Deceived by Irene Hannon

Author:Irene Hannon [Hannon, Irene]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FIC042060, FIC042040, FIC027110, Women journalists—Fiction, Private investigators—Fiction, Missing persons—Investigation—Fiction, Mystery fiction
ISBN: 9781441245137
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2014-08-26T00:00:00+00:00

15

David Sanders was dead.

Connor stared at the death notice he’d stumbled across after two hours of fruitless searching the Net for a photo of the boy.

A photo he no longer needed.

He noted the date on the write-up from the Cleveland Plain Dealer—three and a half years ago—then read the short piece. David was identified as the beloved son of Greg and the late Jennifer Sanders. Services had been held at Community Christian Church. Burial had been private. No cause of death was provided.

But he now had confirmation that the boy in the mall wasn’t Sanders’s son.

Things were starting to get very interesting.

It was time to burrow into both Sanders’s and John Marshall’s background. To turn over every stone and delve into every crevice in search of the link Dev had referenced during their basketball game this morning. If the boy in the mall was Kate’s son, the connection would be there—somewhere.

Positioning his fingers over the keys, he started with Marshall.

Two hours later, when his cell began to vibrate, he rotated the kinks out of his neck and pulled it off his belt. Dev.

“So did you find a picture of Sanders’s son?”

Connor took a swig of warm soda that had lost its fizz while he’d been engrossed in his search. Grimacing, he set the can aside on his kitchen table. “You must be really bored if you’re still thinking about my case.”

“Nope. Looking for an excuse to take a break from vacuuming.”

Connor’s eyebrows rose. “You’re cleaning your apartment? What’s the occasion? A presidential visit?”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not kidding. There has to be some compelling reason for your sudden interest in tidiness.”

“You make it sound like I’m a slob.”

“If the shoes fits . . .”

“Ha-ha. Okay, fine. Laura’s coming over for dinner. I’m barbecuing. Satisfied?”

Connor grinned. “Yep.”

“So did you come up with anything?”

“Not on the picture—but as it turns out, I don’t need one. His son died three and a half years ago.”

A beat ticked by. “What happened to him?”

“I haven’t found out yet. But I’ve read a whole lot more about Kate’s husband and his work.”

“Say . . .” Dev’s tone grew speculative. “Wasn’t he some kind of pediatric specialist?”

Nice to know their minds were again tracking in the same direction.

“Yes. He treated and studied childhood neural disorders.”

“I wonder if that’s your link? Except Sanders lived in Cleveland and your client’s husband practiced in Rochester.”

“Top-tier specialists often consult with patients in other parts of the country. And her husband was definitely big-league in his field, with a list of research papers and awards a mile long.”

“Good point. Could Kate find out whether her husband ever saw Sanders’s son?”

“I don’t know.” Connor leaned back and looked out the window at the pot of toasted geraniums on his porch railing. The gift from a grateful client had succumbed to the heat sometime over the past two weeks. Of course, it would have helped if he’d remembered to water it. Somehow that chore—along with a lot of others—had slipped his mind since Kate had slipped into his life.

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