How would you describe her?”
Jeremy thought for a second, said, “About five-eight. Brown hair, brown eyes—”
“Not physically. Her personality. She get along with people here? Any reason to think someone might hold a grudge?”
“Not that I know of. She’s kinda like a bowl of ice cream. Cold but sweet at the same time.”
“A bowl of ice cream, huh? You come up with that all by yourself?”
“I write some of the creative storylines for our games. Keeps me thinking in metaphors.”
“Sounds like a fun job. And Teddy Rutherford? What kind of dessert is he?”
“Um...a sugar cookie?”
“How so?”
Jeremy looked around, wary of prying ears. “Promise you won’t tell him I said this?”
“Promise.”
With a hint of a smile, he said, “He thinks he’s delicious, but in reality, he’s just small and boring.”
***
DJ drove away from LightPulse, wondering where he should go next. Maybe catch up with Barker, see if he had gotten anything solid from the witnesses at the Rose Gardens, let him know about Teddy Rutherford and the absent assistant. Question Sara’s friends and neighbors, which they should’ve been doing hours ago, instead of wasting precious minutes on half-cocked theories about Brian Winthrop.
Damn. We’re blowing this one. Big time.
The remainder of his conversations with some of the other employees proved to be as insignificant as Jeremy’s sugar cookie. The general impression of Sara around the office was exactly as Jim Rutherford had described. She was fierce but encouraging, down to earth but revered. They had witnessed her heated encounters with Teddy, but it was nothing more than putting him in his place, like the rest of their management did on a daily basis.
The ones that had interacted with her outside the office talked about how great she was with her children and how well she’d coped when her husband disappeared. DJ sensed that the hat she wore at LightPulse was completely different than the one she wore at home, which wasn’t unusual for anyone juggling a high-profile career and family life.
And from what he got based on their answers, Teddy was universally disliked around the office but either knew and didn’t care, or floated along in this oblivious state of being God’s gift to humanity. A Napoleon complex wasn’t enough to make the guy a suspect, but his connection to Sara’s note and the timing of his absence was, and it was close enough to make DJ suspicious.
But what about his dad? He knew where the phrase came from. Is he involved?
Jim Rutherford was a remote possibility, but he had too much to lose and too little to gain from kidnapping the children of his shining star.
“Don’t chase, DJ,” he said. “Stay focused.”
His cell rang. He whipped into the nearest parking lot, stopped and answered. “Johnson.”
“Got some info on those golf tournaments, JonJon.”
“Seriously, Davis? You, too?”
A chuckle, followed by, “Too easy, DJ. Couldn’t resist.”
“Whatever. The tournaments?”
“Bupkis. None scheduled until the weekend.”
That’s a game-changer. “What do you have on Teddy Rutherford?” he asked, then spelled out the last name for clarification.
“Hold on a sec.”
DJ heard the clacking of a keyboard as Sergeant Davis pulled up the information. While he waited, he asked, “Barker check in yet?”
“Yep. Said he tried your cell. Wants you to call him ASAP. Okay...Theodore Alan Rutherford, last known address...1848 Graystone. Wow. Guy must have a gold-plated toilet seat.”
“Any priors?”
“Two. Nothing major. One speeding ticket and one assault, six years ago. Looks like it might’ve been a bar fight.”
“Send a car over to his house.”
“Want us to bring him in?”
The phrase match, no golf tournaments. It was the best he had. “If he’s there. If not, start looking.”
He called Barker next.
Barker
Jeremy thought for a second, said, “About five-eight. Brown hair, brown eyes—”
“Not physically. Her personality. She get along with people here? Any reason to think someone might hold a grudge?”
“Not that I know of. She’s kinda like a bowl of ice cream. Cold but sweet at the same time.”
“A bowl of ice cream, huh? You come up with that all by yourself?”
“I write some of the creative storylines for our games. Keeps me thinking in metaphors.”
“Sounds like a fun job. And Teddy Rutherford? What kind of dessert is he?”
“Um...a sugar cookie?”
“How so?”
Jeremy looked around, wary of prying ears. “Promise you won’t tell him I said this?”
“Promise.”
With a hint of a smile, he said, “He thinks he’s delicious, but in reality, he’s just small and boring.”
***
DJ drove away from LightPulse, wondering where he should go next. Maybe catch up with Barker, see if he had gotten anything solid from the witnesses at the Rose Gardens, let him know about Teddy Rutherford and the absent assistant. Question Sara’s friends and neighbors, which they should’ve been doing hours ago, instead of wasting precious minutes on half-cocked theories about Brian Winthrop.
Damn. We’re blowing this one. Big time.
The remainder of his conversations with some of the other employees proved to be as insignificant as Jeremy’s sugar cookie. The general impression of Sara around the office was exactly as Jim Rutherford had described. She was fierce but encouraging, down to earth but revered. They had witnessed her heated encounters with Teddy, but it was nothing more than putting him in his place, like the rest of their management did on a daily basis.
The ones that had interacted with her outside the office talked about how great she was with her children and how well she’d coped when her husband disappeared. DJ sensed that the hat she wore at LightPulse was completely different than the one she wore at home, which wasn’t unusual for anyone juggling a high-profile career and family life.
And from what he got based on their answers, Teddy was universally disliked around the office but either knew and didn’t care, or floated along in this oblivious state of being God’s gift to humanity. A Napoleon complex wasn’t enough to make the guy a suspect, but his connection to Sara’s note and the timing of his absence was, and it was close enough to make DJ suspicious.
But what about his dad? He knew where the phrase came from. Is he involved?
Jim Rutherford was a remote possibility, but he had too much to lose and too little to gain from kidnapping the children of his shining star.
“Don’t chase, DJ,” he said. “Stay focused.”
His cell rang. He whipped into the nearest parking lot, stopped and answered. “Johnson.”
“Got some info on those golf tournaments, JonJon.”
“Seriously, Davis? You, too?”
A chuckle, followed by, “Too easy, DJ. Couldn’t resist.”
“Whatever. The tournaments?”
“Bupkis. None scheduled until the weekend.”
That’s a game-changer. “What do you have on Teddy Rutherford?” he asked, then spelled out the last name for clarification.
“Hold on a sec.”
DJ heard the clacking of a keyboard as Sergeant Davis pulled up the information. While he waited, he asked, “Barker check in yet?”
“Yep. Said he tried your cell. Wants you to call him ASAP. Okay...Theodore Alan Rutherford, last known address...1848 Graystone. Wow. Guy must have a gold-plated toilet seat.”
“Any priors?”
“Two. Nothing major. One speeding ticket and one assault, six years ago. Looks like it might’ve been a bar fight.”
“Send a car over to his house.”
“Want us to bring him in?”
The phrase match, no golf tournaments. It was the best he had. “If he’s there. If not, start looking.”
He called Barker next.
Barker
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