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Rob and I turn and walk back to our SUV.
“Let’s go talk to”—Rob looks at the business card in his hand—“Mike Hunter.”
My hand rests on the passenger side door handle, and I can’t help but laugh at the name.
Rob gets in the driver’s seat, looking at me as if I’m crazy.
“What?” he asks, putting his hands out.
I open the door and get in. “Did you really just say Mike Hunter?”
“Uh, yeah … why?” he asks, obviously still confused.
“Mike Hunter? You know, like my-cu——”
Rob cuts me off with laughter. He starts the engine, then looks at me again. “Are you twelve? Jesus, I probably haven’t heard that joke since I was in junior high.”
He puts the SUV in reverse and backs up to leave.
It doesn’t take long for us to arrive at the company’s office, and we head inside. It’s a small area, and only one man is working behind the counter.
“Can I help you?” the man asks.
“Yes, we’re looking for Mike,” Rob says, giving me a sideways glance, and I know he refuses to say the guy’s full name again.
“I’m Mike,” the man replies. “How can I help you?”
Rob continues. “Well, this may sound like a strange request, but can you tell us who hired your company to clean out Alice Feldman’s house?”
“Why do you want to know?” Mike asks, looking at us with suspicion.
“We’re looking for Alice’s son, Jarred Feldman,” Rob says. “We were hoping he would come to town after the death of his mother, but he hasn’t shown up. Did he hire you?”
“And why are you looking for Jarred? Are you cops?”
“Not exactly, but we’re working with law enforcement,” Rob says, then gives him the usual spiel he uses without actually giving our cover away.
Mike nods in understanding. “Let me look at the order.”
He begins typing on the computer. A moment later, he turns back to us. “It looks like a man named Joseph Fielding hired us. His contact number has a 313 area code. Does that help at all?”
“It does, actually. Thank you. Can we possibly get his full phone number?” Rob asks.
Mike grabs a sticky note to write the phone number on it for us, then hands it over. “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” both Rob and I say, then we turn and walk out of the office.
When we’re back in the SUV, I say, “Joseph Fielding? J.F.? Coincidence that those are the same initials as Jarred Feldman?”
“Probably not a coincidence,” Rob replies. “Let’s give Mr. Fielding a call.”
He pulls out the burner phone we use for such instances and dials the number on the Post-it. Rob puts it on speaker, and we both wait in anticipation as the phone rings. No one answers, though, and it goes to voicemail. Not surprisingly, the voicemail greeting is not personal. Rob hangs up the phone.
“Well, I’m not surprised. Jarred isn’t going to answer a call from an unknown number.”
“No, but we can do a search on the phone number and find out who it’s registered to and where they live.”
“Yes, we can,” Rob replies as he starts the engine. “Let’s head back to the hotel to do a little investigative work.”
