Coco lies at the foot of her bed, more still than usual. She would normally be pacing, her tail thumping as she reacts to the tension in the room. But today, she hardly lifts her head.
“I’m meeting Lawrence, the PI I hired, today.” I shrug. “Maybe he’ll have something that points us to our next move. He called last night and said he found something but wouldn’t talk about it on the phone.”
“Great. Yeah. That’s great.” Scarlett nods too quickly. “What time?”
“In about an hour. I’ll get ready and head out.”
She glances down at Coco. “I think I’ll take her to the vet this morning. She has not been herself and she barely touched her food last night.”
I look at the dog. She’s definitely too quiet. Her eyes follow our movements, but she doesn’t shift.
“Yeah,” I say. “Good idea.” I shift my weight, unsure what else to say, then turn to leave. “I’ll let you know what Lawrence says.”
I’m going to be five to ten minutes late, so on the way to the meeting place, I try calling Lawrence, but the call goes tovoicemail. I send him a text and drop my phone on the passenger side.
Lawrence, the PI I found online, is not one for small talk or pleasantries. He gives me what I need, and I walk away. He prefers to communicate through his reports and the images he hands me.
As I weave my way through traffic, the phone beeps. I wait until I stop at a light to read it.
Let me know as soon as you meet the PI. S.
I reply immediately.
Almost there. Will tell you everything when I get back to the apartment.
Lawrence asked to meet at a weathered bench at the far end of the beach, in front of the Lobster Grill restaurant. We’ve met there once before.
I park the car in the deserted restaurant parking lot and step out. A gust of wind almost flings the car door from my hand. With a throaty grunt, I force it shut. It promises to be a warm day, but at this moment there’s a chill in the air that makes me shiver.
Walking down a wooden path covered in sand, my eyes scan for Lawrence’s hunched shoulders.
It’s nine and the Lobster Grill is not open yet, which gives us enough privacy for our meeting. The only other people nearby are a jogger dressed all in black and a couple walking a bulldog. Or more like the dog is walking them, trotting ahead and almost dragging the woman.
When I turn a corner and the bench becomes visible, I don’t see Lawrence, which is odd. He’s usually the one waiting for me,not the other way around. I look everywhere but he’s nowhere to be seen.
A glance at my watch shows I’m only seven minutes late. He can’t have left already surely.
I approach the bench and sit down anyway, but ten minutes go by and no Lawrence. Confused, I pull out my phone and give him another call. No answer, so I leave a message.
“Lawrence, this is Gabriel. I’m already here. Are you on your way?” I pause, then add, “Let me know if you’re running late. No rush.”
I hang up and stand. Keeping the bench in sight, I go for a quick walk along the beach to kill time and get rid of the nervous energy. Ten more minutes and the bench remains empty.
Back at the meeting spot and a little worried now, I check the last message he sent me to make sure I’m at the right place. I am.
I’ll stay another ten to fifteen minutes before heading back to the apartment. Opening my email app, I decide to respond to a few clients, giving my hands something to do.
That’s when I see it, an email from Lawrence that came in ten minutes before I arrived here. No subject line.
Taking a breath, I click on it, thinking maybe something came up and he decided to send me everything by email. But it’s barely an email, just two words and nothing else.
Trash can.
Perplexed, I turn the words over in my mind. What does he mean?
I call him again with no success and leave another message.
“Lawrence, I got your email. What do you mean by trash can? Please call me back.”
