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Chapter Seven
Heidi
I don’t normally venture out in the dark. You can’t see everything as vividly. However, we sometimes have to do the things we don’t like in order to find out the truths we seek.
The suspect list dwindles with each task I complete. Each time I give my attention to them, I can narrow down my focus. I have three people to watch now: Adrian, Charlotte, and Waters. I need to see what they do when the sun has set and no one is watching.
Target one this evening: Charlotte.
The house: 7930 Brown Avenue.
The time: six-forty-eight p.m.
The garage door opens as she pulls in her black BMW. Without shutting her garage door, she opens her car door, and her feet hang out in just her nylons. She tosses her heels from the car as she slides out with the grace of a ballerina.
She is certainly slow and smooth with her movements. Her day-to-day processes are thought out. Her dark hair is once again twisted up and away from her face. Even after a day of work, not a strand is out of place. If she were to slide back into her heels, she would be able to walk into a courtroom, boardroom, or any office as if it were nine a.m. That is how crisp and put together she is. Everything about her is clean-cut.
Opening the back door, she pulls out her blazer and briefcase, tossing the jacket over her arm as she walks into her home. At the door, she taps the button, and the motor slowly turns, closing off the garage from view.
I maintain my position in my car across the street. I can see into the main parts of the house as long as she doesn’t adjust the blinds. She moves as a woman who has nothing to hide, but looks can be deceiving, and I can’t be wrong about anything in this. There is too much at stake.
Staring at the kitchen window, I watch as she lays her briefcase and blazer on the table. With her standing at the sink, I pause, hoping she doesn’t look out the window and find me staring in. She reaches up and lets down her dark hair before moving out of view.
I give it another few minutes before she moves into sight again, her profile in view, sipping a glass of wine. Her face is relaxed, her mind off in thought. Her day is done.
She’s home for the night.
Moving on to the next target.
Suspect two this evening: Adrian.
The house: 732 East River Drive.
The time: nine-seventeen p.m.
His house is bright, the lights on and windows open. I watch as his wife brings him a drink. Baldy doesn’t move. He sits in his recliner as the king of his castle. This irritates me. His demeanor is that of a tyrant.
Something is said, and he bolts up, slamming the recliner shut and standing in his wife’s face. His hands go up in the air.
They are having a domestic dispute. Noted.
She walks off, and then he settles back into his chair as the man in charge. All is well in his world. He is in control. The man is on his perch, and his subjects are back to their tasks. He is comfortable. His day is done.
He’s not going anywhere tonight.
Moving on to the next target, I fight back a yawn.
Suspect three: Waters.
The house: 746 Wesley Drive.
I pull up as he pulls out. Okay, we are on the move.
I follow Waters’s Lexus SUV outside of town until he turns and parks in an open lot. I pull over to the side of the road and wait, hoping to see him do something incriminating. Instead, I see a yellow taxicab pull up, and he gets out of his vehicle and jogs toward it.
What the hell? Why take a cab?
Questions play in my mind, but I don’t have time to make notes except in my head.
His hair isn’t slicked back tonight. He is dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He looks younger, handsome, like he’s going out for the night. Well, good. That means this isn’t a waste after all.
I follow the taxicab about five blocks away until it pulls over in front of a club. He gets out and walks in quickly. The bouncer doesn’t stop him, not even for an ID check.
I look at the neon sign over the entrance: The Lion’s Den. I should get out more.
I park in the garage across the street then start to make a plan to follow him in.
Pausing, I look over my outfit of black leggings and a black fitted top with a whole lot of cleavage popping out.
Can I do this? Yes, I can do this.
Reaching into the backseat, I grab my boots: knee-high, five-inch heels, all black—hooker shoes at their finest. Digging in the glove box, I find a chain and lock from an old shed we haven’t used in years.
