Melissa eyed the clock at the top of her laptop screen. The twenty minutes since Neil and Amanda had left for her apartment felt like an eternity. She was back on her laptop in her mother’s guest room, trying to learn more about Charlie’s clients. She couldn’t find any mention of his work online, but that wasn’t surprising. He was a one-man operation who got most of his consulting work as referrals from two of his former colleagues at one of the larger geology firms on the West Coast, where he worked right after college. If she could remember the name of the company, maybe they could point her in the right direction.
She immediately picked up when her phone rang with an incoming call from Neil. “Hey, did you get in okay?” She had called Louie, the doorman on duty, to let him know that friends were coming over and would need the front desk’s copy of her apartment key.
“Yeah, we’re here now,” he said. “I’ve got you on speaker with Amanda. What exactly are we looking for?”
“I don’t know. Anything. I just know something isn’t right. Maybe he’s wrapped up in something dangerous. Someone could have taken Riley to put pressure on him. Maybe he owes money to the wrong kind of people? Or his work got him entangled in something shady? Somebody could be blackmailing or threatening him.” If Charlie believed Riley had been kidnapped to influence his behavior, he might have chosen to distance himself from Melissa for her own protection. It would also explain why he was reluctant to hold a press conference.
“So we’ll start with his desk?” Amanda said.
“We set up a workspace for him in the corner of the den,” Melissa said. She realized the Keeneys hadn’t been over to the apartment since Charlie had moved in. In retrospect, she hadn’t seen many of her friends much at all since she had met Charlie.
“His most recent job was in Antigua, consulting on the build of a new resort. I tried finding it online, but the only announcement I could find was for a project three years ago that has already been completed. Maybe look for any information about that.”
She could make out the sounds of drawers being opened. “Is this the right desk?” Neil asked. “White with a glass top?”
“Yes, that’s Charlie’s.”
“There’s nothing here,” Neil said.
“Nothing about Antigua?”
“No, I mean nothing at all.”
“The drawers are all empty,” Amanda added. “Like completely cleaned out.”
“Oh my God. Did he move out? Can you check our bedroom?”
She waited as she heard the sounds of them walking through her apartment, followed by shuffling in the background.
“There’s men’s clothes in the master bedroom closet,” Amanda said.
“And in the dresser, too,” Neil said, “but not a lot. There’s definitely extra room in the drawers.”
“He’s not entirely moved in yet,” Melissa said. “He still has most of his stuff from his house in Oregon in storage. Keep looking around to see if you find anything that might be relevant. I’m going to call the doorman. If this has something to do with his work, someone could have gotten into our apartment and taken everything from his desk.”
Louie answered on the second ring, not bothering with polite greetings. “Ms. Eldredge, I just heard the news from one of the residents. Is this true about Riley being missing?”
“It is,” she said, still trying to absorb the reality of the situation. “But I have a weird question, Louie. Has anyone else come to our apartment in the last few days? Charlie and I have both been out of town.” The building logged every key checkout into a computerized record.
“No, the only key authorization I see recently was from you for your two friends. They’re still upstairs.”
“Are you aware of any other visitors that my husband may have had to the apartment?” She realized Louie was probably wondering why she could not ask Charlie these questions, so she explained that he was at the police station looking at photographs of possible suspects. “We’re trying to make a list of any possible suspects who might have taken Riley, which could include anyone coming into the apartment—maybe a workman, or someone who came by to meet with Charlie.”
“No one I know of,” he said. “Well, his sister, of course.”
“Yes, that’s Riley’s aunt Rachel. She lives in Brooklyn but has come by a couple of times to take Riley for visits.”
“A couple of times?” he asked, the register of his voice upticking.
Melissa counted the number of visits in her head. There was the pick-up and drop-off when Rachel kept Riley during their honeymoon. And then the delayed birthday celebration, followed by the day she babysat last month while she and Mac had knocked out the Evan Moore episodes for her podcast. “I guess four to be exact,” she said. “Why do you ask, Louie?”
“Um, perhaps I’m confused. It’s not for me to say. My wife teases me that my brain’s been getting cloudy lately.”
“Please, Louie, it’s gravely important.”
“Well, from what I have seen, Miss Rachel is at your apartment all the time. She has her own key and we wave her up whenever she comes over. Come to think of it, maybe it’s only when you’re not home. You don’t know about this?”