“Does she usually call you or vice versa?” I asked. When faced with verbal ninja moves, respond in kind.
“I always call. She usually answers or gets back to me.”
“What happened over the weekend?”
“I left a message.” Blaine brushed non-existent dust off the arm of his chair. “Haven’t heard a thing.”
“So did you go to her place?” Patience.
Blaine’s expression crumpled. “I don’t know where she lives,” he admitted.
I had read that Blaine was divorced, so the next question would be tougher.
“What about her mother?”
“What about her?” His tone invoked the sound of thunder.
“Does she have a good relationship with her mother?”
Blaine shook his head like a wet dog. “I don’t know. We don’t talk about her. If you knew my ex, you’d understand why.”
What a guy.
“I’ll need to talk to her mother. Just in case.” This interview was turning out to be as much fun as a DIY root canal.
Blaine released a breath with Arctic warmth. “Fine,” he said, and offered up his ex-wife’s email, phone, and address in California as though it were a state secret.
When I asked about other close relatives, Blaine claimed there were none.
“Here’s what I’ll do,” I said. “I’ll spend three hours looking for her. I’ll check with her friends and contacts around school and work. Do some online research. If I don’t get any leads, I’ll check back with you. But to be honest, any further work may be a waste of your money and my time.”
“Now, see here—”
I leaned forward and glared at him. “No, listen. If her disappearance is . . . ” my voice trailed off, but I resumed speaking in a lower tone, “ . . . due to foul play, the police must get involved. Given the unusual nature of my services, I don’t want to tread on official toes. Understand?”
His expression turned sullen, but he nodded.
“Now,” I continued. “About the missing partner and money. I can understand why you’d wish to keep this quiet and avoid official interference with your business. I’ll need more details—your partner’s name, the amount missing, and any information that could help me find him and the money.”
Blaine launched into a story about how he and his partner, Slava Kandinsky, had knocked heads over marketing, reinvestment in the business, and other matters. Kandinsky had kept the books and was a spender. Blaine wanted to rein in extravagant purchases and focus on reinvesting to shore up the basics. He claimed that ten grand was unaccounted for. I nodded and took notes.
“And the name of your business?” I asked.
“B & K Developers, LLC.”
That much I knew from reading the papers.
“When did you last see him?” I asked.
He squinted and pinched his chin between thumb and forefinger. “Last Wednesday, maybe. Yeah, that was it. He called me on Thursday, claiming he was sick. I didn’t notice the discrepancy in our records until Friday. And I’ve been unable to reach him at home or on his cell.”
Sucks when no one returns your calls. I paused to think of a good way to ask the next question. “How well does Kandinsky know your daughter?”
He paled a bit, but answered with authority. “Far as I know, they’ve never met.”
Right. Keep telling yourself that.
“One more thing,” I said. “It’ll save me a lot of time if you tell me your daughter’s name.”