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With that he squared his hat on his head and was out the door in a minute.
“Weird guy,” Stephen said as he walked to the window and stared outside. Through the glass Tiffany saw the man who had sired and abandoned her climb into a shiny silver truck—so new it still sported temporary plates. “He’s rich, right?”
“Rumored to be.”
“Maybe you should be nice to him, you know. Go to that wedding.”
“So that I’m in the will?” she said and rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so, Stephen. Money isn’t everything.”
“But he is your dad.”
“That depends on what you think a father is,” she said. “Now, let me get Christina dressed and you go in and have breakfast. Then you and I had better talk.”
“About what?”
She picked up her daughter and started for the stairs. “We’ll start with Miles Dean and end up with Isaac Wells.”
“I told you everything I know.”
“So I forgot. You can tell me again. Come on, Chrissie, time for a bath.”
“I don’t want a bath.”
“Too bad.” Tiffany chuckled as she climbed the stairs and touched the tip of her daughter’s nose. “You need one. Big-time.”
* * *
“J.D. Santini.” J.D. extended his hand to the lanky man on the other side of the desk in the small office. The building was quiet; the other businesses on the second floor had shut down for the weekend. “I appreciate you coming in to meet me. I hear this is a busy weekend for your family.”
Jarrod Smith lifted a shoulder. “I come from a big family. There’s always something going on.” A sardonic smile sliced his square jaw. “Mom’s getting married, and yeah, it’s a big deal, but it’s not the first time or the second. Have a seat.” Jarrod waved toward one of the two empty chairs facing his old metal desk. J.D. settled into a plastic cushion that protested against his weight.
“I’ll get straight to the point. I heard that you’re running your own personal investigation into Isaac Wells’s disappearance.”
Jarrod nodded. His eyes bored into J.D.’s. This man was intense.
“Well, the police are sniffing around my nephew, I think, and I want to find out why.” J.D. sketched out his relationship to Tiffany and her children and his concerns for Stephen.
“Rumor has it the kid mixed it up with Miles Dean yesterday,” Jarrod said.
“Ended up with a shiner that won’t quit.”
“And the police found a set of keys on him. Keys they think belong to Isaac Wells.”
“The boy didn’t do anything to the old man.”
“No one’s proved anything was done to him. Isaac might have just up and taken off on his own,” Jarrod reminded J.D. as he picked up a pencil and turned it thoughtfully between his fingers. “But I agree with you. Ever since Tiffany Santini moved down here, her boy’s had more than his share of scrapes with the law. Until now they’ve been minor. Nothing like the Wells mess.”
J.D. relaxed a little. Smith seemed to be on his wavelength. “So what happened to Isaac?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Jarrod admitted. “People usually don’t just disappear without a trace. Sooner or later he’ll turn up.”
“Alive?”
“We can only hope.”
J.D.’s stomach knotted. What had Stephen gotten himself into? He reached into his back pocket and slid out his checkbook. The pain in his leg twinged a bit. “What kind of a retainer do you want to prove that the kid’s innocent?”
Jarrod snorted. “I’m already working on the case.”
