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“Why didn’t you call us?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at me. “I’m sure Grant was just around the corner. He would’ve come back.”
Would he though? Before I can answer, my phone vibrates, saving me from a pathetic explanation. I shove my hand into my pocket and pull it out. I suck in a sharp breath as I see the number flash across the screen.
“Who’s that?”
“The police,” I mumble before I answer the phone. Trip pushes the door open and indicates for me to enter first. I step into the apartment and answer, “Hello?”
“Miss Wilson? This is Officer Fieldward from last night. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Yes, I do. What did you find out?” As I walk into the apartment, I’m hit with the smell of garlic. So. Much. Garlic. My stomach rumbles. Trip takes my helmet as I kick off my shoes and drop my purse by the door. I catch sight of Jason moving around in the kitchen as I walk over to the couch.
“We spoke to all the tenants in the building, but the only person who saw something suspicious was the woman who lives across from you. I believe her name is… ah, here it is: Ms. Madoff,” Fieldward starts. I can hear the rustling of a paper on the other end of the line as the police officer searches through his notes. “She said there was a red pickup truck in your parking spot and a man sitting inside of it. Unfortunately, she didn’t get a good look at his face since he was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, but she remembered it being odd due to the late hour.”
I flop down onto the couch with a sharp exhale. That damn pickup truck… I shake my head as I stare at the fuzzy carpet beneath my feet.
“Do you know who owns a red truck, Miss Wilson?”
“No, I-I don’t.” Leaning forward, I brace an elbow on my knee and hide my face behind my hand. “But I just got a notice yesterday morning from my apartment complex stating that a red truck has been parking in my spot and leaking oil.”
There’s a brief pause before the police officer hums thoughtfully, “Ok, I just made a note in your report about it. Maybe we can get some footage from nearby cameras in the community. We may be able to pull tags and look into the owner that way.”
“Ok, how long will that take?”
“A few days, but to be honest, there is no guarantee we’ll find anything. We’ll have a patrol car come by every few hours in your neighborhood for the next few days, but like I said, I think the guy is gone and you’re safe to stay here again.”
I grimace. “I’ll be hiring a cleaning crew before I stay there again.”
There’s a grunt on the other end of the line. “Probably a good idea. We’ll keep you updated if we get a lead. Otherwise, take care.”
I thank the officer and hang up. The lack of sleep from the last two nights is taking its toll. My eyelids feel heavy, and tears threaten to make an appearance. It takes longer than normal to swallow back the emotional response, but when I get a handle on it, I look up. I flinch as I find Trip standing there, staring down at me with his arms crossed.
“Jesus! Ever heard of personal space?” I grumble, in no mood to be played with.
He ignores me and asks, “Well?”
“Well what?” Did I miss a cue or something?
Trip rolls his eyes. “Are you going to tell us what happened or are we going to have to guess?”
Oh, that’s right, I hadn’t told them exactly what was going on. I rub my eyes, realizing too late that I’m wearing eyeliner and mascara. With a heavy sigh, I drop my hands and stare up at Trip with my stupid raccoon eyes.
“Someone broke into my apartment yesterday and destroyed everything. I have no idea who would do something like this or why, and the police don’t have any leads. It… it has to be personal. Whoever did it, didn’t steal anything. They just made sure I couldn’t use any of my stuff.”
Trip’s jaw clenches hard before he asks, “You don’t haveanyidea who would have done this?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t make it a point to make enemies.”
“What about the librarian you blackmailed? Or the student she was with?”
“They don’t know who blackmailed them. There would be no reason to suspect that it was me.” My nose scrunches up. “And I think both of them would be above defecating on my things.”
Trip’s brows raise in surprise. “Are they the only people you’ve blackmailed? Or have you made a career of fucking people over?”
My cheeks heat at the accusation thrown at me. Before I can respond, the front door opens and Grant walks in. In his hand is a familiar duffle bag.
“How the hell did you get my bag?” I demand sharply. “Did you go to the hotel and break into my room?”
How’d he even know which hotel I stayed at?
