Her Last Goodbye

After brief introductions, Curtis asked, “Has there been any news?”

Lance shook his head.

“Please, come into my office.” Frowning, Curtis ushered them down a short hallway. He gestured toward a credenza that held a pod-style coffeemaker. “Do you want coffee?”

Lance and Morgan declined and took the two upholstered chairs that faced Curtis’s modern desk.

Curtis went behind the desk, but instead of sitting, he faced a window that looked out onto a small green space. “I still can’t believe she’s missing.”

Morgan began, “When was the last time you spoke with Chelsea?”

Curtis faced them, his distress plain in his eyes. “Friday morning.”

“Was there anything unusual about the conversation?” Morgan asked.

“Definitely.” Curtis rolled the chair out and dropped into it. He picked up a paper clip and twirled it between his fingertips. But he didn’t seem nervous, more like a fidgety man with too much energy for a desk job. “She was upset about something she didn’t want to tell me over the phone. She was going to come into the office Monday, but obviously that didn’t happen.”

Lance leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. “So you have no idea what she wanted to talk to you about?”

“No.” Curtis’s tanned brow furrowed. “She’d been trying to catch up with her clients, but she was having a rough time. I was prepared for her to come in on Monday and quit. I had a counteroffer prepared.”

“You didn’t want her to quit?” Morgan asked.

“No. She’s smart and reliable. I’ll admit that her extended maternity leave has put me in a bit of a bind. We have the year-end statements to prepare and tax season right on top of that.”

“Seems like it would be easier to replace her,” Lance said.

Curtis shook his head. “Turnover is expensive. I already know what I have in Chelsea. She’s good at her job. And seriously, I’d feel like a total jerk firing her over a problem with her baby. Her absence has been inconvenient, but it’s temporary. We’ll survive.”

“What has Chelsea been working on?”

“Nothing specific.” Curtis said. “Her clients have been spread out among a number of associates. I simply started copying Chelsea on all activity and correspondence so she could get back up to speed. We were both hoping she could start coming in part-time and do some work at home.”

Morgan crossed her legs. “Do you normally allow that sort of flexibility?”

Curtis shrugged. “This is the first time maternity leave has come up with anyone outside of administrative personnel. We’re not a big firm. But as I said before, turnover is expensive. It costs money to replace key staff. It disrupts client relations.”

“Is it possible Chelsea was upset about something else?” Morgan asked.

Curtis dropped the paper clip. It hit the desk with a soft thud. “Like what? She’s a good worker, but our relationship is professional. We’re friendly, but we’re not friends, if you know what I mean. I’m sure if she had a personal problem, she’d take it to a girlfriend.”

“What about problems with a client?” Lance asked.

Curtis lifted a shoulder. “Not that I know about.”

Lance couldn’t think of any further questions. “Do you mind if we talk to the rest of the staff?”

“Not at all.” Curtis stood. “Everyone here is really worried about Chelsea.”

“What about your partner?” Lance got to his feet.

Curtis shook his head. “Jim Skyver died six years ago. He was the founder of the firm. Changing the name is more effort than it’s worth.”

Lance followed Morgan out of the office.

There were six junior accountants and a handful of administrative staff. No one at the firm had anything interesting to say. Chelsea seemed genuinely well liked, and her coworkers acted concerned with her disappearance.

Lance and Morgan left the building and got into the Jeep.

“He seems like a nice guy.” Lance started the engine.

“He does. Why would Chelsea make an appointment to see her boss if she was going to run away?”

“Maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly. Could be depression.”

“Maybe.” Morgan turned to the passenger window. “But I’m not convinced. She would have had to make arrangements for a car to be left in Grey’s Hollow. Where would she get the money? We haven’t found any additional friends in her life. She barely had time to see Fiona let alone plan an elaborate vanishing act.”

“Could she have had an affair?”

Morgan snorted. “With a preschooler and a baby? I doubt sex was on Chelsea’s mind often. With a four-month-old colicky baby, sleep would be a priority, not sex. Besides, no one involved in the investigation has alluded to any indication of infidelity on Chelsea’s part.”

“What if the affair happened before she got pregnant?”

“We’d have to go back and look at all records from over a year ago.”

“Yes,” Lance agreed.

A thinking line formed between Morgan’s brows. “I still put Chelsea leaving on her own at the bottom of my list of theories. In my opinion, she wouldn’t voluntarily leave her children. We’d need to uncover a strong motivation.”

But was Morgan projecting her own feelings onto the missing woman?

“Like?”

“Like her presence put her family in danger.” Morgan rubbed her forehead. “But we know where she grew up, so she can’t be part of witness protection or anything like that, and we’ve seen no indication of criminal activity.”

“So what are we left with? She saw or discovered something she wasn’t supposed to?” Lance would spend the evening digging into Chelsea’s client files.

“Neither of those possibilities seem likely, but nothing about this case is normal.”

“Let’s move on to the auto shop.” Lance turned the Jeep around and left the lot.

Burns Auto Repair sat on a large piece of land on the outskirts of Scarlet Falls.

They drove out of the town proper. Lance made a left onto a rural route. Forest lined the road on both sides. A few miles later, the woods opened up on the right, and Morgan pointed to a squat, unkempt ranch-style home set back off the road. The three-bay detached garage was larger than the house. “That’s Harold’s residential address. His brother, Jerry, owns all this property. It’s been in the Burns family for years.”

The auto shop was a quarter mile down the road. Lance drove into the gravel lot and past the building. A red pickup truck was parked near a side door. Behind the shop, an auto salvage yard stretched across acres of dirt and weeds. Amid the clusters and piles of vehicle carcasses, Lance spotted a few small outbuildings. Thick woods surrounded the property.

Morgan opened Chelsea’s file. “The license plate matches. That’s Harold Burns’s truck.”

“Then he’s here.” Lance parked at the corner of the building, where the Jeep was out of the direct line of sight of the glass-doored entrance.

“Maybe you should wait outside,” Morgan suggested.

“No.”

“You’re intimidating.”

“No.”

“I’m serious,” Morgan said.

“So am I.”

“He’s an ex-con, and you still look like a cop. He will not talk to you. He’ll call his lawyer.”