“I’m just going to talk to him, man to man,” says Miguel, but now he’s talking to himself. “If he can see my face, realizethat I’m a real person and that his decision has impacted me personally, then surely he can be reasoned with.”
“You nervous?” Dane asks.
Miguel shoots him a withering look. “It’s not like the future of my business, which happens to employ you, is on the line or anything.”
“Fair, but you’ll be fine. Just be…” He trails off. If I had to guess, he was about to tell Miguel to be himself. But that self isn’t around these days.
We’ve reached the end of the street, so we cross to the side opposite Jonathan’s house. Miguel’s mouth forms a tight line as we begin walking toward it. “Be on the lookout for signs of life,” he instructs Dane.
I personally see plenty of those—and they’re all squirrels whose beady eyes are boring holes through my fur. I don’t have to speak rodent to know their sharp squawking proclaims a killer’s in their midst. We’re almost directly across from the house when Dane stops abruptly. “Chill.”
“What?” says Miguel, glancing around.
“Chief, that isnotchill. Slow your roll and check out eleven o’clock—balcony. Tell me what you see.”
“Uh…oh! Someone’s up there,” whispers Miguel.
I follow his gaze to the flat surface on the second floor. It’s only sort of visible from where we’re at. But a person’s definitely there, sitting in some sort of lounge chair.
“I think it’s a woman, but that’s strange—I’m almost positive JMB doesn’t have a partner,” Miguel says in a low voice.
“Maybe it’s a house sitter or something. I can go ring the bell if you want.”
“Then youdoknow how to use a doorbell?”
Dane grins. “Don’t tell my boss. Why don’t you hang back and let me and Harold handle this?”
I get to help? I’m so excited I pee on the pavement, just a little.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” says Miguel, but Dane’s already marching across the street and tugging me behind him. When he reaches the gate, he presses a button on a box near the top ofit.
“Go away!” calls a voice from above. The voice is…young, it seems, but deep and serious sounding.
Dane looks up with surprise. “Hiya! We just want to ask you a question!”
The person is at the edge of the balcony now, leaning over a metal railing. I still can’t really make her out, but she seems small.
“You never heard of stranger danger?” yells the person. “Shoo!”
Dane glances over his shoulder at Miguel, who’s already making his way across the street.
“Um, that’s achild,” Miguel says, just loud enough for Dane to hear him. “Does Jonathan have a daughter?”
“According to the internet, no,” says Dane, shrugging. “But I’m gonna press the doorbell again. Maybe he’ll answer this time.”
“I said go!” hollers the girl. “If you don’t, I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re stalkers.”
“No one’s stalking anyone!” Miguel calls up to her. “We’re looking for Jonathan!”
“No duh!”
We’re clustered together at the gate now, and admittedly, Ican see why two men and one dog loitering in front of a famous novelist’s house might seem a bit suspicious.
The girl eyes us, then says angrily, “I’ll count to five and then I’m going to go dial nine-one-one. One…two…three…”
The vein in Miguel’s neck is throbbing like it’s trying to find a way out. “We’re just worried about Jonathan,” he tells her. “I know him. Well, sort of—he was supposed to come to my bookstore last week, but his assistant said he went missing. Lakeside Books in Southwest Michigan? Maybe he mentioned it?”
The girl opens her mouth to say something, then pauses.
