It’s not easy living behind a mask.
“Come on, boy,” I say as I pat my thigh for Hawkeye to follow. “Let’s get you some food.”
Careful not to put my gloved hands on anything unnecessary, I make my way to the laundry room and scoop out some of Hawkeye’s food into the bowl by the washing machine. His food container is almost empty. Daphne’s calendar said she was going to go to the pet food and grocery stores after her date. Talk about a wild Friday night.
Guilt pinches in my chest. I’ll have to order some and have it delivered tomorrow.
As I set the bowl on the floor, Hawkeye dives into it the same way I eat…
Fuck!
A stench makes my stomach wretch. Little plops of dog shit are smeared along the floor.
“Fuck.” I hadn’t planned on picking up after Hawkeye, but as the poop-making fluffball finishes his meal, I find paper towels and wipe off the underside of my boots. The ridges were filled with putty to hide any markings, so they wipe easily. I clean up the floor and dispose of the mess.
As Hawkeye munches on his kibble, I scope out the kitchen. It’s pristine, like walking through an Ikea display without the price tags hanging.
I open her fridge. Her empty fridge.
A box of baking soda and a couple of condiments greet me. I make another mental note to get her groceries deliveredtomorrow morning to make up for tonight. I’m sure a rich brat like her can afford food, but this empty fridge reminds me of the days after Dad died, when I was scrounging up loose change to buy a box of pasta to feed my sister and me.
I check the freezer and find a full ice cube tray and a carton of Ben and Jerry’s Half Baked. Prying off the lid, it’s mostly gone.
Hawkeye trots over and starts sniffing around my shoes.
“Not this time. Outside.”
Hawkeye trails behind me to the back door and bolts past my legs as I let him into the fenced backyard.
In a few minutes, he’s already managed to relieve himself. The fluffball chases his tail around the yard with a happy wag before trotting over to me to play.
Scoping him up, I walk us back inside, depositing him onto his dog bed by the back door.
“Now, you let Mommy sleep. I’ll come visit you again soon.” My fingers scratch behind his ears, triggering a yawn from Hawkeye as his head slumps onto the dog bed.
I hurry back to my car, close the trunk, and retrieve the burner phone from the passenger seat. Going inside, I check on Daphne one last time. Her blond hair splays over her pillow in a golden curtain. Her dark lashes fan out on the edge of her cheeks. Hawkeye’s fast asleep, worn out by food and exercise.
Damnit, he’s not cute at all.
Running my gloved hands over every nook and cranny of the plastic, I make sure I’ve scrubbed off any fingerprints before setting the phone on the coffee table, leaving my burner number face up.
202-555-1031 – text me when you wake up. We have a deal
Daphne rolls over, her back facing me as she burrowsherself deeper into the couch. Despite the warm June day, it’s still cool at night.
There’s no throw blanket, so I hurry upstairs. I didn’t have time to scope her house last time I was here. She’d left her laptop on the dining room table, so I did what I had to and left before anyone saw me.
The first bedroom is empty. The second has only a small desk and a bookshelf that’s overflowing with romance books like the ones on her Wishlist. I scan the books, and half the covers look identical. I pluck one off the shelf with two shirtless men and one nude woman with her back to me. I flip the book over, and the back talks about two men and a single mother fighting in the zombie apocalypse, all trying to keep her daughter safe, only to fall for each other. Judging by the no-clothes on the front, it’s one of Daphne’s spicy romances.
Eh, why not? It’s been a while since I read fiction.
I jam the book in my back pocket for later.
A camera is mounted on a tripod in front of a ring light that’s shut off. They’re situated in front of a blue wingback chair with the bookshelf behind it.
I shut that door and find the third bedroom—Daphne’s room.Did someone break in and rob her bedroom?
A couple of secondhand mismatched Ikea dressers line a wall with a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room. Well, more like a mattress with some cheap bedding. The metal frame on wheels keeps the bed a few inches off the floor, but there’s nothing else. No headboard. No boxspring. Not even a framed picture on the wall. A mattress, a matching blanket, and a pillow set. I yank the blanket off her bed and head downstairs.
