day. The family kept the property as a rental all these years but no one bothered to look in those locked-up garages until they decided to sell the whole parcel. When they finally opened the doors, they found that”—he nodded toward the Porsche—“and a 1955 Thunderbird. Mint.”
Emme looked blank.
“Never mind,” he said, holding the door for her. “You're here to talk about my niece.”
“Right. Belinda.” She followed him into an office that was as comfortably furnished as the reception area.
He gestured for her to sit at one of the club chairs that faced his desk. He held up his hands and said, “Give me just a second to clean up a bit.”
He ducked out of the room, and Emme settled into the chair, grateful for a moment to be alone. Nick Perone was nothing like she'd expected. There was a vibration of sorts that seemed to emanate from him and it unsettled her. That he was really good-looking was obvious, but she'd met a lot of really good-looking guys. It was this other thing—this vibe—that set her on edge.
She looked around the room, taking in the décor. On the walls were rows of photographs of—whatelse? she thought wryly—cars. Lots and lots of cars. Old cars, mostly, as best she could tell. She wondered if any of them had passed through his garage.
“Sorry,” he said as he returned and took his place behind his desk. “Now. About Belinda …”
“I've read through the file you sent to the foundation, of course, but I wanted to get some facts nailed down. You're Belinda's legal guardian—”
“Until she turns twenty-one, yes,” he nodded.
“She'll be twenty-one in …?” She looked through her notes to avoid making eye contact.
“In two years. And while I appreciate you speaking of her in the present tense, I understand the odds of finding her alive.”
“Well, I think we both realize the odds, Mr. Perone. I'm not going to try to build up your hopes. Your niece has been missing for five months and there's been no word from her. Could she still be alive? Possibly. Is it likely? No, but stranger things have happened.”
“I just want to know the truth. If she is alive, let's find her. If she isn't, let's find out what happened.”
“I promise we'll do our best to find the truth.”
She acknowledged his “Thank you” with a nod, then continued. “So Belinda is your sister's daughter…”
Emme had read all the reports, but she wanted to hear what Nick Perone had to say about his relationship with his niece in his own words. Sometimes the depth of information depended on the manner in which the questions were asked, and she preferred to ask her own questions.
“My sister, Wendy, was her mother, yes.”
“And she's deceased.”
“Wendy died in a car accident five years ago.”
“I noticed there was no information in any of the reports about Belinda's father.” Emme flipped over her notebook as if she were reading.
“I have no idea who her father was.”
“You don't know who fathered your sister's child?” Emme raised an eyebrow as if learning this for the first time, too, though of course she was well aware of what he'd previously told the police.
“No. She never told me, and since it wasn't something she wanted to talk about, I never pressed her on it.”
“Did she ever marry?”
“Once, very briefly, right out of college. I think it lasted maybe three months. Once they were divorced, she never mentioned his name again.”
“But you weren't curious? Not even a little?”
“Sure. But when someone makes it clear that they don't want to discuss something, you leave it alone.”
“So no hints, no clues?”
“The only thing Wendy ever said about Belinda's father is that he would never be a factor in her life. Look, we weren't particularly close. And we were half-siblings. Same dad, different mothers. Wendy was twelve years older than me. I was eighteen, just starting college, when Belinda was born. My contact with Wendy was usually limited to Christmas
Emme looked blank.
“Never mind,” he said, holding the door for her. “You're here to talk about my niece.”
“Right. Belinda.” She followed him into an office that was as comfortably furnished as the reception area.
He gestured for her to sit at one of the club chairs that faced his desk. He held up his hands and said, “Give me just a second to clean up a bit.”
He ducked out of the room, and Emme settled into the chair, grateful for a moment to be alone. Nick Perone was nothing like she'd expected. There was a vibration of sorts that seemed to emanate from him and it unsettled her. That he was really good-looking was obvious, but she'd met a lot of really good-looking guys. It was this other thing—this vibe—that set her on edge.
She looked around the room, taking in the décor. On the walls were rows of photographs of—whatelse? she thought wryly—cars. Lots and lots of cars. Old cars, mostly, as best she could tell. She wondered if any of them had passed through his garage.
“Sorry,” he said as he returned and took his place behind his desk. “Now. About Belinda …”
“I've read through the file you sent to the foundation, of course, but I wanted to get some facts nailed down. You're Belinda's legal guardian—”
“Until she turns twenty-one, yes,” he nodded.
“She'll be twenty-one in …?” She looked through her notes to avoid making eye contact.
“In two years. And while I appreciate you speaking of her in the present tense, I understand the odds of finding her alive.”
“Well, I think we both realize the odds, Mr. Perone. I'm not going to try to build up your hopes. Your niece has been missing for five months and there's been no word from her. Could she still be alive? Possibly. Is it likely? No, but stranger things have happened.”
“I just want to know the truth. If she is alive, let's find her. If she isn't, let's find out what happened.”
“I promise we'll do our best to find the truth.”
She acknowledged his “Thank you” with a nod, then continued. “So Belinda is your sister's daughter…”
Emme had read all the reports, but she wanted to hear what Nick Perone had to say about his relationship with his niece in his own words. Sometimes the depth of information depended on the manner in which the questions were asked, and she preferred to ask her own questions.
“My sister, Wendy, was her mother, yes.”
“And she's deceased.”
“Wendy died in a car accident five years ago.”
“I noticed there was no information in any of the reports about Belinda's father.” Emme flipped over her notebook as if she were reading.
“I have no idea who her father was.”
“You don't know who fathered your sister's child?” Emme raised an eyebrow as if learning this for the first time, too, though of course she was well aware of what he'd previously told the police.
“No. She never told me, and since it wasn't something she wanted to talk about, I never pressed her on it.”
“Did she ever marry?”
“Once, very briefly, right out of college. I think it lasted maybe three months. Once they were divorced, she never mentioned his name again.”
“But you weren't curious? Not even a little?”
“Sure. But when someone makes it clear that they don't want to discuss something, you leave it alone.”
“So no hints, no clues?”
“The only thing Wendy ever said about Belinda's father is that he would never be a factor in her life. Look, we weren't particularly close. And we were half-siblings. Same dad, different mothers. Wendy was twelve years older than me. I was eighteen, just starting college, when Belinda was born. My contact with Wendy was usually limited to Christmas
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