She closes her eyes. “She made me dinner. I still have some left. It couldn’t’ve been too long ago.”
I rise and open the fridge. The spaghetti sauce smells fine, and the pasta hasn’t gone hard. “Can I see her room?”
She points toward the stairs by the front door. “I can’t climb those anymore but you’re free to look. Don’t steal anything, though and tell me if you see any signs of drugs. I won’t tolerate that shit in my house.”
I leave her muttering to herself and hike to the second floor where faded wallpaper peels, revealing water stains. The master bedroom is a hoarder’s dream. The other surprises me. Expecting posters and dirty clothes, I find a tightly made bed and a closet neater than mine. There’s no empty hangers and her drawers are full. This is not the room of someone who expected to be gone for a long period of time. Perhaps, she planned on buying a whole new wardrobe.
I see jeans, flannel shirts, leggings, and t-shirts. Where’s all the sex worker bling?Huh. Maybe Chrissy has a friend where she stores her alter-ego.
I take a lot of pictures, trot downstairs, and poke my head in the kitchen. “I’m done.”
“Did you find Sharon?” The elderly woman looks up from a newspaper dated over a month ago.
“Ah, no, but don’t worry, I will.” As I pat her hand and let myself out, I wonder who I should call to get this woman the help she needs.
Once I’m checked into my hotel, I text my partner. ‘Done visiting great-grandmother. She’s not all there.’
He sends a message right back. ‘K. Stay safe.’
He needn’t worry. My danger magnet days are long over, if they ever existed, for which I plead the fifth. I may’ve been a teensy-weensy cavalier when I first became a detective, but since having Mikey, I’ve been exceedingly careful.
In more comfortable clothes, I watch a cheesy movie and wait for my evening appointment. I try to imagine myself in the girl’s situation and the best way to convince her to give up the path she’s chosen. Given her guardian’s mental state, I’m guessing she turned to prostitution as a last resort. If so, I can help point out better options.
Around nine, someone taps on my door, and I place my eye over the peephole. Dammit. The brunette is not Chrissy but maybe I can learn something from her.
After I open the door, the twentyish woman steps inside, looks around, and smiles. “It’s just us?”
“You’re not the woman I wanted.” I let out a deep sigh, check up and down the empty hotel hall, then latch the bolt.Why can’t this job ever be easy?
Smiling, she drops her coat on one double bed, takes my hand, and leads me to the other. “Don’t worry, I’m way better than her.”
“Good to know.” I hand her a wad of twenties and after she counts it slowly, she stuffs the cash in her front pants pocket.
“What would you like?”
“How about we talk first?” I scootch over and pat the mattress beside me.
Crossing her arms, she furrows her brows. “Are you a cop?”
“If I was, you’d be under arrest because you accepted my money. Lucky for you, I’m a private investigator. Do you know a Chrissy Bright?”
“I might. Why?” Her eyes narrow as she backs away.
“She’s missing and her mother is worried. She hired me to find her.”
As the girl shakes her head, sparkles fall to the floor. “I haven’t seen her for a few days.”
“Is that normal? Are you friends?”
She shrugs. “Not besties, but we see each other around. Did you talk to her crazy old lady?”
“Yeah.” I stand. “Poor kid.”
“Hey, at leastshe’snot homeless.” She says it so matter-of-factly, my heart aches for her.
“Any idea who might know where she is?”
“Not really. You could try the smart-ass college kid who runs the website. Do you mind if I use your shower?” She wanders to the bathroom and peeks inside.
