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“Log-on. Password. IP address. If you need anything else, just yell.”
Sean was already in work mode as Sam left the office.
Stu Bien’s absence within his circle of friends had become an issue. They knew working for Wolfgang Outen was often a twenty-four seven job. They also knew Outen was dead, so the fact that Stu wasn’t answering any of his messages was a bit odd but understandable, given that he’d been the dead man’s personal assistant.
But when the next morning rolled around and he still wasn’t responding, his father, Ronald Bien, went by his apartment and let himself in.
The fact that there was a bowl in the sink with a smattering of dried-up cereal and curdling milk made him anxious. It was obvious it had been there for days, and Stuart was fastidious about everything.
He called Stu’s number and left yet another voicemail,then exited the apartment and went straight to the Miami PD to report him missing.
A Detective Emerson in Missing Persons took the report and was less than convinced there was an issue until he asked Ronald where his son worked.
“He is Wolfgang Outen’s personal assistant. He’s often out of the country, but he’s never out of reach, and we’re going on four days now. This isn’t like him. And then we heard on the news about Mr. Outen’s chopper going down, and we don’t know what to think.”
“Oh, I see,” Emerson said.
Finding out Bien was Wolfgang Outen’s personal assistant set off a whole set of alarm bells. Outen was dead. His personal assistant missing? Something was definitely off, but he had all he needed for the report.
“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Bien, and start inquiries at once. If you learn anything new, don’t hesitate to call me. You have my number.”
Ronald was worried, but he’d done all he knew how to do.
“Yes, and thank you. Please keep me in the loop,” he said, and then was escorted back to the lobby.
But the moment Ronald Bien left Missing Persons, Emerson picked up the phone and called his boss.
It was nearing noon by the time Sean had wiped the virus and had the vet clinic’s system back up and running.
“Oh my God! Thank you, Sean! Before you moved here, we had to depend on someone coming in from Bowling Green or an IT guy like you doing it remotely. What do I owe you?” Sam asked.
“I’ll invoice you,” Sean said. “You’ve got too many furry patients waiting on you out there.”
“And one parakeet on the loose,” Sam said. “Don’t open the front door until we get it back in its cage.”
“Right,” Sean said. As he was walking toward the lobby, he passed Leslie in the hall. “Hey, cousin, say hi to Wade and Rita for me.”
“Or, you could tell them yourself. You live closer to Mom and Dad than I do, and are you still single? I have a girlfriend who thinks you’re cute.”
Sean immediately thought of Amalie. “None of your business,” he said, then winked and pulled her ponytail before heading to the lobby.
The AWOL parakeet was sitting on the top of Arletta’s computer monitor, and Arletta had the three-legged clinic cat held fast in her lap. The cat’s eyes were fixed on the little bird, and it was digging its claws into Arletta’s sleeve.
Sean could see a massacre about to happen, so he put down his tool kit, walked straight toward the counter, and snatched the little bird from its perch before it knew what was happening, then turned and faced the room.
“Where’s the cage?” he asked.
“Back in Exam Room four with Mildred, the owner,” Arletta said.
Sean pivoted, went back down the hall and into the exam room.
The little old lady weeping in the corner looked up and then gasped.
“You caught him! You caught Peter Pan! Thank you, dear boy! Thank you,” she cried.
Sean smiled. Peter Pan? He got the connection. They both knew how to fly.
“You’re welcome,” he said, as he slipped the little bird back into its cage and latched the door.
