Page 31 of 2nd Strike
“It is.”
“Kid is lucky to grow up here.”
Again, the car goes silent and I wonder if we should do this. Knock on this woman’s door and potentially turn her life into a chaotic whirl.
“Then again,” Matt adds, “you never know. Nice houses don’t mean ideal childhoods.”
As a former cop, he’d know.
We park and walk to the oversized front door that must be a find from an antique store. Late eighteen hundreds is my guess.
Matt foregoes the doorbell and knocks. The heavy wood absorbs the pounding, confirming my suspicion of old wood. Doors like this simply aren’t made anymore. Someone took great care in finding it.
We wait. And wait. And wait.
“If she’s an attorney,” I offer, “she’s probably at work. Do we have her office address?”
“Yeah. I called there on my way to see you. She’s not in today. Figured we’d give here a go.”
The door flies open and a woman in her late thirties stands there, headphones around her neck and sweat dripping down her face. She’s wearing tights and a tank top and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize she must’ve been working out. Her body is lean and toned, not a soft spot on her and I’m reminded of the treadmill I hang my sweatshirts on.
“Hi,” she says, smiling at Matt the hunk and then me.
“Hi. Ramona Caldren?”
“Yes.”
Since Ramona clearly likes the looks of Matt, I let him take the lead. We’ve fallen into a routine on these visits. He does the introductions and acts all Mr. Nice, then I get impatient and move things along. I’d be a terrible investigator. I can sit in front of a sculpture for hours, but don’t ask me to play cat and mouse during interviews.
Matt holds out a business card. “I’m Matt Stephens from the Schock agency. This is my associate, Meg Schock.”
She takes the card, stares at it for a second and rolls her bottom lip out. “Private investigators?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“All right. I’ll bite. What can I do for you?”
How the hell do you tell a woman her son might not be hers? I peer at Matt who refuses to look at me.
“Mrs. Caldren, we’re looking into a missing persons case. Our client’s son was kidnapped fifteen years ago.”
Matt pauses, but I don’t dare take my eyes from Ramona. I watch her take in this news, see if there’s even a small reaction.
Nothing. Complete deadpan.
Finally, she rolls her hand. “And? What does this have to do with me?”
Clueless.
Or a very good liar. She is a lawyer after all.
Matt leans against the door frame, all Mister Casual. “Our client’s DNA came up as a match with your family. A paternal cousin.”
She stares at him for a good three seconds then jerks her head back. At least we’re finally getting a reaction out of her.
“Are you saying I have acousinwho’s missing? Forgive me, but I think we’d know if one of our family members was kidnapped.”
Matt gives me a little side eye. A definite indication he wants me to jump in here. Okay. I can do that, but he’d better be prepared for me to screw up. Or, at the very least, say something I shouldn’t.
