Read Online Blood Ties by S. J. Rozan - Free Book Online

Bill,” I said. “Have you heard anything?”
    â€œNo.” Her voice when she answered had been quick and anxious; now in that one word it grew dull again.
    â€œScott hasn’t called?”
    â€œNobody. Have you found out anything?”
    â€œTory’s last name,” I said. “Wesley, does that sound right?”
    â€œI suppose so.” She spoke as though I was sidetracking and she was weary with it. “Is that all?”
    â€œFor now. I’m talking to Gary’s friends; I’ll call you later.”
    We hung up, glad, I thought, to be rid of each other.
    I called Paul Niebuhr’s house. Maybe freaks answered the phone for private investigators.
    Paul didn’t, but his mother did. I told her who I was and what I wanted.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said, sounding genuinely so. “Paul’s away.”
    â€œCan I reach him?”
    â€œNo, he’s gone camping.”
    â€œCamping? Where?”
    â€œBear Mountain.”
    â€œDo you know what campground?”
    â€œPaul doesn’t go to a campground,” she corrected me gently. “He has places deep in the woods where he goes. He’s trying to get away from the stress of modern life.”
    Aren’t we all, I thought. But this was a teenage kid: “Does he carry a cell phone?”
    â€œOf course, but he probably won’t answer it. He doesn’t like to be dependent on modern technology.”
    I couldn’t blame him. Though I’d bet he hadn’t left the Polarfleece and ripstop nylon behind.
    â€œCan I have the number?”
    â€œWhy did you want to talk to him?” his mother asked me.
    â€œA friend of his seems to have run away from home. I’m working for the family. I thought Paul might be able to help me find him.”
    â€œWho would that be?”
    â€œGary Russell.”
    â€œGary—oh, the new boy up the street. He’s younger than Paul. He hasn’t been over since school started.”
    â€œThey’re not friends?”
    â€œWell, of course I try to give my children space. I don’t quiz them on their friends. But I haven’t seen Gary lately.”
    Of course. “His number?” I asked again.
    â€œWell—yes, all right. I don’t like to tell my children who they can and can’t talk to. That’s too much like censorship, isn’t it?” She gave me the number; I wrote it down.
    â€œThanks,” I said. “If you hear from him, will you ask him to give me a call? When do you expect him back?”
    â€œHe’ll be back on Sunday. School starts Monday.”
    I called Paul Niebuhr’s cell phone. He didn’t answer. I left a voice mail, wondering if checking his messages was too twenty-first century for a kid trying to get away from the stress of modern life.
    Well, there you are, Smith, I thought, sitting in the car on the peaceful suburban street. Zero for however many that was. I started the car, headed to the Wesleys’, a few blocks over. If no one was home, I could leave my card; then I’d try the high school. The football coach, the assistant coaches, teachers, someone might be around who could give me some idea about Gary, who he really was, what was important to him.
    The Wesleys’ house was in the area where Warrenstown started to get fancy, where the yards began to spread and the houses were set far enough back from the street that driveways curved in front of them. The Wesleys’ place had a Spanish feel, red clay tiles on the roof, heavy chocolate-colored window frames, wide front door. I parked in the drive behind a RAV4, walked up, and rang the bell. Nothing happened. Well, Morgan Reed’s mother had said they were away. I rang again, took out a card, looked for a place to leave it. The mailbox was down by the street; the door had no mail slot. I went to wedge the card into a mullion in the sidelight by the door. My hand stopped halfway up as I got a