“How did it go?” Carlie asks as we pass her desk.
“Great,” I chirp, without slowing down. “Thanks again!”
Felix salutes her as we hustle around the corner to the main exit.
“What does his car look like?” I ask, peering through the glass doors to the parking lot.
“I don’t know! We only ever talked to him inside.”
My gut says he won’t be driving a police cruiser with flashing lights. Detective Ortiz is too subtle for that. It could be any type of vehicle, including that gray sedan slowing down like it’s about to turn into the lot—I jerk out of sight, flattening myself against the wall.
“Where’s a broom closet when you need one?” Felix jokes from behind me.
I’m tempted to elbow him in the gut, but one of us has to stay on task. “Should we make a break for it?”
He looks around the foyer, frowning. Unless we want to stand behind a fake plant and hope for the best, there are no good hiding places. “On three?”
“Why?” I say, shoving the door open.
There’s a dumpster in the far corner of the lot. That’s my target. I don’t want to full-on sprint, so I do a hunching speed walk, bending low every time I pass a window and then ducking behind an empty car.
Felix drops down beside me. “Slick moves, ninja.”
I put a finger to my lips. A car is turning into the lot. As soon as the engine cuts off, I grab Felix’s hand, and we dash across the few remaining feet of asphalt to the dumpster.
The car door closes with a metallic crunch. Footsteps approach the building, followed by the faint whoosh of the glass entry door swinging shut. And then there’s silence, apart from our rasping breaths.
“That was intense.” Felix inhales deeply, then winces. “It had to be a dumpster.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. Dumpsters are iconicfor chase scenes. But you never have to smell them in the movies.
“Let’s text Sofia,” I say, creeping around the dumpster before straightening from my crouch.
We decide to walk a few blocks to a 7-Eleven to wait for pickup. Neither of us can tell if the dumpster smell is in our noses or on our clothes, so we sit on the curb out front instead of going inside.
“Are we going to talk about it now?” Felix asks.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Did you see that Odell guy’s face?” His jaw tightens in what is either an impression of Bradley’s dad or the most serious I’ve ever seen Felix. “What do you think the detective is coming to tell him?”
I shake my head. For once in my life, I don’t even want to speculate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVETHE BODY WITH THE TOXICOLOGY REPORT
“Sorry I’m late,” Sofia says as we climb into the back seat after an excruciating wait. “Had to pick up a hair appointment that ran long.”
Such are the indignities of being an investigative duo without your own wheels.
“Where to next, Nancy Drew?” she asks, already reversing the van.
“Home,” Felix says.
“As quick as you can,” I add.
Sofia revs the engine before peeling out of the parking lot. I’m pretty sure she’s humoring us, and we only make it half a block before hitting the first red light, but it feels good to be moving.
When we finally reach the building, it’s pandemonium. A frantic Mervyn stands at the front of the dining room while the residents lob questions at him.
