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“Maybe a little,” I said. “I’ll be right back. I have to look for Rusty. Don’t let Bob out of the car.”
I walked around the outside of the Manleys’ house and found Rusty and a small tiger-striped hiding under a bush. I carried them to the front door and handed them over to Mrs. Manley.
“Are you missing any more cats?” I asked her.
“These were the last two,” she said.
“Sorry about Bob.”
“Dogs will be dogs,” she said. “Say hello to your mother and grandmother for me.”
I got behind the wheel and looked over at Lula. “Are you okay?”
“I didn’t have any antihistamine, but I found some Tic Tacs. I think they’re helping.”
“Do you want to go to the ER?”
“No. I’m starting to feel better. I’m just gonna roll my window down and get some air.”
“Maybe you had a panic attack.”
“No way. People of my persuasion don’t get panic attacks,” Lula said.
“What’s your persuasion?”
“I’m big and bold. I used to be Presbyterian, but I decided to change over when I was in high school.”
“So big and bold is like a religion?”
“You bet your ass,” Lula said. “It’s a belief, you see what I’m saying?”
“What about God?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s big and bold,” Lula said. “He’d have to be in order to take care of the universe, not to mention everything else that’s going on.”
I pulled the file on Duncan Dugan, my official FTA, out of my bag and paged through it. “I’m putting Nutsy on the back burner for the moment. Duncan Dugan is thirty-six years old. He’s originally from New Brunswick. Never married. He dropped out of Mercer County Community College halfway through his first year and started working at the button factory. He’s worked there ever since. He owns a silver Kia Rio. For the past six years he’s rented a small house near the button factory.”
“Who posted the bond for him?”
“His parents put up security for the bond money. They’re in Fort Myers, Florida. It looks like they moved there about ten years ago.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“He has an older brother in Alberton, Maine.”
“No priors?” Lula asked.
“No. Zip. Nothing.” I stuffed the file back in my bag and pulled away from the curb. “Let’s see if Dugan is home.”
Faucet Street is a block away from the button factory. It’s one of several streets of small cottages that are smushed together row house style. Most of them are occupied by button factory employees.
Seventy-two Faucet was a single-story, yellow clapboard house in the middle of the block. Cars were parked on the street, but none of them was a Kia Rio, and none of them was directly in front of number seventy-two.
I parked across from the house, and Lula and I sat and took the temperature of the area.
“There’s nothing happening on this street,” Lula said. “Everybody’s working. Are we gonna do a B & E? ’Cause this would be a good time for a B & E. Just sayin’.”
“No breaking and entering,” I said to Lula. “I’m going to ring his bell and with any luck he’s recovering at home.”
