Trevor frowned. “Here? Weird. What sort of crime?”
“A possible kidnapping and captivity, sir,” the policewoman said. Her nametag read Jane Hart. She was pretty and short, her face on the pointy side. Something about her demeanor and stiff posture made Trevor more concerned about her than Officer Johnson.
He snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Afraid not.” Officer Johnson’s voice was as deep as the bottom of a barrel. “Mind if we take a look around?” He began entering before Trevor could even respond.
“Sure.” He closed the door behind them, hoping he wasn’t as pale as he felt.
While their snooping eyes darted around the house, Trevor did the same, looking for anythingincriminating he may still be able to hide. He had zero time to clean up before those two came.
“Who called you?” Trevor asked casually as they looked around the living room after finishing with the two small bedrooms.
“Afraid we can’t disclose that,” Officer Hart said. “Are you here alone, sir?”
“Yep. On my lonesome.”
“Mind if I ask why?” Officer Hart crossed her arms. “I was born around these parts, and I never knew there was a house out here. No other property for miles around.”
“I was looking for some quiet and solitude when I rented this place. I’m working on a book.”
“A writer, huh?” Officer Johnson sounded like Trevor was a charlatan, which was both true and rude.
“Well, I haven’t published anything yet, but hopefully soon. The plot is coming along nicely.”
Officer Johnson went to check on the closet that hid the basement entrance. Trevor held his breath, his skin growing hot.
Keep a straight face.
Officer Johnson opened the closet doors, eyeing the bare shelves with a twist of his lips. Maybe an empty closet at the center of the house was suspicious. Trevor hadn’t thought of that.
A few seconds later, the officer shut the closet doors and walked away. Trevor allowed himself a quiet sigh ofrelief.
“So, you claim you don’t own this place?” Officer Hart asked.
“That is indeed my claim.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Mitchell?” She came to stand in front of him, a bit too close, somehow looking taller than she had a minute ago.
“I’m sorry, who?”
“Aren’t you Trevor Mitchell?” She sounded like it was a rhetorical question.
He wondered who had called the cops on him. Clearly someone connected to Daniel, someone who knew Trevor’s name, and even more worrying—the location of this house. Trevor had never been involved in any of his father’s businesses, but he knew that Robert had kept this house very hush-hush, embarrassed by investing in such a failed location, yet failing to sell it.
“Sir, I asked if you are Trevor Mitchell.”
On the other side of the living room, Officer Johnson searched behind the couch, as if a grown-ass man might be hiding in that narrow gap.
My taxpayer money is going down the drain.Although he couldn’t remember ever paying taxes.
“I’m not Trevor Mitchell, ma’am. I rented this house through Airbnb.” He hoped and prayed that she wouldn’t check for a listing because she wouldn’t find a thing.
By the way she watched him with an arched eyebrow,she may as well have said,liar, liar, pants on fire. “Mind showing me an ID?”
“ID? Hmm, sure. I just need to find my wallet.”
“It’s a small place,” Officer Johnson said, “I’m sure you can find it.”
