A Part of the Pattern Read online

  A Part Of The Pattern

  Jeff Resnick’s Personal Files

  L.L. Bartlett

  Contents

  A PART OF THE PATTERN

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by L.L. Bartlett

  A PART OF THE PATTERN

  by

  L.L. Bartlett

  * * *

  Ex-insurance investigator Jeff Resnick finds himself drawn to solving crimes. His brother, Richard, thinks that could be the basis of a paying business. Reluctantly, Jeff agrees, and their first case is about a child who vanished more than two decades before. Meanwhile, Jeff bumps into an acquaintance whose history is very similar to that of the missing girl. Is it coincidence or is there a pattern that links him to her and his future?

  * * *

  Watch the Book Trailer.

  Copyright © 2017 by L.L.Bartlett. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For more information on LL.Bartlett’s books, check out her website: http://www.LLBartlett.com

  * * *

  Cover by Wicked Smart Designs

  ISBN: 9781940801469

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my proofreaders,

  * * *

  Special thanks to Mr. L for help with geographic details and logos and such. He’s always there when I need him.

  * * *

  Check out Jeff’s and Richard’s new website for R&A Insights.

  Chapter One

  I looked around the sparkling clean, yet sterile, looking office space. Bland yellowish walls, beige tile floor, a reception area, and a water closet with toilet and sink. The only drawback was that there was only one main workspace/office.

  “What do you think?” my brother, Richard Alpert, asked. His tone was neutral, but I could see from the look in his eyes that he really liked the space. Or was it that he was getting desperate?

  During the previous months he’d talked me into a number of things I hadn’t been enthusiastic about, the biggest being going into business together. We would be consultants in crime—sort of like Holmes and Watson. And since Richard was a physician, he fit the Watson role to a T. Me, on the other hand? Well, let’s just say I didn’t have a brilliant mind, nor a cocaine habit. What I did have was a sixth—empathic—sense, the result of a brain injury after being slugged with a baseball bat by a couple of muggers nearly three years before. Richard hoped to exploit my “gift” when it came to detection. I still felt iffy about the whole thing.

  The problem was … since the head injury, I suffered crippling headaches. They weren’t coming as often, but when I employed my psychic abilities they often brought them on. Not much of a win-win situation.

  Other problems? My psychic mentor, Sophie Leven, threatened not to be there for me if I charged for using said “gift.” My girlfriend wasn’t thrilled with the idea of us going into business, either: “too dangerous.” But the truth was, since I’d lost my former job after being hit by an SUV, and the much-longer-than-I-thought recovery period, I was kind of bored, and had no income. Richard didn’t care about money. Of course not; thanks to a pretty fat inheritance, he was a multi-millionaire. Of course, he’d also earned big bucks while working for a think tank for nearly two decades. He was quite content to pay my way for the rest of my life, and I had reluctantly come to the realization that I was going to have to get over my qualms and just let him do it.

  “So?” Richard asked.

  “What about the one-room office?”

  “It’s big enough for two desks and a number of file cabinets.”

  I looked around the space, which was on the ground floor. “Not sure I like being on the first floor. Someone breaks a window and we’re robbed.”

  “We can have the glass changed so it isn’t breakable.”

  That would be on his nickel, but like I said—he didn’t care about money.

  “No conference room.”

  “I thought about that. But do we really need one?”

  I shrugged. “I guess it’s okay?”

  “You’re finally agreeing?” he asked rather skeptically.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I didn’t sound thrilled.

  “Okay,” he said sounding relieved. “The building manager says we can move in right away. They’ll prorate us for the month.”

  “How long’s the lease?”

  “Two years.”

  That was less than I’d thought, but more than I really wanted. “So is that the length of time we’ve giving ourselves to see if we can pull this off?”

  Richard nodded. “It should be long enough. But I have confidence that when the lease comes up for renewal we’ll either sign it, or find a better place.”

  I wish I felt as self-assured.

  I looked at my watch: ten thirty. “So what do we do for the rest of the day?”

  “Buy furniture and office supplies. Buy some new computers, a router, and make sure we’ve got Wi-Fi, order business cards and letterhead.”

  He sounded like a kid ready for a big adventure. I just wanted to sit down and take the weight off my leg. The one that had been broken in several places five months before. I leaned harder on my cane. I didn’t need it all the time, but on wet, rainy fall days—like that one—it was handy to have around.

  “You’ve thought about all that … but what about finding cases? We’re not exactly batting a thousand.”

  We’d been offered a case by Detective Bonnie Wilder of the Amherst Police Department; to find a missing child. We’d—or rather I’d—done it before. But that cold case had been a lot hotter than the one Ms. Wilder had offered us.

