Marcia wasn't too proud to bum a ride from her new client, and Miss Atwell didn't seem to mind. Marcia's office was in a rickety old fire-hazard of an old brownstone. The neighborhood wasn't terrible but it was a bit past its prime; the cheapest Marcia could find without worrying that she was scaring away business.
The drive was quiet; Christine mercifully turned on the radio after about five minutes but didn't seem to want to talk and drive. Marcia could respect it; the woman had had a stressful weekend, and she was on the clock so if the lady wanted quiet she'd get it. That didn't stop a quiet whistle from her when she saw her client's neighborhood.
These were rich people. Not stupid rich, maybe, but every house was both older and in good condition. They had small yards, and they hadn't all been built on identical floor plans. This was an older suburb, and the houses here had to cost a fortune. Marcia looked around curiously as they parked inside an actual attached garage.
There was only one parking space, but there was a bit of extra depth that housed some cabinets and bins. Tools, yard supplies, and what looked like some kid's toys and sports equipment filled the space. Tidy, but just shy of cluttered.
The pattern continued into the house, signs of two adults in a stable relationship who kept up the house, the only occasional mess from an abandoned project or some dropped books or toys from Chris. Some kind of scented wax thing, floral, but Marcia couldn't tell past that.
"Any chance we can check his room?" she asked her host. "I know it's a whole privacy thing, but if you're comfortable it might turn something up."
"Yes, I'd thought you would ask." Christine sighed, and nodded. "I don't like it either but he isn't talking to me, and I need to know what's going on."
Marcia followed along up a narrow staircase to a closed door with a metal "No Trespassing" sign tacked on. She winced; snooping around might cause a fight later. Still, the kid's mom HAD to know that, and she'd made her choice. No point in bringing it up.
Chris had a pretty tidy room, considering. The bed wasn't made but the blankets were all on it, and nothing else was piled on top. Cluttered desk, but nothing on the floor and no old food. Trash can full of clothing tags and a crumpled shoe box; that made sense if they bought all new clothes three days ago.
"Fourteens?" Marcia raised her eyebrow at the shoebox. "I thought he was five foot two."
"He is," Christine rolled her eyes. "And they're too big for him, but he insisted. Teenage fashion, I swear."
"Hmm." Marcia murmured vaguely as she peeked into the closet.
Maybe it was a fashion thing; she'd seen puffy large shoes before. But if Chris did know something, it could also be a clue. Maybe one that said he expected to grow again.
The height marks Christine mentioned were along the door frame, and it looked like they'd stopped when Chris was ten. At least until a week ago. So not much useful history there. Nothing on the desk stood out, and a quick peek under the bed revealed dust, three paper clips, and a scrunchie.
Marcia climbed back to her feet, already thinking about where to look next. That's when she spotted something strange.