My Wife Is Missing(60)

Kennett went back to reading and didn’t talk much until the plane landed.

The drive from John Glenn Columbus International Airport to Zanesville took over an hour in a rented gray Ford Focus. For much of the drive Kennett was on his phone, didn’t engage in conversation, which gave Michael the distinct impression he was being tested somehow. All Michael knew for certain was that Audrey Adler’s name had come up in conversation, once to be exact, which was one too many times for his comfort.

They pulled into the parking lot of the Fairfield Inn sometime after eight o’clock in the evening. Michael’s stomach felt tighter than a face full of Botox. They caught the sunset, a wash of pale orange and yellows that cloaked the darkening sky. The leaves of the red buckeye trees planted out front of the hotel swayed in a gentle breeze.

Kennett had his car door open before Michael came to a full stop. They made their way to the entrance together. Michael watched Kennett do up a button on his blazer as if he were performing some ritual that helped him get into character. Whatever he did, it worked. Kennett seemed to have upped his tough guy New York City detective air by several degrees.

“Let me do the talking, Mike,” Kennett said gruffly.

When they reached the front desk, Kennett flashed his badge to the clerk, a young man with hair the color of the towering hay bales they’d seen dotting farmers’ fields on the drive here.

“I’m Detective Sergeant Amos Kennett. This is Michael Hart.”

The clerk gave Kennett’s shiny badge a quick once-over, and if he saw New York City on the ID it didn’t occur to him to ask why he was in Ohio.

“Around one o’clock this afternoon a woman and her two children may have checked into your hotel,” Kennett said. As he slipped his badge back into the inner pocket of his blazer, Michael caught a flash of the holster and concealed weapon Kennett carried. Once again he got a reminder of the serious nature of his business. From a different pocket, Kennett produced his phone. He showed the clerk the display screen, holding the device so that Michael caught a glimpse of the same picture used in his mother-in-law’s Facebook post. “Her name is Natalie Hart,” Kennett said, “but she could be here under a different name. Do you recognize her? Did she check in to this hotel, and if so, is she still here?”

The clerk shook his head. “I didn’t see her,” he said, “but I just came in a few hours ago.” He began tapping away at his keypad. “And we don’t have a guest here by that name.”

“Yeah, I know, we called earlier,” said Kennett. “Got that answer. Like I said, they may have checked in under a different name, changed their appearance somehow. Different clothes, different hair, a hat perhaps.”

Michael’s heart sank, but not too deeply. He knew Natalie wouldn’t be here, but even so, getting confirmation stung hard. Knowing his wife as he did, Michael figured she took off the moment she realized her mistake. Kennett didn’t appear particularly flustered.

“Who was working at lunchtime?” Kennett asked.

The clerk seemed rattled.

“Let’s try it another way,” said Kennett, a bit edgier. “Do you have a work schedule handy? I’m assuming you do. If you want to switch shifts, you’ve got to know who to call, right?”

The clerk, acting nervous now, nodded several times in quick succession.

“Yeah,” he said. “But maybe I should get my manager.”

“Maybe you should go look at that schedule and tell me who was working at the time of this transaction.”

He showed the clerk a screen grab of the alert Natalie’s credit card company had sent. The clerk went stock-still, as if Kennett had performed some kind of Jedi mind trick from Star Wars on him. Thoughts of that movie made Michael think of Bryce—it was a favorite film of his.

God, how he missed his son, his daughter, and yes—even his wife. He loved Natalie, truly loved her. Which was why he’d done what had to be done. For everyone’s sake, Michael had to find them and set things right. No matter how unpleasant that righting would be.

The clerk edged backward before slipping into an anteroom that Michael assumed functioned as a small office. Michael stayed quiet, letting Kennett take the lead doing his cop thing. The clerk returned a minute later.

“Nancy was on,” he announced.

Delight danced in the detective’s eyes. Michael could tell Kennett got off on the chase, any chase.

“Okay,” said Kennett, adopting a softer voice. “What’s your name, son?”

“Jerry,” said the clerk nervously.

“Jerry, okay, Jerry. I want you to get Nancy on the phone for me.”

“I really…”

“And while you’re at it,” said Kennett, interrupting. “You have a camera that looks out at the parking lot. I need to see footage that coincides with the time of this alert.”

Michael hadn’t seen any cameras on the way into the hotel, but he didn’t have Kennett’s trained eyes either. Glancing through a bank of windows, Michael peered into a parking lot full of nondescript rental vehicles like his.

“I really need to speak to my manager,” Jerry reiterated.

“What you need,” said Kennett, his voice hardening again, “is to do what I said. Call your boss after. Time’s a-wastin’, son.”

Kennett’s goatee partially hid a slim smile, though Michael figured the clerk was too intimidated to have noticed.