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Arms folded on his desk, Marc reviewed the basics again.
Age twenty-two, born in KC, honor student, recent college grad, five-month tenure with the respected marketing firm in Kansas City where she’d interned, no criminal history. Not even a traffic ticket.
Everything she’d told him was consistent with what he’d found after running a background check, googling, and reviewing her social media sites.
Likewise for her younger brother and mother.
Her fifty-one-year-old father was the question mark.
Marc rose, shoved his hands in his pockets, and wandered over to the window.
Other than a birth certificate from St. Louis and a social security number, there was almost no data on Joseph Butler prior to the house fire.
Very suspicious.
His daughter had mentioned in passing that he’d had a tough childhood he never talked about, but why were there so few records of his life once he’d reached adulthood—until after the fire?
What was his link to the tragic event that killed two people and changed a young boy’s life forever?
Marc forked his fingers through his hair. Expelled a breath.
To get that answer, he was going to have to drive to Kansas City.
Like, tomorrow.
If the man died before they talked, what could be the last chance to close the file on his desktop would perish too.
But what would he tell Nan about the trip?
Orshouldhe tell Nan about the trip?
He inspected the darkening sky. Twisted his wrist to see his watch.
It was getting late. He should go home.
After he called Bri.
Pulling out his cell, he crossed back to his desk, propped his hip on the corner, and dialed her number.
She answered at once. “A friendly voice at the end of a long day. You have excellent timing.”
The smile in her inflection loosened the knot of tension in his shoulders. “I meant to call sooner, see how the funeral went, but it got crazy.”
“I hear you. Same here. The service was sad, but I’m glad I went to lend moral support. What made your day crazy?”
He gave her a fast briefing.
“Wow.” A squeak came over the line, as if she’d dropped back in her office chair. “Are you going to KC?”
“I think so. If I don’t, I’ll always wonder if he knew a detail or two about the fire that could lead me to the truth.”
“What will you tell your grandmother?”
“The very question I was wrestling with before I called you. Any thoughts?”
A few seconds of silence passed. “From what you’ve shared, it sounds as if she made her peace with the status quo long ago. In your place, I don’t think I’d stir up old memories unless the trip actually produces answers or a resolution.”
Another indication they were on the same wavelength, and a validation of his own reasoning.
