her that will connect up to Athena’s DNA.”
Alan’s face brightened. “So we’d know for sure that Petey was Athena’s father, but we’d still need to find him. Anything else?”
“I spoke to Petey’s aunt, Lenora, but she wasn’t exactly helpful—and not especially concerned to hear that he’s gone missing either. She strikes me as a not very nice woman. I think there’s a good chance that she’s deliberately trying to cheat Petey out of his share of his grandmother’s estate.”
“Really?”
“In talking to one of Agnes Mayfield’s neighbors, I learned Agnes was suffering from some kind of worsening mental condition. At the time when she was supposedly transferring those West Seattle properties over to her daughter—properties that most likely made up the bulk of her estate—there’s a good chance Agnes was in no condition to handle her own affairs, to say nothing of disposing of her property.”
“What do we do next?” Alan asked.
“As I said before, I’m going to call in some markers and try to get DNA profiles on both Agnes and Athena. By proving they’re related, we’ll also be proving Petey is Athena’s father. Depending on the provisions in Agnes’s will, Petey might be in line to inherit something. And if Petey is really gone, his portion might be passed on to Athena, especially if we can prove that there was wrongdoing on Lenora’s part.”
“But that’ll all take lawyers, money, and time,” Alan groaned.
“It can’t hurt to try,” I said. “You look after Athena and leave the rest to me.”
My cell phone rang in my pocket. I had missed my commute-time conversation with Mel, and I thought it would be her. However, caller ID said DOORMAN.
“Mr. Sam Shelton is here to see you,” Bob said, “Mr. Shelton and Billy Bob.”
“Thank you. I’ll be right down.”
I grabbed a Ziploc bag and a covered plastic storage container from the cabinet. I loaded the first with kibble and the second with a hefty helping of Marge’s lasagna. Then, with those and some plastic silverware in hand, I headed down to the lobby. Sam and his dog were standing outside, under the awning.
“Come on in,” I said, holding the door open. “I brought both of you some dinner. We can go on up to the sixth floor. There are undercover picnic tables out by the running track.”
“Are you sure?” Sam asked dubiously.
“I’m sure.”
I knew there were a few of the more hoity-toity residents of the building who would turn up their noses at finding a homeless man and his dog riding in the elevator, but too bad. Sam and Billy Bob were my guests. Fortunately, we made it on and off the elevator without anyone joining us. I led him outside on the sixth floor, and we settled in at one of the outdoor picnic tables.
In terms of amenities, having an outside recreational area at a downtown high-rise is supposed to be a big deal. And, I suppose, there are a few days in the dead of summer when it’s actually nice. But what the architects somehow failed to take into consideration is the weather patterns created by nearby buildings, which means that most of the time the outdoor area on Belltown Terrace’s sixth floor would work just fine as a Formula One wind tunnel. As Sam and Billy Bob dove into their food, they were totally unaffected by the cold, but then again they were used to living outside. I wasn’t, and I was freezing. I was also dying to know what had prompted Sam to show up in the lobby, but I tried to maintain my role as a proper host and waited until he finished his meal and pushed his dish aside.
“That was wonderful,” he said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I told him. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“I may have a lead on your missing mama,” he said.
“Really?”
He nodded. “The people who live on the streets have an informal underground of sorts.”
I already knew that. It was that very underground that had alerted us to the unwelcome presence of Ken Purcell lying in wait for Mel.
“What’s it telling you?”
“Do you use I-90 much?” Sam asked.
“Hardly at all,” I said. “For most of what I need, 520 works just fine. Why?”
“You told me that the cops picked Naomi up just west of the Mount Baker Tunnel. There’s a homeless encampment just up the street on the embankment on the north side of the interstate.”
This was hardly news from the front. There are homeless camps everywhere in Seattle these days—on sidewalks, under