Free Thread of Fear by Jeff Shelby

of retail and business development. The retail is usually strip malls, the businesses usually low-rise office buildings. His company buys the land or an existing property, then Patrick oversees either the construction or the redesign. His team is also responsible for procuring tenants for the properties.”
    I nodded. “Okay. How about another name? John Anchor?”
    A glimmer of recognition flashed in her eyes. “Sure, I've met John before. He's one of Patrick's bosses. He's based in Minneapolis. Someone from his office called when Patrick didn't show up for work. They were worried. I told them I wasn't sure where he was, but that I was trying to find him. They said to call if they could help.” She eyed me curiously. “Why?”
    “Just another name I ran across,” I said. “I'm trying to cross names off the list, that's all.”
    “I think he's been out here a couple times,” she said. “Meetings, stuff like that.”
    I rattled off a couple more I'd found in his computer files and she offered more of the same. Business acquaintances and co-workers.
    “Okay,” I said, then held up the index card. “Mind if I hold onto this for today? I'll get it back to you.”
    “Yes, that's fine,” she said, shrugging. “I don't need them.”
    “I'm gonna head out,” I told her. “Check a few places, see if I can find a few more people to talk with.”
    She blinked a couple times, then picked up the cap to the water bottle. “I remember you saying something similar with Aaron. And I remember thinking 'Oh, he must know something and he'll probably bring him back.'” She shook her head. “Nothing you did. Just my own brain wanting to see things that weren't there.”
    “It's the same,” I said. “I didn't find anything on his computer that tells me where your husband is. I'm just working my way through things and people.”
    She nodded. “I know. And you don't owe me an explanation.”
    “I'll check in with you later this afternoon,” I told her.
    She walked me to the door and we said goodbye. I descended the stairs and got in my car. The day had gotten warmer, the desert heat settling over me like a thick blanket. I turned the car on to get the AC going, then set the index card on the passenger seat. I pulled out the thick stack of sticky notes I'd written on and laid those next to the card.
    I was pretty sure Kathleen wasn't lying to me about anything. She hadn't shown any fear or anxiety when I'd mentioned Anchor's name and if she knew who he really was or what he did, I thought I would've seen something in her expression. I wasn't sure about Armstrong, but she hadn't given me any reason not to believe her.
    I stared at the pile of sticky notes, at the words I'd hastily scribbled, the clues I'd found that looked like they were worth pursuing.
    I'd definitely learned one thing while scouring Patrick Dennison's computer files.
    Kathleen Dennison didn't have a clue what her husband was really doing.

FOURTEEN
     
    Carina Armstrong was working at the sixth club I went to.
    As I'd gone through the files on Patrick Dennison's computer, I'd located several spreadsheets that were tucked away in files that had nothing to do with the files they were located in, as if he'd been hiding them. When I'd gone through the directory, I was able to see that he'd looked at those files as recently as the day before Kathleen said he'd gone missing. They'd been updated as recently as two days prior to that. So they weren't buried from lack of use or misplacement. I figured he put them there because he didn't want anyone to find them.
    The spreadsheets were accounting ledgers for a dozen strip clubs in the greater Las Vegas area. A quick search on my phone had pulled up the names listed on the ledger and identified them as such. According to the Internet, they were high-end strip clubs, ones that required patrons to follow dress codes and spend ridiculous amounts on required minimum purchases. They didn't call themselves strip clubs. They