Cloister stared at him for a moment.“You don’t have a clue what’s going on, do you?”he asked.“But then, why would you cut Fowler loose?”
Gardner snorted out a humorless laugh and wiped his hand over his nose.If he were a dog, Cloister would have backed off.His body language screamed of an on-edge animal trying to get space.
“You know what, Witte?”Gardner said.He stepped back into Cloister’s space, boots butted up against Cloister’s, and drew himself up as long as he could.His breath smelled of fried gas-stop chicken.He slapped the Orange Bang out of Cloister’s hand.It hit the ground and splattered sticky orange-white foam over both of their feet.“I don’t have to answer to you.Just because you fuck that Fed, you think you’re some sort of hotshot who can do what he wants?Maybe ask around and find out who’ll takemycalls, no matter where or when.You don’t know who the fuck you’re dealing with.”
Cloister held his hand up, palm out.Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bourneville stop mid-run.She flopped down on the concrete, but her eyes stayed focused on Gardner.When Gardner looked that way, he went a greasy color as the red drained out of his face.Most people saw the fluff and the ears and the big, easy dog smile when they looked at Bon.After they saw the mess she could make of someone, though, it took them a while to see anything but teeth.
That was fine.Gardner didn’t need to like Cloister’s dog.
“I know exactly who I’m dealing with,” Cloister said.“An IA informant who let a man go, and as a result, there’s a federal agent in hospital, a man still missing, and you got my dog hurt.So maybe think about that, because I don’twantto cut you any slack.If I find out what I need to know about Fowler without your help?I’ll happily leave you to swing in the wind.”
Gardner swallowed.He stepped back and grabbed his hat off the top of the car.
“Go fuck yourself.”
He pulled the cap on as he stalked away, giving Bourneville a wide berth as her head turned to watch him go.
Cloister stepped out of the puddle of soda and shook the liquid off his feet.His mind fell over itself as he tried to prop back up the theory of what was going on.
If Kincaid hadn’t pulled the strings to get Fowler cut loose…
If this wasn’t about Kincaid…
Cloister rubbed the back of his neck and looked over at Bourneville.He stuck his thumb and forefinger in his mouth to whistle her back over.She hopped up and loped over to lean against his leg.
“Maybe we need to go back to the last place we had a clean scent?”he said to her.“Check our work, eh?”
She sniffed at the soda splattered on his legs and sneezed.
He’d take that as a yes.
TancredihadtoldCloisterwhat car to look out for.
It was a good thing, too, because Elise Tancredi didn’t look much like her daughter.
The short, plump redhead handed Cloister her handbag as she got out of her car.The unexpected weight of it made him fumble it briefly.
“What do you have in here?”he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Elise slipped her sneakers off, tossed them into the passenger seat of her car, and stepped into the pair of glossy beige heels she’d brought with her.From Cloister’s heel, Bourneville watched the process with interest.
“I’m a realtor, Deputy Witte,” she said as she reached for the bag.“Keys, a book, a hammer.”
Cloister tightened his grip on the handle as he gave her a look.
She batted her lashes at him.“For realtor emergencies,” she said innocently.“Signs and shit.Now, come on.You said this was important.”
He reluctantly ceded the bag.Elise slung it over her shoulder, gold chain strap glittering in the sun, and slammed the car door.Her heels clicked on the sidewalk as she walked briskly toward the big shell-white McMansion she’d texted him the address to.A sign in front advertised an Open House in three days, under a photo of Elise in an uncharacteristic blue blazer.
Cloister followed her.It hadn’t taken him long to find State of Mind Security online.They had a website, a chatbot, and an email form, but no other way to contact them.They did, however, have a list of their other clientele.Mostly storage facilities and realtors, including Tancredi’s mom’s company.
He glanced around as they walked up the drive.The two houses might have both been for sale, but this one didn’t look much like the hoarder’s house they’d found Tracy Joel in.The front lawn was the sort of green that was only achieved by landscaping, studded with sprinklers despite the current water ban, and pavers underfoot were pristine and level.
But the lock on the front of the door that Elise was wrestling with was the same.Fresher, maybe, but the same black block with a biometric fingerprint lock.
“Sometimes,” Elise said, her voice falling into the familiar rhythms of an advertising slogan, “peace of mind only comes from state-of-the-art security solutions.Call State of Mind Security to get both.Only don’t.They’rehorrendousto work with.The only reason this is here is because my client is easily ledandin the middle of a contentious divorce from both his wifeandhis mistress.Both of whom he had living here on different days of the week.”
She pressed her thumb to the lock.It blipped red at her.She heaved a restrained sigh and tried again, wriggling her thumb around to get a better reading.This time, the lock popped open.
