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Akayla answered the door seconds after Andy knocked, and then looked annoyed when she saw that it was him.
Gertrude stepped forward. “I’m Gertrude. When was the last time you saw Samantha?”
“Why?” Akayla said, alarmed. “Did something happen?”
“Yes, something happened,” Andy snapped. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!”
Akayla ignored him and looked at Gertrude. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. When was the last time you saw her?”
“Yesterday morning. When she left for work.”
“Can we come in and look around?” Gertrude asked, stepping inside before Akayla could protest.
Akayla gave Andy a questioning look, to which he said, “She’s a private investigator. Sort of.”
“Andy, I thought the cops said there was nothing to worry about,” Akayla said.
“They did, but they don’t know Sam. She wouldn’t just vanish unless something is wrong. Maybe if you call them, they’ll take the whole thing seriously.”
She nodded. “OK. I’ll call them right now.” She headed toward the kitchen.
Gertrude called after her, “Do you know anyone named Patsy?”
She located her phone on the cluttered kitchen table. “No,” she said, coming back toward them. “Andy already asked me that. Why, who’s Patsy?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Gertrude said. “But if the cops will let you, you might want to mention that Samantha had an appointment with a person named Patsy last night.”
“OK,” Akayla said, and dialed the phone.
“Also, don’t mention to the cops that I’m here,” Gertrude added.
This imperative appeared to vex Akayla. “Why?”
“They don’t like me.” Gertrude looked at Andy. “Take me to Samantha’s bedroom.”
He led the way down a narrow hallway and then stopped at a door to his left. He gingerly opened it as if afraid something was going to jump out at him. As the door slowly swung open, he just stood there, looking into the bedroom.
“Well?” Gertrude prodded. “Either go in or get out of my way!”
He stepped aside. “Sorry. I just ... I’ve never been in her bedroom. Just feels wrong. Like I’m invading her privacy.”
“No problem,” Gertrude said, pushing past him. “I’ll invade it.”
The room was a mess. The bed was unmade. There were piles of clothing on the floor, and more heaped on her dresser. A jewelry armoire stood open, with dozens of necklaces hanging from the hooks. She must not have a cat, Gertrude thought. Samantha’s mirror was decorated with pictures of her and Andy, most of them taken outside. “She’s a looker,” Gertrude remarked.
“I know,” Andy said dolefully.
Gertrude plucked one of the photos from the mirror, a close-up of the two of them, smiling, the wind blowing their hair back. “Can I keep this one for a while?”
“Sure.”
She heard fear in his voice, so she added, “Just till we find her, Andy. I’ll give it back to her then.”
Andy nodded.
To avoid any more interaction with Andy’s emotions, Gertrude began rifling through Samantha’s drawers. As she was doing this, Akayla appeared in the doorway. “The cops took the information down. Said they’d start looking for her and her car.”
“Wow, you had a lot more pull than I did,” Andy said.
Akayla gave him a look that said, Of course I did. Then she looked at Gertrude. “Are you sure you need to go through her drawers?”
“Just looking for anything out of the ordinary,” Gertrude muttered. What she wanted to say was, “Don’t question my methods. I’m the professional here.”
“Why don’t the cops like you?” Akayla asked.
“Long story,” Gertrude said, as she slid her hands along the bottom of the drawers, searching for hidden clues. Finding none, she stood up straight, her back cracking. “Did you tell them about Patsy?”
“Yep,” Akayla said. “Should I help you look?”
“Sure,” Gertrude said. “She sure does have a lot of clothes.”
“It’s kind of an addiction of hers. Clothes and jewelry. Purses and scarves. She hated that she had to wear scrubs to work. But she got all this stuff used, so it’s an inexpensive addiction.”
Andy let out a soft moan. Gertrude looked up at him. He was white as a sheet. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen anyone look so sad and so scared.
“Why don’t you go sit down for a spell, Andy? We’ve got this,” Gertrude said.
Without a word, Andy disappeared down the hallway.
Akayla moved the blankets on the bed around, revealing a laptop. She flipped it open and sat down on the bed. “I’m going to look on her Facebook page. See if there’s a Patsy.”
“Oh, good idea,” Gertrude said. “Facebook has helped me solve every mystery so far.”
Akayla looked unconvinced. Her fingers skittered across the keyboard.
“Wowsa! You type with both hands! With all fingers too!”
Akayla, either not hearing this odd compliment or choosing to ignore it, said, “Aw, crap!”
“What?” Gertrude said, leaning in to peer at the screen.
“She’s got her privacy settings all jacked up. I can’t even see her friends list.”
“Why would she do that?” Gertrude asked. “She got something to hide?”
“No!” Akayla said defensively. “She’s an attractive woman in an ugly world. And she’s smart. I should’ve guessed she’d be keeping her account pretty private. She doesn’t spend much time on Facebook anyway.”
Gertrude sat beside Akayla on the bed. Akayla scooted several inches away from her. “Where does Sam spend her time?” Gertrude asked.
“At work. Or outside.”
“No, I mean on the computer. Can you tell what internet places she’s visited lately? She must have been doing something. She had the computer in her bed.”
“Good point. Let me check her history.” Akayla tapped some keys and then muttered as she read, “Natural Health News, Netflix, Best Hiking Trails in Maine, and VardSale? What the heck is VardSale?”
“How should I know? Click on it.”
“I just did.”
The two women sat, uncomfortably close to each other, staring at the laptop screen. Finally, something loaded. “Welcome to VardSale, your virtual yard sale experience!” Akayla read aloud.
“Wowsa!” Gertrude said. “This looks like fun!”
“Maybe,” Akayla said, her brow furrowed, “but I’m not really sure why we need a virtual yard sale experience when we already have Craigslist and Uncle Henry’s.”
“I love Uncle Henry’s,” Gertrude cooed. “Got many of my treasures that way. And a few of my cats. But that’s just a book. It’s not on the computer.”
Akayla looked at her as if she were stupid. “Uncle Henry’s is absolutely a website. Where you been?”
“Oh. I still get mine in the mail. Excuuuuse me!”
“It looks like she’s got some notifications,” Akayla said, and clicked on a bell icon. “Looks like she’s been trying to buy all sorts of stuff.”
“Click on the little envelope.” Gertrude pointed a stubby finger at the screen.
“That’s her messages. She doesn’t have any new ones, or it would tell us.”
“Just do it.”
Akayla clicked.
They both gasped.
Samantha had been talking to someone named Patsy Pelotte. Silently, both women read the conversation. And it was lengthy. Patsy seemed to be far more motivated to engage in small talk than to sell anything. She wrote a lot about the weather, her favorite television shows, and even asked questions about Samantha’s boyfriend, which Samantha had deftly dodged.
Smart girl.
Samantha had agreed to meet Patsy behind the New Balance factory, when she got out of work at six-thirty. She was going to give Patsy three dollars for a pair of Nike sneakers.
“Scandalous!” Gertrude remarked.
“What?”
“Selling Nikes at a New Balance factory.”
“We should call the cops, tell them to go look there for her car,” Akayla said, ignoring Gertrude’s joke.
“You do that. First, can you click on Patsy? Maybe see a profile or something? I think it’s a little odd that she would get out of work at six-thirty, when the factory lets out at three.”
“Maybe she works security or something,” Akayla offered. She clicked on Patsy’s name and a new page loaded. Then Akayla said a bad word.
The screen read, “This user account has been removed.”
“Oh succotash!” Gertrude exclaimed.
“I’m calling the cops.”
“You do that,” Gertrude said, and got up to go fill Andy in.