“Presuming he gave the
correct information to the people at the health club when he joined Mr. Kent
Tyler is twenty-five, single, lives in Minneapolis proper and works for a moving
firm.”
“Get on the computer and
check that out, all of it,” Gerard practically ordered.
Bryant nodded sharply. “I’m
no hacker but I can probably confirm the basics.”
“Where’s your brother when
we need him. And, speaking of which, where’s your brother period?”
“Still at that party I
suspect. And I somehow doubt if he was here that he’d be willing to dig into
whether Mr. Tyler is legit or not, all things considered.”
“One would hope,” Gerard
said somewhat acidly, “that he would be more than willing to make certain this
young man doesn’t have some ulterior motive.”
Bryant spent the next twenty
minutes doing what he could to substantiate the information he’d gotten from
the health club. When he finished he turned to his father, who was standing at
the window looking out over the moon-bathed lawn of the side yard.
“So far, so good. He does
work where he said and his address checks out. He’s a native Minnesotan, born
up-state and has an associates degree from MBC in accounting.”
“Then why’s he working as a
mover?”
“He’s not; he’s an
accountant there.”
“How did you find all this
out?” Gerard wanted to know.
Bryant snorted. “His
Facebook page. It’s a great starting place if you want personal info because
most people tell way too much about themselves for the whole world to see.”
“I’d presume neither you nor
Crispin has one of those.”
“I do, but the only thing
legit on it is my first name. I’m smarter than the average bear.”
“You had better be,” Gerard
muttered, causing Bryant to roll his eyes although his father couldn’t see him.
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