I had an idea of where I could find more information, but first I had to stop by Garrett’s house and pick up some more food for Babbitt.
When I pulled up to the house, a short raven-haired woman was making her way up Garrett’s front steps. She stuck a key in the lock and opened the door, closing it behind her.
What the hell? Was this the girl that belonged to the lacy bra? Her boobs were big enough to fit the profile.
I marched up the steps and opened the door to find raven-hair standing in the kitchen.
“Hello,” I shouted.
She pulled one earbud out of her ear. “Who are you?” Her nose stud and gauged earlobes added to her badass who cares attitude. And she made it look so good. Ugh.
“I could ask you the same thing.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“I’m here to clean the house, duh.”
Duh? Did she just duh me? “You’re a housekeeper?” Her tight jeans and black tank top weren’t exactly what I imagined a housekeeper would wear. “Where are all your cleaning supplies?”
“In my car.” The look on her face was a challenge to question her further. “Just because I don’t look like someone who would clean houses doesn’t mean I don’t.”
A housekeeper would explain the extreme tidiness of his home.
“Are you his dog walker or something?” Her narrowed eyes and the way she stood at the ready made me uneasy.
“I—I’m his—” Friend? Girlfriend? “We’re—uh—dating.”
“You’re his girlfriend?” She looked me up and down. “I didn’t know he had it in him. I mean, there was that one time, but otherwise, I assumed he was mostly gay.” She shrugged.
Before I could ask what she meant about that one time, she continued. “Have you seen him lately? I haven’t gotten my payment for the week, and my stash is getting low if you know what I mean.” She held two fingers up to her mouth acting like she was taking a drag from a joint.
“You haven’t heard?” I asked.
“Heard what?”
“Garrett’s in jail for the murder of Boy Boy—you know—the drug dealer.”
“Yeah, I know him,” she said. “Saw in the paper he broke out of prison or something.”
“And now he’s dead.”
“And they think Garrett killed him?”
“Don’t you watch television? It’s been all over the news.”
“Television’s for wankers.” She touched her nose stud. “Can’t trust anything anyone says on it.”
“Well, he’s in jail.”
She furrowed her brow. “How long have you been dating?”
“Not long,” I admitted. “But I’m on his side. I know he’s a great guy. I’m working with the police to clear his name.” She didn’t need to know that I wasn’t officially working with the police.
She stood there looking at me for a moment, her face still not giving away any emotion. “Then you should probably check out the secret basement and the rando that comes through here every once in a while. Might be related.”
“What rando? What’s a rando?” I asked but she was already at the front door. “Can you help me?”
“Uh, no.” She turned the handle and walked out.
Rude.
I huffed over to the door I assumed led to the basement and shook the handle. Locked.
I slid my fingers over the top of the doorframe. No key. I rummaged through the drawers in the kitchen. Nothing.
I texted Shayla.
Do you know what a rando is?
She texted back in seconds.
you don’t know what a rando is
No, that’s why I’m asking you.
it’s what we call someone random. someone we don’t know
By ‘we’ she meant people younger than me, people her age.
Thanks.
Not that that helped me in any form or fashion. I hadn’t seen anyone but the cops and the housekeeper here. No randos to be found.
why
No reason.
uh-huh ok……
I ignored her and shoved my phone back into my back pocket. I needed to get to the bottom of all of this.
20
My knock was heavy on the solid wood door that probably cost more than my car. Like most places, Prairie City had its upper, middle, and lower economic classes—and the homeless, of course—but this area, the neighborhood surrounding Golden Rock Trail, was home to a higher-than-usual upper echelon of society. It was the ultra-ritzy where many of the wealthiest people in Colorado lived if they wanted to be a bit removed from the Denver metro area.
I knocked again, and a woman who looked to be in her mid-fifties opened the door a crack.
“Can I help you?” Her voice sounded like she’d just woken up even though it was mid-day and she had a full face of makeup and perfect wavy brown hair.
“My name’s Rylie. I’m a park ran—”
“Yes, I know who you are.”
“The snake video?”
She shook her head. “Tinder.”
“But, uh—”
“Not for me, for my son. I swiped right, I haven’t heard back from you. I didn’t expect you to show up on my doorstep though.”
“I’m not here about Tinder. I’m actually seeing someone.” My mind was reeling. I tried to gather my thoughts. “Can I ask you a few questions about something that happened on the trail the other—”
“This again? The cops already asked me a bunch of questions. I didn’t see anything.” She tried to shut the door in my face, but I’d wedged my flip-flopped foot into the jam.
“Ouch,” I said.
“Well, you shouldn’t put your foot in people’s doorways. Now get out of here.” She looked around behind me as if she thought someone might attack in this ritzy neighborhood. “I don’t need any extra attention coming my way. If you and your guy don’t work out, check out my Elijah.” She tried to shut the door again.
“I really need to know if you saw anything that might help,” I pleaded. “The police have the wrong man. I need to find out who did this.”
She opened the door a bit wider. “It’s bad enough all of this crime ended up in my backyard. I don’t need to be the next one missing a head.”
“So you did see something?”
“Course I did.”
I put my hands on my hips. “I’m not leaving until
