My Wife Is Missing(53)

“So, Mike, tell me where you’re at with the search for Natalie and the kids,” he asked. “Any leads? I mean, real ones? No box trucks.”

“Nothing,” Michael said before taking a sip of his drink. He wasn’t surprised that the Coke didn’t make his throat feel any less parched.

“Nothing on her credit card, huh?” asked Kennett, as he licked buffalo sauce off his fingers before going to the napkin.

“I’m watching for transactions, but no. There’s been nothing.”

Kennett mulled that over.

“Smart. She thought this through, Mike. She’s got a bank account somewhere. I bet anything on that. You do joint checking?”

Michael nodded.

“Right. So she’s siphoned money. Guarantee it. Financial infidelity. Ever heard the term?”

Michael shook his head, didn’t feel like sharing that Kennett was right about Natalie.

“Yeah, guessing you can figure out the meaning,” he said.

“Better money than a man I suppose,” said Michael.

Kennett cocked his head sideways. “Some would disagree,” he said before gobbling down another wing. “Besides, it could be both.”

Well, that hurt.

“You think she took the kids to be with her new lover?”

Kennett offered up a shrug.

“Mike, I don’t have the foggiest idea why your wife ran away.”

The left corner of Kennett’s mouth ticked upward. A taunting look entered his eyes. It was the closest thing to a wink without being one that Michael had ever seen. He assured himself it wasn’t a guarantee that Kennett knew more than he was letting on, but it was damn worrisome.

“Does she use direct deposit?” asked Kennett. “Lots of raises don’t get reported to the hubby or wife and end up in a new bank account instead. That’s another trick of the trade.”

“Yeah, she does in fact use direct deposit; we both do,” said Michael. His eyebrows arched slightly as he imagined Natalie skipping the celebratory promotion dinner because she’d never told him about it in the first place. “What are some other tricks?” he asked.

Michael was curious now. He didn’t care about the money; he just wanted his wife back, so he wondered—make that hoped—that knowing the tricks could somehow help him track her down.

“Cash back, and lots of it,” said Kennett without hesitation. “An extra forty bucks every time she goes shopping can add up over time. The total charge shows up online, not the cash back amount.”

“Clever,” Michael said, feeling too queasy for the burger the bartender had finally put down in front of him. Natalie did the bulk of the shopping, which would make that money grab an easy one to pull off.

“She probably has her own credit card,” Kennett said, almost offhandedly. “That’s why you’re not seeing the transactions. It’s easy enough to do.” Again, Kennett skipped the napkin to lick the wing sauce off his fingers. “You look a little sick, Mike. You feeling all right?”

Michael finally chomped down on his burger. He offered a nod to indicate all was okay as he chewed, but secretly wondered if he could keep the food down.

“I’m assuming her social media account has been pretty dormant,” said Kennett.

“She’s not posting any selfies, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Kennett gave a throaty chuckle.

“Yeah, figured that.”

More wings for Kennett. More burger for Mike. The silence felt worse than the conversation.

“So what have you done, Mike? Give me the rundown. Have you called on her friends and family? Checked all of Natalie’s acquaintances?”

“Some, not all,” Michael admitted. “I don’t know them all.”

“Well, maybe you should get knowing. You call friends of friends and you’ll reveal her entire network. And you’ve got to call them all. It’s legwork, Mike. No shortcuts here. What about hiring a PI?”

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Probably a bit more effective than a Facebook post with your phone number on it.”

This time Kennett gave a real wink that was both playful and sinister to Michael’s eye. Even so, the detective wasn’t wrong. Michael’s phone had blessedly stopped ringing since he asked Lucinda to edit that post, removing his phone number. Any Good Samaritan could still get in touch with the family via the messenger app, or they could always call the police. As for the police, Michael thought about pressing Kennett again for his true purpose in being near Lexington, but he decided against it.

Perhaps it worked in his favor that they were both playing games.

“What about your family, Mike?” Kennett asked. “Have you been in touch with them?”

That taunting look found its way back into the detective’s eyes. Michael chewed on his burger as he contemplated his response.

Is he fishing, or does he know?

“My father left us when I was a kid. Walked out on my mom and me. My mom, she died a long time ago, cancer.”

“When you were a kid, Mike … or was it more like college age?”

Michael swallowed hard. Could be an innocuous question, but Michael suddenly doubted it.

“College,” he said. He was trying to be mindful of his eyes (not too much blinking), of his posture (arms not folded), of his hands (not drumming his fingers). He didn’t want to give Kennett any indication that he was sniffing around some deeper truths.