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The Hollands had given me very little to go on. Then again, if they had more they wouldn’t need me. I scanned the addresses of Ashley’s friends and associates Cynthia and Jeffrey provided. Two of the names on the list worked as event planners at The Charles Hotel. Starting my investigation less than ten minutes from my office seemed like the most efficient plan for my day.
Dash peed on his favorite bush outside my office building. Because Dash frequented the bush, so did other dogs who passed by on their walks. The poor bush was dead in one corner from all the dog’s marking territory. Dash had the most access to it on any given day, so he could lay claim to the king of this Brattle Street bush.
After dropping him off for a day of play at dog camp, I walked back down Brattle Street toward Church Street. I hung a left on Church to make a quick stop in Dunkin’ Donuts. I ordered a corn muffin and large regular coffee. I ate the corn muffin as I walked back up Brattle Street. I finished the muffin before I hung a left onto Story Street. A left, a right, and another left took me across Mount Auburn Street and along University Road to the Charles Hotel on Bennett Street.
Like many of the surrounding buildings in the heart of Harvard Square, The Charles Hotel’s red brick greeted me as I approached. The lobby featured the exposed red brick, light wood paneling, and light brown leather seating.
I approached the front desk. A clerk, whose name plate indicated his name was Gavin, greeted me warmly. Gavin was neatly groomed and had a charming smile. I expected nothing less from a hotel in Harvard Square. I asked to speak with Cristina Mills and Grace Ingram.
Gavin looked at my business card. “Are you here about the luncheon in the Longfellow Room?” he asked with confusion in his voice.
“No. I’m here investigating the disappearance of one of their friends. I only need to ask them a few questions.”
Gavin got a concerned look on his face. “How terrible,” he said.
“I’m hoping it turns out to be nothing,” I said. “But it is important I speak with Cristina and Grace as soon as possible.”
He nodded. “Of course, Mr. Patrick. Just one moment.” Gavin picked up the phone and punched a button. Probably a direct line to either Cristina or Grace. We waited a few beats and then he said, “Yes, I have a Mr. Drew Patrick in the lobby. He is a private detective here investigating a case about a missing woman you and Grace know.” I waited a moment longer as Cristina gave a reply.
Gavin nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks, Cristina.” He hung up and looked at me. “They can meet you the Longfellow Room. Do you know how to find it?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Have a nice day.”
“You too,” I said.
As I turned to walk away, Gavin called out to me. “I hope you find the missing woman.”
“Me too.”
I wound my way around the first floor to the Longfellow Room. The décor was subtle tones of beige, off-white, and blue. Two young woman stood talking in the center of the room as they referenced something on an iPad.
Both women appeared to be in their mid-twenties. They had been college classmates of Ashley’s. One had shoulder-length blond hair. The other had shorter black hair, trimmed just below her ears. The blond wore a dark blue skirt and powder blue blouse. The brunette had on a black pants suit and white shirt.
“Mr. Patrick?” the brunette asked as I crossed the room.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry to bother you at work.”
“No bother,” she said. “I’m Cristina Mills. This is Grace Ingram.”
I shook hands with Cristina and then Grace. “Nice to meet you both.”
They nodded and smiled. I handed each of them a business card. The stock and embossing I’m sure rivaled the business cards of any establishment in Harvard Square.
“Now, what’s this about a missing person?” Cristina said.
“Have either of you been in contact with Ashley Holland in the past five days?”
They both shook their heads. “The last time I spoke with Ashley was two or three weeks ago,” Grace said.
“I spoke with her about two weeks ago,” Cristina said. “We were planning on getting our sorority sisters together around Christmas.”
“Has Ashley been reported missing?” Grace asked. “It’s not unusual for her to jet off somewhere.”
“She has not been officially reported missing to the police,” I said. “But her parents are concerned they have not heard from her in five days. They did indicated she likes to jet off places, but she has never been out of contact quite this long.”
“It wouldn’t be strange for her not to contact her mother,” Cristina said. “They don’t get along. But she adores her father.”
Cristina’s comment explained much about the different reactions from Cynthia and Jeffrey in my office. “Do either of you have any idea where Ashley may have gone recently? Her parents mentioned a lake house.”
