“Oh shit.” I open my eyes in time to see the red light ahead and slam on the brakes.
“Shit, fool—are you okay?” I glance back at Don Cheetos who’s meowing hysterically after getting launched forward by the sudden stop.
A car honks behind me. I stick my arm out the window and send them my middle finger.
“Fucking asshole,” I mutter. “This motherfucker doesnotwant to start with me today.”
Don Cheetos yowls again.
“Fuck,” I say, rubbing my face. “I’m talking to a fucking cat.”
I light another cigarette.
I’m talking to a fucking cat,andI’m talking to myself.
Great.
When I finally get to the diner, I slam the truck door harder than necessary. Not because I’m mad. Okay, I’m mad—but mostly because the door doesn’t deserve peace right now. Don Cheetos watches me from the window like I’ve personally betrayed him. I point at him through the glass.
“Listen,” I say, lowering my voice like he’s capable of reason. “I’ll be right back. Be chill.”
Pulling my hoodie over my head, I walk into the diner where Jasper said to meet him.
“What’s up?” I ask, sliding into the booth across from him. “What’d you find?”
“Keep your voice down,” Jasper says.
I glance around. The diner’s empty except for a waitress wiping the counter.
“Okay,” I say. “Why the secrecy?”
“Someone could be watching us.”
I sigh.
“Okay. So what did you find out?” I lower my voice, just to humor him.
“I started digging into Missy’s past,” he says. “Everything you gave me. I tracked down an old business associate.”
“Business associate?”
“Another stripper,” Jasper murmurs. “Most of them never used real names. She did.”
He pauses. “She remembered Missy.”
My jaw tightens
“She also remembered Missy’s closest friend from the club.” Jasper stops.
“Okay,” I prompt. “And?”
Jasper pulls out a business card and slides it across the table.
Salma Verduzco.
“That’s Alma’s therapist.” I stare at it. “What the fuck?”
“According to my source, Salma and Missy were close. Real close,” he says. “Verduzco is her maiden name. Her married name is Biondini.”
