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lifts it to her ear.
    On the other end
Frank says, “Beth, you aren’t goin’ to believe this, but Kelly’s apartment is
cleaned out.I got a pretty good look through the window from the fire
escape.The downstairs tenant has never seen her before.He said
the landlord doesn’t get home till five, and the neighbor is usually home by
one.We’ll swing back after lunch to check it out.”
    “I’m currently
with a client.If I’m done by then, I’ll be there.”
    “Call me when
you’re done.I’ll let you know what’s goin’ on.Oh, ‘n we’ve got
nothin’ on a Freedman kid.”
    “Really?  You
better check again.” Beth presses the end key.
    “Should we be
following up with someone to get a report started?” Frank says before realizing
she is gone. Ugh, I hate it when she does that.
    “Elliot, there is
no missing Freedman kid.”
    “Isn’t that Mrs.
Freedman’s daughter’s kid?We don’t know the daughter’s name, let alone
her father’s.She’s playin’ her hand pretty tight.”
    “Yeah, she’s not
sharing much.Good thing I chose my large purse today.”
    “We’re gonna need
a lot more information if we are gonna be any help.” Elliot says as they pass
the Boston Skyline reflecting the low midwinter sun.Elliot exits onto
93 South following the Gray Cadillac to Dorchester. Figures, she’s doing
exactly the speed limit.

Chapter
3:Vicky’s House
     
    Mrs. Freedman
pulls in front of the little gray house on East Cottage Way.Elliot
parks the Vette behind her Cadillac.He notices she is still
straightening her dress while walking up the sidewalk.
    “Any last words
you want to say to your car before we go in and it disappears?” Beth laughs.
    “No.” Elliot pulls
a felt pad and police siren from the rear compartment.He sets the felt
pad on the glass top and then carefully rests the siren on it.
    “You have got to
be kidding me.”
    “Can’t be too
careful.I don’t want it to scratch.”
    “If someone wants
‘Precious,’ that siren is not going to scare them off.”
    Holding her large
purse close, she hurries to catch up with Mrs. Freedman who is already at the
door waiting to go in.
    “After you, Ms.
Doyle,” Mrs. Freedman says.
    “Thank you.” Beth
saunters through the doorway.
    Elliot hurries to
catch the door and follows Mrs. Freedman inside.
    It is a small,
quaint house, too-well kept for the South Side.No sign of chipped
paint, dented drywall, or broken windows.The housekeeping is
immaculate.
    Elliot is crouched
on the floor searching for anything that might have fallen under the couch.
    “Find anything?”
Beth asks.
    “No.Not
even a dust bunny.”
    “Really.” Beth
bites the inside of her lower left lip, causing her lips to pucker while
wrinkles form between her eyebrows. Something is not right. “Let me know
if you need me.I’m going to go check out the kitchen.”
    Mrs. Freedman
follows close behind and asks, “Can I help you with anything?”
    “Not really.” Beth
opens the refrigerator door.She scans it quickly. An unopened
container of milk. A half gallon of milk about three quarters gone. Next to
it was a jug of orange juice.Holding it, she realizes It’s mostly
full .Opening the drawers she finds apples, grapes, a bag of premix
salad. Cheese, bologna, jelly. They have a few more days before they have to
go shopping, if not longer. She closes the refrigerator door.
    “This seems unnecessary.Shouldn’t you be searching for evidence?” Mrs. Freedman asks.
    “Yes—how long did
you say your daughter lived here?” Beth asks as she opens the freezer. Wellstocked.
    “ It’s hard
to keep track with her.But I believe about a year this time.She
uproots that poor girl all the time.She only cares about herself … ”
Mrs. Freedman continues to rail her daughter.
    Uninterested, Beth
tunes out Mrs. Freedman. It’s amazing what you can learn by snooping through
someone’s fridge. So far, the priority seems to be on eating nutritiously. The
house seems to be in above-