“If it’s all right with you, Tommy, I’m going to take my girlfriend home.”
“Girlfriend?” Tommy scoffed. “No fuckin’ way.”
“It’s true,” Nick said, patting her on the ass. “I didn’t stand a chance.”
“Never thought I’d see the day when Nicky Santiago settles down. I’m Tommy, by the way. Nick and I went to high school together.”
The guard shoved his hand through the open window into Riley’s face.
For fuck’s sake.
She sat up, accidentally smacked her head on the roof, then took the offered hand. “Nice to meet you, Tommy. I’m Riley.”Indecent exposer and local psychic,she added silently.
Tommy’s eyes got rather large, and Riley noticed they were on her rack. Nick noticed too and tried to yank up the fabric.
“You got good taste, Nicky,” Tommy decided. “Now, Riley. Is that with an ‘I-E’?” It looked like he was asking her breasts.
“Just an ‘I’,” Nick answered for them.
Tommy flipped open a notebook and started writing.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“It’s for the neighborhood security blotter. Got a newsletter that goes out every week so our hoity-toity residents know we’re earning our keep.”
Great. Just freaking great.
18
9:27 a.m., Sunday, August 16
With Riley overseeing ramp construction and binge-watching an obnoxious woman talk about plastic surgery and sports bra hauls on YouTube, Nick headed out to turn over a few more rocks in the Larry Rupley investigation.
He’d made a few calls and visits to known associates on the list Shelley had provided. But so far, no one knew where Larry went. And no one really seemed concerned either.
Larry’s neighborhood was more active on a Sunday, he observed. Front doors were open, and neighbors yelled back and forth across the narrow parking area. Three guys were sitting on folding chairs and drinking beers in a parking space. There were dumbbells on the sidewalk in front of Roy’s place. A guy in his forties was juggling a baby, a toddler, and a diaper bag the size of a small sedan. The townhouse opposite Larry’s had a sparkly sign on the door that said “Brunch Makeovers 10 a.m.”
He wasn’t sure what a “brunch makeover” was, but it sounded like something he’d hate.
He’d have to ask Riley later what the hell a brunch makeover was when she wasn’t watching dead lady videos on living your best life.
Nick let himself into Larry’s place and glanced around.
It smelled stale. He picked up the mail on the floor and paged through it on his way into the kitchen. More bills and past due notices. Nothing that conveniently screamed “Thanks for signing up for a timeshare in Orlando.”
He added the mail to the stack in the dining room and glanced down at the cat dishes.
On a whim, he dialed Shelley Rupley.
“Stop flinging your sweat all over your brother,” she answered.
“Shelley?”
There was a cacophony of noise on her end.
“Nick?” she shouted. “Hang on. Let me get you off Bluetooth.”
A few seconds later, she came back. “Sorry about that. You caught me in the minivan with the entire squad of children designed to drive me to the brink. Did you find Larry?” She sounded hopeful. And desperate.
