Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
“It’s nice meet you, Mr. Sterling and Detective Johnson. I’m sorry. We’ll have to pull some tables together if you’d like to take a seat,” I offer.
“That won’t be necessary. As you know from Mr. Hudson, Blake handed off what he found. I need to know when your last phone conversation, text, and email communication you’ve had with Bonnie and Chad Smithers took place,” he dives right into the questions.
“Phone calls, I’m not sure. Probably months, which is weird. They used to check in a lot more. I figured they were enjoying their retirement. The last email I received was nearly a month or two ago. About the same time Scott quit coming in to check the books. It wasn’t until the espresso machine went down and I tried to reach any of them that I really started paying attention to how less communication there had been. Then again, Scott was here to glance over things and then left as fast as he came. It was when I wanted to present an offer that I knew something wasn’t right when Perry, my banker, couldn’t find them. That’s when I asked Ezra to step in.” I quit talking because I’ve blathered on more than what Detective Johnson asked. My nerves cause me to talk more than I usually would.
“Is there a way you can go back in your emails and print those off as well as jog your memory as to when Scott was here?” I look at Mr. Sterling, not because I’m guilty, not in the least; I just don’t know where to go from there, if that’s legal without a warrant. See what I mean? I know freaking nothing.
“You can give them to him. It’ll make thing easier than getting a subpoena,” Sterling answers my unanswered question.
“Right, well, the work computer is in the back. That’s the only way I communicate with them, and the work line. I can pull the security feeds, too, as far as when Scott has come in. As for texts, the last ones I sent were on a whim, and they never responded, but you can have those as well.”
“We’ll start with the emails. We’ve filed a missing person’s report on Mr. and Mrs. Smithers.” A gasp escapes me. I’m lost for words. The two people who entrusted me to take care of their shop are missing. It shouldn’t shock me, yet it does. Damn it, I should have brought this to Ezra’s attention way before now.
“Okay, give me a few minutes, and I’ll go print them off.” I see the look on Detective Johnson’s face. He doesn’t want me to leave his sight. I look at Ezra, confused. Surely, this guy doesn’t think I’ve done something to them. I’m no criminal, and taking out a loan and asking your boyfriend to look into things and he hires a private investigator don’t scream person of interest. A criminal would keep the deposits and set up shop like it was theirs, which is not what I did. Nope, I took on all the responsibilities while staying true when doing payroll, too.
“Sterling and Johnson will go with you, Millie,” Ezra states, not leaving it up for interpretation any longer. It’s probably killing him that he didn’t suggest that he would go back there with us.
“Yes, lead the way, Miss Saoirse,” Ezra’s attorney states. Well, he’s technically mine as well, I guess. I can’t even think about the hourly rate he’s charging Ezra, adding on to what I already owe him. It’ll be an argument about when or if I can pay him back, which he’ll never accept, meaning I’ll have to get creative.
“Of course.” I walk away, feeling their presence behind me as we walk. The office will for sure feel even smaller than it already is with two big-bodied men in there with me. A few steps around the counter, an opening of a door, the light turning on automatically, and we’re in the office. I wake the computer up with the mouse, go to my work email, and pull all our conversations up.
“How far would you like me to go back?” I ask Detective Johnson. They left early last summer for their retirement to Florida, so it’s been about eight months since I’ve seen them in person.
“As far back as you can. I’d like to get a clear timeline,” Johnson replies. I’d make small dick comments in my head with a last name like Johnson if he were rude. His demeanor isn’t; he’s short and to the point, probably thinking this isn’t worth his time but having to deal with it since Ezra’s name is involved.
“Okay.” I click through our thread, selecting all, and then click print. The papers come out. Thank God for a laser-jet printer. There’s no warming up, running out of ink constantly. The sooner it’s done, the faster we’re out of this small room.