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I must speak with him now. I’ll burst if I don’t.
I type out a message to Blue to ask if she can locate him using her spy juju. Thanks to auto-correct, the text reads as:
Can you citrate Art musing his lumber?
Somehow, she understands me because she replies with:
I’ll need some time.
Grunting in frustration, I call Mom.
“Namaste, sunshine,” she says. “Are you—”
“Mom, where is Art?” I demand.
“I have no idea,” she says. “After you left, your father and I booked a hotel and moved into it before Art came home. We didn’t want to be in the middle of a—”
“Thank you. Talk soon.” I hang up.
Well, that was a dead end, and Blue hasn’t come through.
Leaping to my feet, I say, “I’m going home. He’s probably there.”
“I’m coming with,” Honey says.
I shake my head. “I’ve got this. I’ll let you know what happens after it happens.”
She gives me a crisp salute. “Go get him.”
I stick my nose filters back in. “I plan to.”
* * *
When I rush into our place, there’s no sign of Art anywhere.
I walk over to Fluffer’s mansion, and the little guy looks at me warily.
Why do you look and smell like a grumpy cat? Are you finally going to eat me?
The good news is that the chinchilla has been fed recently, so Art did get home last night.
I grab my phone off the charger and call him.
Voicemail.
I text him.
Nothing.
I text Blue to see if she finally knows where he is.
No reply.
I sprint into Art’s office and use the “Baryshnikov” password again.
Okay, I’m in. Now what?
Oh, I know. I type in “find my phone” and click the first link that pops up.
