Finlay Donovan Is Killing It(Finlay Donovan #1)(49)

“Oh, that’s a shame,” I said, scrambling for a new angle. “I’d really like to get in touch with her. Patricia said she had a great Pilates instructor, but I lost the name of the club she belonged to.”

Aaron shrugged, his cheeks going pink as he skimmed my application. “Sorry, I wouldn’t know. Pilates isn’t really my thing. And she never mentioned anything about a club.”

“Was she friends with anyone else who might know where I can find her?”

He looked askance at me. “I don’t think so. The police have already asked everyone else.”

“The police?” I asked, feigning surprise. “Why would the police be looking for her?”

He frowned. “It was on the news. Patricia and her husband are missing. No one knows where she is.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” It wasn’t hard to look upset by the news. If she hadn’t talked to anyone here, this was just one more dead end. “Do the police have any leads?”

“They didn’t say. A detective searched her locker. He asked a lot of questions. I told him she’d been anxious and a little jumpy the last few shifts, but she never mentioned anything about going anywhere. Mostly, they wanted to know about her husband. A few of us…” His weak jaw clenched. He cast an anxious glance around us and lowered his voice. “A few of us think she might not have had the best relationship with him. He sounded like a real dick.” Someone called Aaron’s name. He rose up on his toes, searching over my head. He lifted a finger to them, indicating he’d be right there.

“I should probably put Sam away,” Aaron said, his frown lingering as he bent to extricate the dog from Delia’s hands and return Sam to his crate. “Did you want to see any other dogs while you’re here?”

“Sure,” I said, catching Vero’s eye across the room. “We’ll look around a little more if you don’t mind.” Vero walked briskly toward us, accidentally bumping into Aaron as he threaded his belt through the loops of his pants. They exchanged hurried apologies. As soon as he turned the corner I asked, “What did you find?”

“There’s an employee lounge in the back,” she said quietly. “The door’s unlocked. I poked my head in, but there are a few volunteers hanging out in there.”

“What did you see?”

“Every employee has a locker with their name on it.”

“Did Patricia have one?”

Vero nodded. “It’s worth a try.” Maybe there was something in Patricia’s locker that would give us a clue to where she was. But how would we open it without being seen?

“We can’t exactly waltz in and snoop around.”

“Leave that to me.” Vero waved Aaron’s key ring in front of me.

“Where did you get those?”

“Slipped them off his belt loop just now. He didn’t feel a thing.” She dumped Zach in my arms. “Meet me in front of the lounge.”

“When?”

“You’ll know.” She slunk off into the rows of cages. I followed Delia from kennel to kennel, eyes peeled for Vero’s sign, unsure exactly what I was looking for.

A sudden high-pitched yowl erupted, followed by the slam of a crate door. A cacophony of shrill barks ripped through the shelter as two cats tore down the center aisle, tails flared and backs arched. Another slam. Four dogs barreled in their wake, teeth bared and jaws snapping in pursuit. Children wailed and parents shrieked as the animals flew past. Zach burrowed into my shoulder. Delia didn’t object when I reached for her hand and hurried her down the aisle toward the lounge as the last of the volunteers rushed out to wrangle the loose animals.

Vero waved me along faster, scooping Zach from my arms. “Hurry, the room’s empty, but I don’t know for how long.” She checked to make sure no one was looking, then shoved me inside, the sounds of shrieking cats and howling dogs muffling as the door fell closed. I made a beeline for the row of lockers, searching the names until I found Patricia’s. If there had been a lock, it was gone now. Which meant Aaron was right, the police had already searched it.

The metal door clanged open, rustling the yellow police tape stretched across the opening. The inside of her locker door was covered with animal photos—mostly of Pirate and Molly. A business card was stuck in the corner: Detective Nicholas Anthony, Fairfax County Police Department. He was probably the detective assigned to Patricia Mickler’s case.

Careful not to disturb the police tape, I rummaged through the contents of her locker, pulling back a sweatshirt from its hanger. The navy fabric was layered in black and white dog hair, obscuring the Tysons Fitness Club logo on the front. The shelf above it contained a rolling sticky brush, a receipt for dog food, and one for a couple of coffees from Starbucks. Unless the police had discovered something I hadn’t, there was nothing here to suggest where Patricia had gone.

I shut the locker, scanning the lounge for anything Vero or I might have missed. Brightly colored thumbtacks dotted the bulletin board by the door. Team photos and work schedules. Patricia was on the Tuesday/Thursday team along with Aaron and a handful of others. She sat close beside him in the photo, wearing the same gym sweatshirt I’d seen in her locker, with Pirate and Molly perched on their laps. I leaned closer to the photo, my gaze narrowing on her hand. Her ring finger was naked, her diamond-encrusted wedding band noticeably absent.