The Not So Lonesome Knight: Mistake at the Motel

The Interview

The two human FLAG agents received a cordial reception by Grace Stevens. She was close to Kent's age by all observational estimates, though a lot shorter in stature. Her kindly face was framed with shoulder-length hair that fell in splendid orderly spirals around her shoulders. Her eyes, though burdened with worry, were a smooth hazel that could almost be likened to melted chocolate. The woman even in her troubled state exuded the kindness of a maternal figure. She refused to rest until Bonnie and Michael had both made themselves comfortable and had accepted beverages.

Once they had all settled into place, Michael makes his move. "Mrs. Stevens, when did you first notice that your husband was gone?" He'd start off with the simpler questions, the ones that stood the least chance of upsetting her.

"Please, call me Grace." She politely corrects. His question gave her pause. "When he never came home two days ago." She apprehensively worries her lower-lip between her teeth.

Michael scoots forward in his chair. "Grace, I know this is goin' to sound cruel and I'm sorry." He prefaces his next inquiry. "But what makes you think that this was an abduction and not somethin' innocent like a last-minute work trip or gettin' away for a day or so?" The curly-haired former police detective hated asking things like this. Often times, it dredged up unpleasant things that couples or families have been denying. Everyone had their dark secrets.

Thankfully, Grace hadn't taken offense. Dabbing a tissue against her watering eyes, she answers. "Kent is a darling. He never goes anywhere without leaving a note or making a phone-call. He calls me at least twice a day." Giving a mournful look at the phone she lets out a sob. "Its been silent the past forty-eight or so hours. The only people to have called were Devon Miles to tell me of your impending arrival and the local Police seeking out more information."

Bonnie feels a lump forming in her throat at the sight of the other woman's anguish. Delicately, she places her cup of coffee upon the nearest table before crossing the room to sit on the arm of the chair beside Grace. With all the ginger care possible, the brunette allows her arms to encompass the older woman's shoulders. Her own turquoise hues shone with empathy as they beheld her and then returned to Michael. A silent entreaty lays etched upon her lips for him to get to the bottom of this and end Grace's suffering.

Michael can read it expertly, that look in Bonnie's eyes. His heart gives a painful pang against the walls of his rib-cage. He folds his fingers into a pyramid fashion, pressing them to his lips as he contemplated his next question. "Have you checked your bank account for any sudden and large transactions? Or noticed anyone strange observin' your house?"

Grace's head lifts slightly. "Why woul... would I need to check my bank account? You can't be suggesting that my Kent would do something like that." Disbelief paints her features and she peers up at Bonnie practically begging for an explanation.

While Bonnie was taken off guard, she calmly articulates a reply. "Well, if we look at your account, we can see if anyone is forcing his hand and having him remove large sums of money. If we're lucky, we might even be able to trace his location off of any recent transactions." Haphazardly, she flickers her gaze towards Michael.

"Bonnie's right." He affirms. A part of him swears he has never been more grateful to have her along on an interview. She tactfully kept open a door that was going to be readily shut on him.

Grace then remembers that Michael had asked about suspicious activity outside of the home and she nearly bolts upright. The abruptness of her movement almost causes Bonnie to fall off her perch. "There was an odd car outside about a week ago. I remember because it didn't look like any of the ones owned by neighbors."

Now, they were getting somewhere. A bolt of enthusiasm fizzles excitedly through Michael's veins. "Good. Can you describe the car?" Dare he hope for a good description of something that happened so many days ago? His cop and army instincts advised him not to. Eye-witness accounts were notoriously unreliable at best. At worst, they wasted countless hours and time was something that just could not be so uselessly fiddled away. His bleeding heart, however, determined that any clue no matter how small or mistaken could be helpful. So he opts to follow his heart.

Grace's eyes squint, striving to conjure up a picture of the vehicle out of thin air. She supposed that informing the two agents that it was green and had four wheels wouldn't be of much help. So she tries harder. "I'm afraid I can't be much help there. It was a hideous shade of forest green with a dented fender. Oh, and it had a Florida plate." Sniveling briefly she adds, "there may have been a decal with the word Miami on it."

The word 'decal' reminded Michael to consider the lapel from the picture. But first thing is first. He stored away the clues that he had been given. Green, Florida, Miami. None of them made much of an impact as they currently stood. In fact, chances of finding that car again were slim to none. But he couldn't tell Grace Stevens that and he knew Bonnie understood.

"Does Miami mean anythin' to you in particular?" Michael pries. His inflection wary of making too many harmful implications without evidence first. "Did he have something goin' on there?" He's treading as carefully as possible.

Grace's eyes round. "I can't say that it does. But I made a habit of never digging too deeply into his work affairs. Now, I always wished I had paid more attention."

It was always too late when most people started to care, Bonnie's experience practically whispered. "It's not your fault. You didn't know you needed to." She cooes encouragingly. "But you're doing the right thing by calling us in. If anyone can find him, we can." Her words give off confidence. The will to believe that they could successfully resolve the matter.

"I have one more question before Kitt and I get to work. "Was your husband a member of any specialized society? I noticed a lapel pin attached to his suit in a picture that the Foundation furnished." Michael prays he is not overwhelming her or startling her more than she had been already. His hands unintentionally gesture to his upper left chest as though, he were pinning one on himself.

"Why, yes, he is. He's a member of the local chapter of the Free Masons. He was with them long before we were married." Grace affirms. "Is...is that important?" She ponders aloud.

Standing, Michael answered, "it just might be." But there was a heavy emphasis on the word 'might' as he didn't want to run the risk of getting her hopes up only to dash them.

Bonnie accompanies Michael on his journey to the door. In a hushed tone, she pries, "you don't we'll find him alive. Do you? Is that why you think there hasn't been any ransom demands or threatening phone calls?"

His sturdy fingers curl around her arm and pull her close. There is a familiar earnest spilling from his azure hues as they sweep over her. He doesn't want to have to start weaving webs of dishonesty that might come back to bite him in the butt. Especially, not with her. His shoulders take on a faint slump. "We've gotta try. But I'm not gonna lie, it doesn't look good."

She knows she can trust his answer by the gravity that accompanies it. "Michael?" She debates if this was as good of a time as any to tell him that she loved him. After all, he's heading in to danger. Instead, she offers, "be careful. We don't know who we're up against."

A smile, genuine and none-too- shy finds his lips. "You too. Wait for the call from Devon with the names of the security crew. If they don't match the ones given to you by the company guys when they arrive, you need to immediately call me and Kitt. We'll drop everythin' to get here as fast as we can. If nothin' excitin' happens, Kitt and I will return and collect you so we can get back to the motel to regroup." He lovingly assures her. "Either way, I'll be back for you. You have my word."