  We’d read the case notes scores of times, but there was no physical evidence for me to handle. We’d visited the house—outside only—where five-year-old Amy Stoddard had lived, but there was nothing of her left for me to tune into. She had, after all, disappeared more than two decades before. Right now she’d be a twenty-five year old woman—if she was still alive, that is.

  But something about the case had resonated with me. I couldn’t put my finger on what niggled in the back of my brain, but it bothered me—and mostly in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep. I’d had a lot of those nights lately. I’d never been much of a worrier, but things with my girlfriend, Maggie Brennan, hadn’t been going well. I figured once she moved into her new digs ten minutes from where I lived above the garage on Richard’s property, we’d get closer. But she’d wanted me to move in with her, and financially that wasn’t an option. She’d kind of distanced herself from me since then, although we saw each other at least weekly—usually the weekends—when I’d visit her.

  I didn’t like her new-to-her house in Tonawanda. The squat bungalow was bigger than the second floor duplex where she used to live in Clarence, but felt dated and—why don’t I say it—didn’t have good vibes. I sense that kind of stuff. Something not-so-nice had happened in that house. I didn’t know what—maybe a murder, or maybe it was just that the previous owners had had a bad relationship—but something permeated the walls of that house. Maggie didn’t feel it, but I could. I hadn’t told her about those feelings. I didn’t want to creep her out about her new abode.

  I had to shake myself to see that Ric
hard was looking at me expectantly. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

  “We’ve both got to sign the lease, and then we can both go to the office furniture place.”

  “I don’t have a preference for furniture. Why don’t you do that and I’ll handle the supplies part. I assume you already know what you want on the computer end of things?”

  He smiled. “I’ve already got the order in. They’ll ship it overnight.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You were pretty confident I’d accept this place.”

  “Not really. We’ve just about run out of options and I was about to kick you in the ass if you didn’t agree.”

  He wouldn’t have—but it made a good story.

  “Okay. Where do we go to sign the lease?”

  “The rental office is just down the road. Once we do that, I’ll drop you home and you can grab your car and hit the office supply store.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We left the office, locking the door behind us.

  “I’ve already lined up a place to make the plaque for our names on the door. They can do it on a day’s notice.”

  Fine with me. He was in this heart and soul. Me? I still wasn’t all that sure we could make a go of the business. And worse, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to.

  * * *

  It was just after noon when I finally hit the office supply store. I grabbed one of the grocery-style carts just inside the door, hung my cane on the push bar, and shoved it to the main aisle, then headed left. The sign at the end of the side aisle said PAPER, and that’s where I steered. Did we need a case of paper or just a couple of reams to start? I decided to go for reams. We could always buy more later.

  Up and down the aisles I went, tossing into the cart staplers and staples, pens, pencils, Post-it notes, rubber bands, and just about everything else I could ever remember using when I worked in an office situation. Richard was paying for it—the sky was the limit.

  I turned into the last aisle before the office furniture section and saw someone who looked vaguely familiar. My memory has been hit or miss since the mugging, but I was sure I knew the young woman who stood before the display of printer cartridges, studying them.

  I moved closer and stopped my cart. “Emily?” I asked.

  The woman looked up. For a few moments she, too, seemed to be wracking her brains to remember my face, and then she broke into a smile. “Jeff Resnick? Is that you?”

  Emily Farrell and I had met two years before. She’d been protesting outside the women’s clinic where my sister-in-law, Brenda, volunteered, and in an effort to find out more about the rest of the protesters, I’d made it a point to get to know her. We were never going to agree when it came to politics, but we had managed to become acquaintances for a brief time.

  “How long has it been?” she asked.

  “Two years and just about a month,” I said, smiling. I’d always liked Emily. She was as sweet as the chocolate chip cookies I’d brought when I’d come to her apartment to visit and ask about her protesting activities—all in a good cause. At that time, someone was stalking Brenda, and I didn’t care who I had to talk to—or use—to find out who. And like I said, I always liked Emily, and I thought the feeling had been mutual. “What are you doing these days? Weren’t you taking classes or something.”

  She sighed. “I’m a graduate with a boatload of loans and not a lot to show for it. I’m working as a receptionist in a doctor’s office. The pay isn’t great—and the job security is…. Let’s put it this way, it’s not my dream position.”

  “How’s Hannah?” Emily was a single mom with a little girl, who would be about six by now.

  “She’s great,” Emily said, and her smile was beatific. “She’s always been the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “She must be in school by now.”

  “First grade, and top of her class,” Emily said proudly. She eyed the cane dangling from the front of my cart. “What’s new with you?”

