The section of Excelsior Boulevard my GPS had steered me to was still under construction. Bulldozers rumbled; at least a dozen workers, all wearing yellow hard hats, yelled to each other as they pounded or sawed. Pools of mud and gravel made a temporary road through the half-finished neighborhood. Everything was coated in a thick gray dust, and I wondered why anyone would want to move into such a mess. House numbers were written on frames with a black marker. I bumped along, heading for the three finished homes beyond the noisy cloud. And there, standing like a fortress, was number thirty-four.
It was big; I’ll say that for it. The fragrance of fresh-cut wood still clung to the Larkin house as I stood in front of the massive double doors. Instead of a bell, a heavy brass knocker would announce my arrival. I lifted it up and let it fall. While I waited for an answer, I took a few steps back to admire the etched glass panes on each side. They must have been ten feet high, both tinted amber. When no one came to the door, I lifted the knocker once more.
I could hear a dog yelping inside, and then a male voice shouted for the animal to shut up. Someone shuffled across a bare floor, and finally, the door was pulled open.
A man in his sixties scowled into the sun. “What do you want?”
“Mr. Larkin?”
He shielded his eyes from the glare and then took a good look at me. “Yes.”
My instincts told me that I’d get better results with this man if I assumed a professional persona. “I’m Mrs. Sullivan, the field manager for Walker Securities. I see from our records that Mr. Walker made a call out here last Friday. Is that correct?”
He returned my smile, realizing I wasn’t a threat. “Why don’t you come in so we can have some peace and quiet?” He stood back, waiting for me to enter.
“Thank you.”
“Let me put Fluffy in her room. I’ll be right back.” Mr. Larkin gathered the white poodle gently into his arms and walked out of the room, leaving me in the foyer.
The floor was white marble; the walls were papered in what appeared to be green silk. A large floral arrangement made up of mums and asters surrounded by orange and green leaves was in the middle of a marble table. It was all very formal and . . . pretentious. This man had a lot of money and wanted everyone to know it the minute they entered his home.
Walking over to the wall to my left, I delighted in seeing work by Molly Hartung, a newer artist I’d been following for years. Her technique of layering fabric and enamel was magical. But in what obviously was intended as a grouping of six, one was missing, ruining the symmetry. A large fin-de-siècle—which meant it depicted a scene set at the close of the nineteenth century—Cezanne landscape in shades of blues and yellows dominated the wall directly across from the door. The piece looked genuine, but I knew it couldn’t be since I’d seen the original at the Art Institute in Chicago. Before I could study the crystal pieces on a shelf to my right, Larkin returned.
“All this fancy stuff, and I don’t know a Picasso from a piccolo, but it sure cost a lot to insure it all.” Obviously, he’d noticed me checking out the room.
“It’s all very beautiful.” Before I could be specific, Mr. Larkin pointed.
“We can sit in here,” he said, walking ahead of me into the living room.
The three pieces of worn furniture looked silly in the spacious area. Mr. Larkin stood and pointed toward a wingback chair. “That’s the most comfortable place in here. Be my guest.” I expected him to make some sort of apology for the condition of the room, but he didn’t. I thought he might explain that work on the house hadn’t been completed yet, but he acted as though things were perfectly normal. So I followed his lead and smiled as I walked across the rough wooden floor.
He plumped up a faded pillow on the lumpy couch, then sat down. “So is this a survey of some sort? Everybody and his brother are all about surveys. Can’t even get a hamburger without someone handing me a survey.”
“No survey. This is just a follow-up visit to make sure the work done by our company was satisfactory.” I took out a pen and opened the file. “I see you had four surveillance cameras installed around the perimeter of your house. Is that correct?”
“Initially. Mr. Walker assured me that four would be enough, but I wanted more—that’s why I called again. He said they could always come back if I wasn’t happy. And I wasn’t, so he came out here himself, instead of sending an employee.”
“And that’s what you discussed on Friday?”
“More cameras, right. There’s always someone lurking around all that equipment over there.” He motioned toward the construction site. “Those men leave everything out in the open all night and then get upset if something goes missing. And there’s so many of ’em! I don’t think even the boss knows how many workers are on his crew.”
“So you lump those men in the same category as petty criminals?”
“Damn straight. I worked hard for what I have, and just ’cause I’m retired doesn’t mean I’m going to let some idiots come along and take it. The first night we were in the house, my car got broken into. And I heard this area is supposed to be upper class.” He huffed his disgust.
“Were you the only residents living here at the time?” I asked.
“I know, I know, we should have waited to move in, but my old house sold quicker than we expected. That still doesn’t give anyone the right to—”
“Of course not. I’m sure things will settle down once all the construction’s done and you have neighbors.”
“That’s what the cops said.”
I glanced over the file to make sure the cameras were the only items Nathan had sold Mr. Larkin. “And you found our personnel to be helpful and easy to work with?”
“Well, that guy with the ponytail, he was kind of weird.”
I knew he meant E.T. and nodded. “But he’s very good at what he does, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Sure.”
“You said ‘we’ several times. Is there a Mrs. Larkin?” There had to be. The foyer obviously reflected a woman’s taste, while this room . . . well . . . didn’t.
“She couldn’t stand all the noise and dirt. She flew to New York on business.”
So the husband was retired, and the wife was still working. Which probably meant she was younger. An actual field manager wouldn’t be concerned with the marital status of a client or ask the next few questions I considered, but you can get away with almost anything with the right attitude.
“Well, I can’t blame her. No woman would want to deal with all that dust out there. This house is certainly going to be a showpiece when she gets done with it. How many rooms are there?”
“Fifteen, I think,” he said. “Give or take a bathroom.”
“Do they still build attics and basements in newer homes?” And could Nathan be stashed away inside here somewhere?
“Well, not in this model.” He pulled at a thread on the pillow. “Is that all you came for, Mrs. Sullivan, or is there something else? Like wanting me to sign up for an additional warranty or service?”
“Nothing else.” I closed the file and stood up. “Thank you for your time.”
“Tell Mr. Walker hello for me.”
“I will.”
After Larkin closed the door and I was settled inside the jeep, I called Polly.
“Is everything okay, Kate?”
“Fine. I just finished interviewing Mr. Larkin. I don’t think he’d have any motive to grab Nathan. He’s the type of man who just wants to be left alone. Would his marital status be mentioned in the files?”
“No, but I can look up his payment record and see if a credit card or check was used. Maybe his wife’s name is on one of those. But why?”
“Just checking that he was being honest with me. Thanks.”
“Sure. And I’ve been monitoring the boss’s credit-card activity, which is pretty easy, since he only has one AmEx for business and a Visa for his personal use.”
I didn’t want to know how she’d managed to hack into those systems; I was just glad she’d been able to do it. “Did you find anything?”
“No. He filled up his car Friday morning, over at the Mobil down the street. It’s on the way to the Larkin’s, so no extra miles accounted for there. That was the last transaction.”
“Isn’t there a company van?” I asked. “I didn’t see it this morning.”
“E.T. keeps it at his place when he has an early job the next day.”
“Oh. Have you heard from the guys?”
“About ten minutes ago. Still nothing to report. Should I tell them you’ll swing by there and bring them back here when you’re done?”
“Perfect. We can have a meeting to compare notes. Not too long, though. I have to go see my grandkids.”
As much as I adored Cameron and Chloe, I wasn’t looking forward to the distraction. And no way would they ever understand that I was too involved with something to see them. By now, Lizzie had told them I was in town, so there was no postponing my visit for a few days. Then there was Tom. Since he was divorced from my daughter, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him.
I didn’t need any distractions from my search for Nathan, but they were family, so I was just going to have to make it work.