“We think he’s a dog, but he thinks he’s a person,” Riley explained.
Roy laughed like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard, and Nick could smell the desperation wafting under the cloud of body spray.
“We’re looking for your neighbor, Larry. He lives two doors down.”
Roy’s living room had been converted into a home gym. There were dumb bells lined up neatly on the carpet, a weight bench doubled as a coffee table. A white board with exercises and reps hung on the wall next to the front window.
“You work out,” Riley said, stating the obvious.
Roy lit up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree. “Yeah,” he said, his head bobbing. “I started getting into lifting. No big deal. My wife—er,ex-wife—said I was getting kind of soft. Well, joke’s on her now.” His head continued bobbing long after the sentence was complete. “Do you guys want something to drink? I was just about to make a protein shake,” he said, jerking his thumb toward a kitchen virtually identical to Larry’s.
Nick wondered how often residents got drunk and accidentally ended up in someone else’s townhouse.
“I’m good, but thanks for offering,” Riley said with a sweet smile.
Roy ate it up. “Have a seat. I’ve got some prosciutto and cheese in the fridge. It was gonna be my lunch, but I can share.”
“We’re good, buddy. Thanks,” Nick insisted. “About Larry Rupley. Do you know him?”
Roy was back to bobbing his head. “Sure. Yeah. Sure. Big dude. Runs. I’ve been trying to talk him into lifting with me. I’m getting up there with my maxes. Need a spotter.” Head bob.
“Do you know where he is?” Riley asked.
“Who? Larry?”
Nick blew out an exasperated breath. “Yeah, Larry. Do you know where he is? No one’s been able to get a hold of him for a couple of days.”
Head bob. “Yeah. No. Did you try his work?”
“That’s our next stop if you can’t help us.”
“I can help! I can totally help,” Roy insisted, looking panicked at the thought of being left alone with his muscle-y loneliness again.
“When’s the last time you saw Larry?” Riley asked.
“Um. Okay. Let me think,” he said. The veins on his neck were standing out, and Nick worried that thinking might put too much strain on the guy’s nervous system. “Uh. So like last Saturday a bunch of us—the ones that didn’t have their kids for the weekend—got together in the parking lot for a kind of tailgate. We grilled up some burgers. Drank some beers. Did some push-ups.”
He flexed and looked expectantly at Riley like he was about to offer her tickets to the gun show.
She smiled encouragingly. “That sounds like fun.”
Nick thought her lie sounded very convincing.
“Yeah. It’s cool. Most of us here, we’ve got a lot in common. With divorce and shit. Uh, sorry. Stuff.”
“Was Larry at the tailgate on Saturday?” Nick asked, trying to steer Roy back on course.
“Oh, yeah. Of course. I mean, he wasn’t doing push-ups. But he was definitely there.”
“How did he seem?” Riley asked.
“Seem?” Roy apparently had never heard the word.
“Did he seem like he was happy it was the weekend? Was he upset or stressed out about anything?”
“Oh.” Head bob. “Yeah. No. I don’t know. Men don’t, like, talk about our feelings and shit. Stuff. Sorry. Right, Mick?”
“Nick. So you’re not sure if he was in a good mood or a bad mood,” Nick clarified.
