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“I’ll be back at the office by then,” Marc replied. “I’m grabbing something to eat at Simon’s Beach Bakery Café. You remember it. It’s that place with the yellow awning right down the street from Amanda’s place.”
“I remember. I also remember that it’s a spot Amanda mentioned where she and Paul ate pretty often.”
“I can see why,” Marc informed her drily. “The pastries look amazing. I’ll do a hundred extra push-ups tonight. But it’ll be worth it.”
“Eat as many pastries as you want. You’ll have the time. You’re not leaving Westhampton just yet. I’m meeting you out there. We have a date with Lyle Fenton tonight.”
“We do?”
“We will as soon as I talk to Amanda. I’m heading for the hospital now. Then I’ll try to beat rush hour traffic out to Long Island.” Casey glanced at the clock as she spoke. “It’s three-thirty, so I should be okay. Are you speaking to anyone in particular at Simon’s?”
“Anyone and everyone, from Simon the owner to the employees to the patrons. This place is a real hangout, not just during the season but all year round. There are quite a few locals here. I’m hoping someone will have a meaningful observation or two about Paul.”
“So you struck out with his neighbors and friends?”
“Essentially, yes. They were all willing to talk to me, but I didn’t learn anything of consequence. If the guy had an alternate life, he kept it very well hidden.”
“So would I if I were involved in something criminal.”
“Right. In any case, I’ve got more to accomplish. I was going to bag it and come home so I could make decent time on the expressway before rush hour screwed me up. But now that I’ve got a few hours, I’ll cover more territory. I want to talk to some of the contractors Paul Everett hired.”
“Good idea.” Casey’s wheels were turning. “By the way, if it wasn’t Paul’s neighbors or poker buddies who piqued your interest, I’m guessing it was the meeting with Morano. Is that what you want to discuss? Did Morano say something that related to Paul Everett?”
“Nothing as straightforward as that. But, Casey, that guy is way too smooth. He answered my questions like a practiced politician. And I don’t mean because he’s used to handling the press. I doubt he’s done anything except local interviews at this point. He prepped himself, or was prepped, far more than necessary, not just about what to say but about how to say it. I can buy that he’d be comfortable talking about his business. But when I brought up Paul Everett, he was overly laid-back about it.”
“In what way?”
“You’d think that Paul had just reneged on a business opportunity, rather than being killed. Having your predecessor murdered would throw anyone. Not Morano. He laughed it off as if I’d made a joke that fell flat. At the same time, he was definitely curious as to why I wanted to know about Everett. And, smooth or not, I know his antennae went up. The whole interview felt wrong. No concrete reasons. Just gut instinct.”
“That works for me.”
And it always did. It wasn’t just because Marc had worked as a profiler with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. It was because he was Marc. Every single member of the Forensic Instincts team had that same knack—each in a different way—of just knowing. Together, it made Forensic Instincts exceptional.
“Okay,” she said. “Then here’s what I suggest. Go do your thing at Simon’s. Then take care of your other stops and drop off your rental car. I’ll give Claire a call. She, Patrick, and Ryan can convene at the brownstone as soon as Patrick lands. I’ll drive out to the Hamptons. You and I can have a conference call with the rest of the team when I get there.” Casey paused. “Oh, speaking of Claire, there’s something you should know. She had some upsetting insights earlier today.”
“About?”
“The baby. So I called Amanda. Justin had a setback today. And not a minor one. His fever spiked, he’s getting a chest CT and some other more invasive tests. The doctor thinks he has an escalating lung
infection of some kind. He’s concerned about the baby’s breathing. He’ll probably put him on a ventilator. The scenario isn’t good. Neither is Amanda. She was bordering on hysteria.”
Marc blew out a breath. “That poor woman. And that poor, innocent baby.”
“That’s the other reason I’m dropping by the hospital before I drive out to you. I’m hoping I can calm her down by giving her some hope. I’ll mention that you’re at Simon’s, asking around. And I’ll tell her Patrick’s on his way home from D.C. with some information. I’ve got to walk a careful line here, since I’m guessing the information Patrick’s bringing back involves Lyle Fenton. I’m not ready to clue Amanda into our suspicions about him yet. But they’ve escalated. Ryan’s been making some progress. And the one common denominator in all this is Fenton. When we connect all the dots, I have a feeling the details surrounding Paul Everett’s disappearance might include Amanda’s uncle Lyle.”
“No shocker there.”
“As I said, you and I are paying him a visit tonight. Ryan says he’s landing from D.C. around dinnertime. You and I will show up during dessert. We’ll keep our questions focused on Paul—what he was like, why Fenton would or wouldn’t choose to work with him, did he ever mention where he might go if he left the Hamptons—that sort of thing. We’ll key it up to look like we’re all about needing Fenton’s help in finding the father of Amanda’s baby. Which we are. But while we’re at it, we’re getting a read on this man. He seems to be there at every turn we take.”
* * *
Casey pursed her lips thoughtfully as she disconnected her call to Marc.
“Are you leaving now…” Ryan cut himself off as he pivoted around to face Casey. “Uh-oh. I know that look. Whatever you just came up with means more work for me.”
A grin. “You’ve been hanging around Claire too much, Ryan. You’re becoming psychic. You’re also full of it. You love this. The more I throw at you, the happier you are.”
“Yeah, well, don’t spread that around.” Ryan sobered. “What’s up?”