They shook their heads. “Ashley didn’t mention anything about a lake house,” Cristina said. “But, like we mentioned, it has been at least two weeks since either of us spoke with her.”
I nodded. “No posts on social media?” I asked.
Again head shakes.
A workman entered the Longfellow Room carrying a ladder. He looked to be in his late fifties and carried a little extra weight.
“Excuse me a moment,” Cristina said to me. She stepped away. “It’s the light in the center, Mike,” she said to the workman.
“I’ll replace it in a jiffy,” Mike replied. Cristina stepped back as Mike set up the ladder.
“Last minute fixes before the luncheon today,” Cristina said.
“Does Ashley have a boyfriend?” I said. “Or someone she has been seeing lately?”
Cristina and Grace looked at each other. Their glances told me they knew something, but were hesitant to share. “It might be important,” I said.
Grace looked at me and said, “She mentioned to me she was seeing some rich older guy. Somebody pretty famous, but she wouldn’t tell me his name.”
“When was this?”
Grace thought for a moment. “About a month ago, maybe.”
I nodded and then looked at Cristina. “Did she mention this to you?” I asked.
Cristina nodded. “Yeah. But like Grace, Ashley didn’t tell me anything more than that. I couldn’t even get her to give me any hints who the guy might be.”
“Other than rich, older, and somewhat famous?” I said.
“That about sums it up,” Cristina said.
“Yeah,” Grace added.
I heard Mike clatter down the ladder after replacing the light bulb.
“Ashley dates lots of guys,” Cristina said. “She’s always going to fancy parties.”
“Does she usually date older guys?” I said.
“Sometimes,” Grace said.
“All done,” Mike called over.
“Thanks, Mike,” Cristina called back glancing around me.
“And you have no idea who this guy she is dating might be?” I said.
“Not a clue,” said Grace. “Ashley never dates any guy for very long, so it’s not worth investing the time in finding out.”
“Anything else you can think of?” I said.
Cristina and Grace shook their heads in near perfect timing. They hadn’t wanted to share that Ashley was dating some older, rich, famous guy. But I felt it was more not wanting to talk about a friend’s personal life more than they were trying to hide something from my investigation. I also figured I learned all I was going to from them.
“Thank you for your time,” I said. “If you hear from Ashley, or think of anything else, please call me. Or text. Or send up a smoke signal.”
Cristina and Grace laughed softly. Professional and dignified laughs. I let them get back to their iPad. As I exited the Longfellow Room, Mike was up on his ladder fixing the hinge of a door. Busy guy.
My conversation with Cristina and Grace gave a little more information than I had before I met with them, but I still didn’t know much. Detecting is a process of gathering lots of little bits of information. In the end, you hope the lots of little bits add up to something big enough to offer a solution.
I contacted a few more names on the list and learned exactly nothing more. Since I always work better on a full stomach, I determined lunch was in order. It would give me time to think through the case. And since two minds are better than one, I contacted Jessica Casey to join me.
Jessica worked as a private investigator for a large international detective agency based in Boston. She had a snazzy office in their downtown building and mostly dealt with high-end clients like the Hollands. I only occasionally got high-end clients, and that was fine by me.
“Hello, handsome,” Jessica’s voice greeted me when she answered her phone. Jessica and I are romantically involved, but we haven’t found a need to label our relationship. What we have is special, and it works.
“Join me for lunch?” I said.
“I have an afternoon full of new client meetings, but I can sneak out for a bit. In fact, my first meeting is in Cambridge. I can meet you somewhere in Harvard Square.”
“How about Pinocchio’s?”
“Ooh, big spender.”
“Your afternoon of new client meetings limits our options. Besides, what could be better on a cool fall day than a hot slice of Sicilian-style pizza?”
“Just one slice?” she said.
“Okay, two. Maybe three.”
“I could go for a slice of eggplant.”
“Now why would you ruin a perfectly good slice of pizza by adding eggplant?” I said.
“I like eggplant. You should expand your palate.”
“I’m good with pepperoni.”
“At least we can agree on no anchovies,” she said.
“Definitely,” I said.
“Give me a half-hour,” she said. “I’ll meet you there.”
“I’ll be the good-looking guy with a hint of danger about him.”
“I just happen to go for good-looking guys with a hint of danger about them.”
“Lucky me,” I said. And I was.