Free Hard Day's Knight by John G Hartness

decided to head on home.”

    “Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around. Come in here.” Double crap. I could smell the whiskey from the front door. He was hammered, his daughter was sleeping off a dose of vamp mojo, his youngest child was missing and God only knew where his wife was. I did the only thing I could think of, I went into the den.

    Mr. Reynolds was sitting in a well-worn tan easy chair with a bottle of Wild Turkey on the end table beside him. This was a serious step down from Phil’s Glenlivet, but I was pretty sure I was going to end up with a highball glass of rotgut sometime in the next three minutes. “Are you okay, Mr. Reynolds?”

    “Call me Bob. And no, I’m not. Sit down.” He waved towards the couch and I took a seat. I took a second to look him over, and he screamed Charlotte yuppie to me. Thinning hair, going grey at the temples even though he was barely into his forties. He’d changed into casual clothes when he got home from the office, which to him meant a polo shirt and khakis rather than the suit he was locked into all day.

    He was pudgy, but looked like he exercised a bit. Maybe tennis and golf, to try and keep the bulge away. He also looked like a man who had his soul ripped out and stomped on right in front of him. He’d missed a spot while shaving that morning, and that little chink in his armor, coupled with the Wild Turkey, told me that this guy was falling apart fast.

    “Can I do anything to help, sir? Should I maybe call Mrs. Reynolds?” The last thing I wanted to do was waste time I didn’t have playing nursemaid and/or father confessor to a drunken dad with a suburban inferiority complex.

    “You could bring back my baby girl, that would help.” He barked a dry laugh that was a lot closer to a sob than any sound of mirth. “And as for Mrs. Reynolds, well, I don’t know if she’ll be any easier to find than Lauren. She said she was going to her mother’s, but I haven’t heard from her in two days.”

    “I’m sure she’s just trying to get her head on straight, sir.”

    “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what it is.”

    “Look, Mr. – um – Bob, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got school tomorrow and…”

    He cut me off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t bother. I know Tommy Harris, and I know you’re not him. I suppose you’re a reporter or something?”

    “No sir, I’m a private investigator. I’ve been retained by…” I was trying to think fast, but it had been a long night and I was coming up a blank on any of the other victims’ names. “One of the other families, and I was just talking with your daughter to try and get some additional facts to help my investigation.”

    “Son, don’t bullshit a bullshitter. I’m in sales, and I can smell BS a mile away, and let me tell you, what you’re spreading will make the roses grow but it won’t help bring my little girl back. Now I just want to tell you one thing – whatever you want to write about me, go ahead. I’m not the world’s best dad, no matter what my coffee mug says, but you write one word about my little girl and I will absolutely destroy you.” He leaned forward for emphasis and almost fell out of his chair.

    Usually I don’t react well to being threatened by anything lower than me on the food chain, but he was such a sad old man that I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. I just said “Yes, sir. I will keep that in mind,” and headed out the front door. I stood on their porch for a few minutes trying to decide where to go, and finally just started walking in the direction that felt right.

Chapter 13

    I’ll admit that I’m not even the least bit psychic, but the subconscious mind is usually the smarter part of me, so I wasn’t really surprised when I ended up at Lauren’s school. It only made sense to go to the last place she was seen and try to pick up any bad vibes, or smells, or even maybe a clue. Ballantyne Elementary School looked like the typical