  I shrugged. “I—uh … I broke my leg over the summer. In fact, not only did I break my leg, but I broke my ankle at the same time.”

  She winced. “Sounds painful.”

  “It was, actually, but I’m on the mend now.”

  “Are you still working at the bar?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t stand for more than half an hour before my leg gives out.” I didn’t want to get into the whole sordid story about what had happened to my former place of employment, The Whole Nine Yards, which had burned to the ground a little more than four months before. It would be painful to travel down Main Street to Richard’s and my new office space because I’d have to pass the now-empty lot that had been home to that wonderful little tavern. But … time marches on. “My brother and I are opening a consulting firm in Williamsville.”

  “Sounds like better hours than bartending.”

  I found myself grinning. “It should be.”

  “What are you consulting on?”

  “Uh … cold cases.”

  She frowned. “What does that mean?”

  I hadn’t yet come up with a coherent answer to that question. “Usually crime.”

  “Oh. That’s a lot different than tending bar.”

  “Before I came to Buffalo, I was an insurance investigator. Crime scenes were my specialty.”

  “Oh,” she said again.

  We looked at each other for a long moment before I blurted, “Would you like to go for coffee and talk?”

  Her smile was tentative. “I’m on my lunch break.” Then she rolled her eyes. “I’m running an errand for the office on my lunch break. I just hope they’re going to reimburse me for the ink cartridge. These things are expensive.”

  “Another day?” I asked. I liked Emily and found myself wanting to catch up on her life.

  “That would be nice,” she said. “What are you doing Saturday?”

  “Probably setting up the office, but I’m sure I could take a break. Would you like to meet somewhere?” That was safe, although since I’d already been to her home, she shouldn’t feel afraid of me. Still.…

  “Sure. Can I bring Hannah?”

  “Of course; I’d love to see her again.”

  “Okay. How about the Williamsville McDonalds. I know the coffee sucks, but I promised Hannah a treat—and that means a trip to McDonalds.”

  “I’m not fussy,” I said.

  “Okay. How about one o’clock. Her dance class is over at twelve-thirty and I can meet you there.”

  “Works for me.”

  She smiled. “It was great seeing you again. And I look forward to talking to you on Saturday.”

  “Me, too. See you then.”

  She nodded and I pushed my cart toward the check-out counter.

  Wow. I had a date. It wasn’t really stepping out on Maggie. Emily and I weren’t even what you could call friends—barely acquaintances. But for some reason, I looked forward to Saturday more than I’d looked forward to anything in a long, long time.

  Chapter Two

  By late Saturday morning, the office had started to take shape. The furniture had arrived the day before and was in place, which meant I could unload the office supplies from the trunk of my car and put them in the steel cabinet that sat near the receptionist’s desk. Richard was the computer master and had two identical computers set up on the desks that sat side-by-side each other in the main office. It was where we’d see clients and work on our respective assignments. It didn’t offer a lot of privacy, but for now it was what it was.

  Richard had sprung for cherry furniture and comfortable leather office chairs. I was setting up my desktop when my phone jingled—a text message. I glanced at the terse note from Maggie. Dinner at my place?

  I never liked texting. My fingers seemed too big for the tiny screen’s keyboard. What time?

  6:30.

  See you then.

  I set the phone aside.

  Richard looked up from his screen. “Anything interesting?”
/>   I shook my head. “Just having dinner with Maggie.”

  “Oh, good,” he said in a neutral tone.

  I looked at the new clock that Richard had bought and I’d installed on the south wall between the windows. It was almost noon.

  “What are we going to do about a receptionist?”

  He didn’t bother to look up from his screen. “Do we need one?”

  “That’s what I was wondering. I mean … we haven’t got any work for anyone to do…yet. Do you actually see a time when we’ll ever need one?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I hadn’t given it much thought.”

  I’d given it more than a passing thought since I’d met Emily three days earlier. I don’t know why. Just because she wasn’t happy at her job meant I should give a thought to us hiring her. Hell, I didn’t even know if she was any good at clerical work. And Richard was right—without any clients—or cases—we didn’t need someone to file, answer the phone, or do anything else receptionists did.

  I hadn’t told Richard I’d made an appointment to talk to Emily. The truth was, I don’t think I’d ever told him about meeting her two years before. It hadn’t been pertinent. And yet, I didn’t want to talk about her to him then, either.

  “I’ve been thinking about that case from Bonnie Wilder that we’ve let slip.”

  “Had any ideas on where to go with it?”

  “No. But, it’s been on my mind. Nothing concrete, just a funny feeling that something could come to me … if I let it.”

  “Then let it.”

  “I just wish I knew what that meant.”