Page 70 of Paternal Instincts
Costa deadpanned. “Oh darn. That makes me so sad.”
“Stop pretending you hate me.” I blew him an air-kiss and motioned to the computer. “What have you got?”
“A monster sub and caramel pie. Can I eat first?”
“By all means. We only have an eight-year-old boy missing, and his mother took off this morning to places unknown, but you know, take your time.”
Aslan tapped his foot against mine, perhaps suggesting I was taking the teasing too far. Before Costa could put his food down—because something told me he would just to please me—I added, “I’m kidding, Costa. Eat. You deserve a break.”
The conversation drifted to Jordyn and June’s upcoming wedding in the fall, to Torin and how he was balancing work life with being a father, to Costa’s girls and their summer plans of horseback riding camp. Eventually, we ended up discussing our baby’s imminent arrival.
“No name yet?” Costa asked, knowing full well we’d been stumped for months.
“I’ve suggested plenty,” Aslan said. “Quaid hates them all.”
“You’ve suggested Onyx, Epiphany, Sunny Delight, Mocha Java, and Moonbeam to name a few. Need I say more?”
Jordyn folded her lips inside her mouth and ducked her head.
Costa fist-bumped my husband. “Nice.”
“Not nice,” I snapped. “She’s a baby, not a porn star. I’m starting to panic.”
“If it’s a girl, I get to name her, and it will be Moonbeam. I think that’s my favorite.” Aslan ate his pie with his hands like a Neanderthal, talking with his mouth full. “Quaid gets to name the baby if it’s a boy.”
I kicked his chair. “Swallow before you talk. You’re such a pig, and again, I didn’t agree to this.”
Neither of us had called Bryn that morning, but Aslan assured me that she would let us know if she was in labor. Time was ticking, and I needed to solve this case before that phone call came in.
We finished eating, and Jordyn collected the garbage as Costa got organized. “Okay. I hope my good news is good enough for the two pickiest detectives in MPU.”
He opened a screen of text, skimmed, and rubbed his hands together. “Here we go. You asked for a financial background on Nixon Davisas well. It turns out that when your husband wrote up the warrant, he made the request for both Nixon and his wife. His lovely judge friend didn’t seem to care and signed off on it.”
I glanced at Aslan, who winked and whispered, “Madison still likes me.”
“You’re a shameless flirt.”
He shrugged and waved a hand at Costa. “You’re welcome.”
“I started with Nixon,” Costa said before I could retort, “doing a thorough scan of his accounts, spending habits, and debt. Like his business partner, Jude, I couldn’t find anything unusual. They have the same salary, which makes sense since they’re equal business partners, but Nixon has better money management skills. Hence, he lives a more upper-middle-class lifestyle. His savings are higher but not abnormal. His retirement is padded. His investments are reasonable.” Another click. A new page. “Imogen, however, is a different story.”
“What?” I glanced at Jordyn, whose shock mirrored mine. “What do you mean?”
Aslan rested a hand on my knee as Costa continued. “Until two months ago, she worked as a hairdresser for Prestige Hair Salon, making a little over minimum wage. Presently, she’s on medical leave. I assume due to pregnancy complications. She does not earn a wage that I can see while off work, but she is collecting employment benefits from the government. Like Nixon and Jude, I could track her usual payments from her job, evaluate her spending habits, and view any debt she’s collected. She’s not the breadwinner of the family, obviously, but has a copious amount of money squirreled away in a separate, robust savings account.”
“Inheritance?” Jordyn asked.
“I considered that, but this account shows regular monthly deposits of several thousand dollars. They have been occurring for as farback as I can view. We’re talking over a hundred thousand dollars a year, going back years.”
Costa paused and glanced at each of us around the room.
“What aren’t you saying?” I sensed there was more.
Costa wore a wicked grin. “I easily tracked where the money was coming from.”
Another long pause.
“Costa, for the record, I hate suspense in movies, books, and especially in real life. Spit it out.”
