Rachel Alexander 04 - Lady Vanishes

petulant speaker said. “Who do you think he’d have control the investments, someone outside the family?”
    Silence.
    “And what sort of experience do you have that would make you think you could control the finances of a place you never—”
    “I thought the purpose of this meeting was to discuss what’s best for the kids,” Samuel said. “It’s not a business meeting.”
    “It might as well be,” Eli said. “It’s obvious, one way or another, there are going to be some radical changes here.“
    “For one thing, there’s the nepotism of the staff.”
    I wondered if Bailey was flipping his hair back as he spoke.
    “What are you waiting for, Eli?” Arlene asked. “Harry’s dead. He can’t take care of income and expenses anymore. I believe that it was his intention that—”
    Backing up, working from the front of the lobby to the rear, Homer was washing the floor behind me, leaving the patch where I stood snooping for later. When I turned to look at him, he looked away.
    “We’ll work it out. We all have the same goal in mind,” Nathan said, “that things run smoothly here, with as little change as possible for the kids.”
    I turned again, holding up my pointers to make a T before Homer got the chance to look away. He nodded, the mop never stopping.
    When I heard some chairs scrape against the floor I backed up fast, taking Dashiell with me, so that it would appear we were just arriving. But we were still too close for comfort. When Arlene pulled open the double doors, she gasped, wrinkling up her expensive face.
    “Oh, hi,” I said. “I was just coming for the staff meeting. It’s not over, is it?” I looked concerned and checked my watch.
    Arlene frowned. She looked up from Dashiell. Now she seemed to be staring at my hair. So I studied hers. The humidity hadn’t bothered it. Perhaps it had been coated with polyurethane. I had the feeling the color wasn’t natural either, but that was just a guess. Only her hairdresser knew for sure.
    Everything about her cost money, lots of it—more than she could afford, was my guess. But she didn’t look worried. Maybe she was expecting a windfall sometime soon. Then I found myself thinking that her sister must have left her something when she died. But probably not enough. When is it ever enough for people who care about things like that?
    I wondered if she’d figured out some way to get more. One has to keep up appearances, doesn’t one?
    Arlene was still frowning. Either trying to place me, or hoping I’d move the fuck out of her way.
    “I was hired to do pet-facilitated therapy, after Lady disappeared,” I told her, instead of moving away.
    “Of course you were.”
    She smiled a Melba toast smile, guaranteed to break into several pieces if she dropped it.
    I ignored the prettied-up surface and tried to see what was underneath. It was an old habit by now, something I’d done for years as a dog trainer, and now for years as a detective.
    Janice, coming along behind her mother, just stared, more like a sullen adolescent than a grown woman. Bailey was checking the backs of his hands, which he found infinitely more interesting than me.
    I stepped aside, and they walked out, Arlene heading for the front door with Bailey right behind her.
    “I left my purse in Uncle Harry’s office,” Janice said, holding up her hand and snapping her fingers. Bailey reached into his pocket and flipped her a set of keys.
    Turning toward the dining room, I heard the keys land on the floor.
    “Don’t just stand there. Get those for her,” Arlene said.
    I was pretty sure she was talking to Bailey, but I responded anyway. “Keys,” I told Dash, and he picked them up, bringing them to Bailey, sitting in front of him and wagging his tail, waiting for an atta-boy. Well, with this motley crew, he could just wait.
    “What’s this supposed to be?” Bailey said, taking a step back.
    Weren’t there any dogs on the Upper East Side?
    “Oh, please.” Janice yanked the keys out of Dashiell’s mouth.
    I turned to go into the dining room, but the Kagans were coming out.
    “Am I too late?” I asked.
    “I’m sorry, Rachel,” Nathan said. “I left a message on your answering machine. We didn’t know where you were. Dad”—he looked at his father—“we’re all exhausted. We’ve decided not to have the staff meeting tonight. We’re”—he took a breath—“all on overload. I hope you can forgive—“
    „Please, don’t give it a thought. As long