a knife in the kitchen?—and the killer dumped the towels he’d used to clean up in the hamper. I darted into the tiny pink-tiled bathroom. No towels. Bingo.
“Help! No! Get off of me, you motherfu—”
I dashed into the hall in response to the yells, prepared to help Truman fend off whoever was attacking him. When I skidded into the kitchen, I didn’t see an attacker, only Truman swatting furiously at himself, his eyes wide with fear, his hair tousled.
“What—”
“Mouse! Get. It. Off meeee!” The last word swooped up into a shriek, and Truman gave a convulsive wiggle. A small mouse dropped from under the untucked tail of Truman’s shirt and scampered across the linoleum to squeeze into an impossibly narrow crack beneath the broom closet. Truman continued to shake, a frenetic belly dancer, and hit at his clothes as if they were on fire.
I was laughing so hard tears welled in my eyes. “It’s gone,” I gasped. When he didn’t respond, I yelled, “It’s
gone
.”
Slowly, Truman stopped dancing around. His shoulders twitched, and then he stood still, breathing like he’d run a marathon, face flushed, sweat beading his brow. He glared at me as I tried to stifle my laughter. Revenge of the rodents. It sounded like a straight-to-DVD movie.
He didn’t seem to appreciate my humor. “I’m locking up now,” he said, smoothing his hair down. His chagrin was not so easily smoothed away. “Get out.”
I exited the apartment, patting my pocket to make sure I still had the ultrasound photo. Truman locked the door behind us, then clattered down the stairs a full flight in front of me. A young couple held hands at the bottom. The guy called out, “Hey, Tru, is that the empty apartment you said we could use?”
“In a minute, man.” Truman waved him away, nervously watching as I crossed to my car.
The buzz-cut youth was having none of it. “I’ve got the fifteen bucks, dude, but we’re in a hurry. Amy has to be back for a three o’clock lab.” He kissed the girl’s neck, and she giggled. He pulled her up the stairs. “Is it open?”
I raised my eyebrows at Truman as he fought to regain his sangfroid and tossed the keys into the youth’s outstretched hand. The slimeball was renting out Elizabeth’s apartment for his buddies to have sex. I hoped he’d waited until after the cops had gathered their evidence.
“Are you a business major?” I paused with a hand on the roof of the Subaru. Maybe the MBA program gave extra credit for this kind of entrepreneurship.
“Shit, no. Philosophy. My specialty’s ethics.” He smirked and flashed me a peace sign as I pulled away. Or maybe he meant it as a
V
for victory.
It was too late to make it out to Black Forest to catch up with Linnea Fenn where the bus let her off. Damn. Now I’d have to wait until Monday to talk to her. I’d make do with Montgomery. Walking into my blessedly Gigi-free office, I dialed his number. Detective Montgomery was not available, another cop told me. I left a message for him to call me. I needed to let him know about Truman’s shenanigans with the apartment, in case he or his buddies had contaminated the scene before the crime scene team got there, and I needed to share the e-mails with him, assuming his team hadn’t come up with them.
The e-mails . . . I logged on to my account to view the e-mails I’d forwarded. It looked like Elizabeth only had three correspondents: ANewcastle@earthlink, elfin92@comcast, and stejac1993@hotmail. The notes to Aurora Newcastle were innocuous, describing the pregnancy, Elizabeth’s worry about the impending birth, and her refusal to put Aurora in her father’s line of fire by accepting her hospitality or money. The notes to elfin92 talked about her pregnancy fears, her financial difficulties, her love for Harry Potter books, teachers and mutual friends, and her plan to escape her parents and Colorado Springs forever once she saw “the deal” through and collected. The text
“Help! No! Get off of me, you motherfu—”
I dashed into the hall in response to the yells, prepared to help Truman fend off whoever was attacking him. When I skidded into the kitchen, I didn’t see an attacker, only Truman swatting furiously at himself, his eyes wide with fear, his hair tousled.
“What—”
“Mouse! Get. It. Off meeee!” The last word swooped up into a shriek, and Truman gave a convulsive wiggle. A small mouse dropped from under the untucked tail of Truman’s shirt and scampered across the linoleum to squeeze into an impossibly narrow crack beneath the broom closet. Truman continued to shake, a frenetic belly dancer, and hit at his clothes as if they were on fire.
I was laughing so hard tears welled in my eyes. “It’s gone,” I gasped. When he didn’t respond, I yelled, “It’s
gone
.”
Slowly, Truman stopped dancing around. His shoulders twitched, and then he stood still, breathing like he’d run a marathon, face flushed, sweat beading his brow. He glared at me as I tried to stifle my laughter. Revenge of the rodents. It sounded like a straight-to-DVD movie.
He didn’t seem to appreciate my humor. “I’m locking up now,” he said, smoothing his hair down. His chagrin was not so easily smoothed away. “Get out.”
I exited the apartment, patting my pocket to make sure I still had the ultrasound photo. Truman locked the door behind us, then clattered down the stairs a full flight in front of me. A young couple held hands at the bottom. The guy called out, “Hey, Tru, is that the empty apartment you said we could use?”
“In a minute, man.” Truman waved him away, nervously watching as I crossed to my car.
The buzz-cut youth was having none of it. “I’ve got the fifteen bucks, dude, but we’re in a hurry. Amy has to be back for a three o’clock lab.” He kissed the girl’s neck, and she giggled. He pulled her up the stairs. “Is it open?”
I raised my eyebrows at Truman as he fought to regain his sangfroid and tossed the keys into the youth’s outstretched hand. The slimeball was renting out Elizabeth’s apartment for his buddies to have sex. I hoped he’d waited until after the cops had gathered their evidence.
“Are you a business major?” I paused with a hand on the roof of the Subaru. Maybe the MBA program gave extra credit for this kind of entrepreneurship.
“Shit, no. Philosophy. My specialty’s ethics.” He smirked and flashed me a peace sign as I pulled away. Or maybe he meant it as a
V
for victory.
It was too late to make it out to Black Forest to catch up with Linnea Fenn where the bus let her off. Damn. Now I’d have to wait until Monday to talk to her. I’d make do with Montgomery. Walking into my blessedly Gigi-free office, I dialed his number. Detective Montgomery was not available, another cop told me. I left a message for him to call me. I needed to let him know about Truman’s shenanigans with the apartment, in case he or his buddies had contaminated the scene before the crime scene team got there, and I needed to share the e-mails with him, assuming his team hadn’t come up with them.
The e-mails . . . I logged on to my account to view the e-mails I’d forwarded. It looked like Elizabeth only had three correspondents: ANewcastle@earthlink, elfin92@comcast, and stejac1993@hotmail. The notes to Aurora Newcastle were innocuous, describing the pregnancy, Elizabeth’s worry about the impending birth, and her refusal to put Aurora in her father’s line of fire by accepting her hospitality or money. The notes to elfin92 talked about her pregnancy fears, her financial difficulties, her love for Harry Potter books, teachers and mutual friends, and her plan to escape her parents and Colorado Springs forever once she saw “the deal” through and collected. The text
Similar Books
