of Bringing Chelsea Home

“Not Chelsea and Martin,” she echoed. “Their parents–mine and his–are a long way from being rich, but the kids often got what they wanted and always what they needed. But they had rules and limits and like a lot of young teens, they felt ‘no one understood them.’ So, when we wouldn’t let them audition for a traveling dance company, they were furious. We wanted them to concentrate on their schoolwork.”

“Did you check out that company?” Griff asked. “Was it legit?”

“First thing we did.” Elaine looked back at the screen. “It was legit, but there were others who advertised online, and we think they found one that wasn’t. We think one of those lured them away. Martin managed to erase a lot of stuff from his laptop before they left, and we never found which company it was. And the websites were all taken down and were erased. Someone was very, very tech savvy and knew how to hide or destroy everything.”

A kind of guilt tore at Griff for not being there to help her. Stupid, but that was how he felt. “I could have found them.”

“I bet you could have,” and her praise thrilled through him like a shot of good whiskey.

“Were they good dancers?” Griff asked.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Mom and Martin’s mom had them in dance classes from the time they were six. They were incredibly talented, but their dreams were kids’ “we’re gonna be famous and dance with every famous entertainer you can name’ kind of dreams.”

“Maybe tomorrow we should try talking to Marty again,” he suggested. “Spending the night in a cell and eating jail food might help him re-think what he wants.”

“That’s that, then.” Somehow Patrick had made it to the suite’s front door without either of them noticing. He held up his oversize travel mug and said, “I’m off to the lab to get the recordings from Elaine’s necklace transcribed and sent to Miller.”

“I hope Grant gets some sleep tonight,” Elaine said, pushing back from her desk. “He looked exhausted when he left here.”

Did you put a fresh recording cartridge in her locket?” Griff asked.

“Yes sir.” Patrick came forward to hand the locket to Elaine.

“Is there coffee in that mug?” Elaine teased. “Or do you have a special stash in the lab?”

“Ah, how the lady knows me.” Patrick praised. “Fresh bag of Blue Mountain awaits as we speak. I left a cheese and fruit plate in the ‘fridge in case you change your mind about dessert. Get some rest, you two. Don’t wait up for me. I have some things to do for Hank when I finish in the lab.”

He left, the door’s lock clicking into place. Griff looked at Elaine’s laptop screen, then at here. “May I ask you something about Sister Bernie’s memorial service?”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “Sure.”

“Why was it held so quickly? I know the coroner would still have her body at that point, so why was service held two days after she died?”

Sorrow settled over her beautiful features and Griff mentally kicked himself for distressing her. Her day had been hard enough. Then she smiled and said, “Both Bernie’s parents and her brothers are doctors and work with Doctors without Borders. They were scheduled to leave the country the day after she died, but got the trip postponed until Thursday. She’ll be cremated when her body is released, and her ashes interred in St. Nicholas’ columbarium when her family gets back. Was there a reason you wanted to know?”

Griff shook his head. “Just thinking. Sister Bernie’s death was what kickstarted this whole roller-coaster ride. Her dedication to helping those in danger or those who couldn’t help themselves was awesome. I wish I’d met her before she was murdered.”

“She would have liked you.” A grin replaced Elaine’s sorrowful expression as she moved to settle against the sofa’s cushions. “She probably would have challenged you to a game of baseball. Your batting was impressive.

“Bet she could beat me at running ‘round the bases.” Griff rubbed his right knee. “Getting hurt in Central America really slowed me down.”

“Enough about that,” she scolded. “You just said you’d eliminated lots of places that would be unlikely locations to hide the girls. Where do we look next?”

“I’m going to text Aunt Sally to see what she knows about any properties with short-term rental options that would start next week, their locations and names of the renters,” Griff said. “She handles stuff like that too.”

“Can she tell you that?” Elaine asked. “Isn’t that sort of thing confidential?”

Griff shrugged. “I told her I was working on a case involving missing, exploited teens that someone might be bringing to town and who would need a place to hide them. She said if it helped find exploited kids, she’d re-write the rule book.”

“You’ll have to introduce me to her when this is over,” Elaine laughed. “She sounds like my kind of woman. Given the girls will need a big place to stay–”

“Other than there are seven of them, what make you say that?”

She actually rolled her eyes at him. “And you’re a man who has two sisters who work in fashion? The clothing those girls will have! All those costumes and shoes, not to mention thehuuuugemake-up cases? They’ll probably need a room just for all of that! And a couple of guys as big as Patrick to lug it up and down the stairs! And we’re not even factoring in the people assigned to watch them.”

A wave of laughter poured out of Griff before he could stop it. It wasn’t funny. Nothing was funny about the past few days or this case with its deaths and threats of death and fear forThe Honeys.

But her descriptions of young girls and their many suitcases packed with who knew how many outfits, of poor Patrick with the oversized luggage stacked on his back like Atlas carrying the world, staggering up who knew how many flights of stairs, and her exaggeration of the wordhuge, was like something from a slapstick movie when things literally fall apart, like the dinosaur collapsing at the end ofBringing Up Baby, sending Katherine Hepburn into Cary Grant’s waiting arms.

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