A Trace of Death. Blake Pierce

as a Delano, meaning that all by itself, it was worth more than the pathetic twenty-year-old houseboat she called home.

      Mia Penn guided her to one of the more casual living rooms and offered her a seat and a bottled water. In the corner of the room, a thickly built man in slacks and a sport jacket leaned casually against the wall. He didn’t say anything but his eyes never left Keri. She noticed a small bulge on his right hip under the jacket.

      Gun. Must be security.

      Once Keri sat, her hostess didn’t waste any time.

      “Ashley’s still not answering my calls or texts. She hasn’t tweeted since school let out. No new Facebook posts. Nothing on Instagram.” She exhaled and added, “Thanks for coming. I can’t even begin to tell you how much this means to me.”

      Keri nodded slowly, studying Mia Penn, trying to get a sense of her. Just as on the phone, the barely concealed panic felt real.

      She seems to genuinely fear for her daughter. But she’s holding something back.

      “You’re younger than I expected,” Keri finally said.

      “I’m thirty. I had Ashley when I was fifteen.”

      “Wow.”

      “Yeah, that’s pretty much what everyone says. I feel like because we’re so close in age, we have this connection. I swear sometimes I know what she’s feeling even before I see her. I know it sounds ridiculous but we have this bond. And I know it’s not evidence but I can feel that something’s wrong.”

      “Let’s not panic quite yet,” Keri said.

      They went over the facts.

      The last time Mia saw Ashley was that morning. Everything was fine. She had yogurt with granola and sliced strawberries for breakfast. She’d left for school in a good mood.

      Ashley’s best friend was Thelma Gray. Mia called her when Ashley didn’t show up after school. According to Thelma, Ashley was in third-period geometry like she was supposed to be and everything seemed normal. The last time she saw Ashley was in the hall around 2 PM. She had no idea why Ashley didn’t make it home.

      Mia had also spoken to Ashley’s boyfriend, a jock-type named Denton Rivers. He said he saw Ashley in school in the morning but that was it. He texted her a few times after school but she never answered.

      Ashley didn’t take any medications; she had no physical ailments to speak of. Mia said she’d gone through Ashley’s room earlier in the afternoon and everything was normal.

      Keri scribbled it all down on a little pad, making specific note of names she’d follow up with later.

      “My husband should be home from the office any minute. I know he wants to speak with you as well.”

      Keri looked up from her pad. Something in Mia’s voice had changed. It sounded more guarded, cautious.

      Whatever she’s hiding, I bet it’s related to this.

      “And what’s your husband’s name?” she asked, trying to keep it light.

      “His name’s Stafford.”

      “Wait a minute,” Keri said. “Your husband is Stafford Penn, as in United States Senator Stafford Penn?”

      “Yes.”

      “That’s kind of important information, Mrs. Penn. Why didn’t you mention it before?”

      “Stafford asked me not to,” she said apologetically.

      “Why?”

      “He said he’d like to address that with you when he arrived.”

      “When did you say he’d be here again?”

      “Less than ten minutes, for sure.”

      Keri looked at her hard, trying to decide whether to push. Ultimately, she chose to hold off for now.

      “Do you have a picture of Ashley?”

      Mia Penn handed over her phone. The background photo was of a teenage girl in a sundress. She looked like Mia’s younger sister. Other than Ashley having blonde hair, they were hard to tell apart. Ashley was slightly taller, with a more athletic frame and a deeper tan. The dress couldn’t hide her muscular legs and powerful shoulders. Keri suspected she was a regular surfer.

      “Could she just have forgotten about the appointment and be out catching waves?” Keri asked.

      Mia smiled for the first time since Keri met her.

      “I’m impressed, Detective. You made that guess based on one picture? No, Ashley likes to surf in the mornings – better swells and fewer troublemakers. I checked the garage just in case. Her board’s in there.”

      “Can you send me that photo as well as a few close-ups with and without makeup?”

      While Mia did that, Keri asked another question.

      “Where does she go to school?”

      “West Venice High.”

      Keri couldn’t hide her surprise. She knew the place well. It was a large public high school, a melting pot of thousands of kids, with everything that entailed. She had arrested many a student who attended West Venice.

      Why the hell is the wealthy daughter of a US senator going there instead of a fancy private school?

      Mia must have read the surprise on Keri’s face.

      “Stafford’s never liked it. He’s always wanted her in private schools, on track to Harvard, where he went. But it wasn’t just for better academics. He also wanted better security,” she said. “I’ve always wanted her in public schools, to be in the mix of real kids where she could learn about real life. It’s one of the few battles I’ve actually won with him. If Ashley ends up hurt because of something at school, it will be my fault.”

      Keri wanted to nip that kind of thinking in the bud fast.

      “One – Ashley is going to be fine. Two – if anything were to happen to her it would the fault of the person who hurt her, not the mother who loves her.”

      Keri watched to see if Mia Penn bought it but she couldn’t tell. The truth was, her reassurance was intended to keep a valuable resource from falling apart more than to buck her up. She decided to press on.

      “Let’s talk about that for a second. Is there anyone who would want to hurt her, or you or Stafford, for that matter?”

      “Ashley, no; me, no; Stafford, nothing specific that I’m aware of, other than what comes with the territory of doing what he does. I mean he gets death threats from constituents who claim to be aliens. So it’s hard to know what to take seriously. “

      “And no one’s called demanding ransom, right?”

      The sudden stress on the woman’s face was palpable.

      “Is that what you think this is?”

      “No, no, no, I’m just covering the bases. I don’t think it’s anything yet. These are all just routine questions.”

      “No. There have been no ransom demands.”

      “You obviously have some money – ”

      Mia nodded.

      “I come from a very wealthy family. But no one really knows that. Everyone assumes our money comes from Stafford.”

      “Out of curiosity, how much are we talking about, exactly?” Keri asked. Sometimes this job made discretion impossible.

      “Exactly? I don’t know – we have a beachfront house in Miami and a condo in San Francisco, both owned under company names. We’re active in the market and have lots of other assets. You’ve seen all the art in the house. Altogether we’re probably talking about fifty-five to sixty million.”

      “Does Ashley know?”

      The woman shrugged.

      “To a point – she doesn’t