"Is it alright if I check out Alex's room?" asked Rob, stowing pencil and paper, "He may have left some sort of clue behind."
"His room?" Justine repeated, snapping out of her worry, "Oh, yeah." She almost leaped from her chair and the sleuth followed after her down the hallway. "Here it is." Modest, cluttered; looked like a teenager's bedroom. A twin bed lay along the right-hand wall, unmade, a blocky black-and-white night table and desk lamp beside. A standing bookcase was tucked into the corner beside a chest of drawers. The floor was littered with scattered papers and discarded clothes. Rob carefully picked his way through the clear patches into the center of the room. "Sorry about the mess," the mother muttered, "I try to get him to at least make his bed..."
"You should see my office," he deadpanned. He knelt down, rifling through the assorted papers. Old school notes, expired community promotions, what looked like stabs at creative writing... nothing that really jumped out at him. Straightening up, he peered over the bookshelf. Amid a smattering of comic books and YA novels were some larger texts on global politics, IR theory, and other such current affairs analysis. Seemed Alex was getting a head start on postsecondary.
Straightening up he turned around. He spied a simple frame on the wardrobe, a picture of Alex and another boy the same age. The figure on the right had wild dark brown hair, wide cheekbones and a strong jaw that taken together gave him a broad but smooth face. They were both in jeans and loose-fitting shirts. From what he could see, the brown-haired boy looked quite well-built, probably an aspiring athlete. Their arms were wrapped around each other's shoulders, both smiling brightly. "This his friend?"
"Brett, yes it is." She followed his gaze with a wistful grin. "Alex's first friend when we moved here; quickly became his best. He really helped Alex through after his dad died." She sighed. "Thick as thieves, those two."
"Mind if I hold onto this?"
"No, go ahead."
Rob looked over the room from the opposite angle. A folding door to the walk-in closet, closed; a calendar hanging from the wall over the dresser; poster for a contemporary band he didn't recognize. There were a couple of other photos, old childhood pictures. "Does Alex have a girlfriend?"
Justine shook her head. "Not since our old town. He was still trying to settle in here, and after Mike died... romance wasn't foremost on his mind. Or if he does, he's kept it secret," she shrugged. "Although if he's anything like me, he's putting it off 'til college."
Rob took another glance over the room. "Does he keep a journal, diary, anything like that?"
"I got him one for his eleventh birthday but I don't think he ever used it. He might have a log on the computer downstairs; I can look into it for you. Mike was the techie and Alex doesn't think I know my way around a desktop, but," she grinned, "I picked up a few tricks."
"If you have time, it might be helpful," he nodded. "Anyway, I don't think there's anything here." Photo of the friends in hand, he followed Justine back into the living room.
"Do you want some more water?" she asked, spying the empty glass.
"That's alright, I should probably get going. Still need to find my way around this town, and I hate searching for hotels in the dark."
"Staying locally?"
"Norton Motel. I'd give you a number but I don't even have the room yet. Speaking of," he set the photo down on the table and retrieved his briefcase, "Can I get a contact for Brett's family? Would they be willing to talk to a private dick?"
"I don't see why not," she replied, "You're the first genuine help we've had in this mystery. Hold on, I'll go write it down." As Justine disappeared into the kitchen, Rob sat down and opened his case. He took a moment to gaze at the photo before carefully tucking it into an inside sleeve. Peculiar indeed... As he snapped the lid shut his host returned; he rose to his feet as she handed him a sticky note with the Imersons' street and phone number. "I'll let them know you're coming. And I'll dig through the computer, see if anything turns up."
"Thanks."
She escorted him to the landing where he wiggled back into his shoes. "I'll speak with Brett's family either today or tomorrow and check back in with you, hopefully with some new leads. When's the best time to reach you?"
"I'm here all day tomorrow."
"Alright. I'll give you a call." Justine snuck around him to open the door. He stepped over the landing, then turned around and extended his hand, which the woman shook.
"Thanks again for coming, Mr. Tin. It really means a lot."
From the look on her face, she meant it. He gave a wan smile. "Good day, Mrs. Parker."
Rob trudged back to the Dodge, fumbled with his keys, and clambered inside. Setting his briefcase back on the passenger seat, he craned his neck back, taking a deep, slow breath. After a few minutes of meditative silence he straightened up, put the key in the ignition and switched on the electrical accessories. The dashboard clock shone 4:43. Still a bit early for the bar, but he really wasn't sure how much longer his tired mind could stay functioning today. Starting the engine, he backed out of the driveway and returned to the main street.