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“Myhelp? How?” She eyed him. What was his game? “I already told you I don’t have your belt.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I got that,” he said, pushing his hair from his forehead. “But I’m hoping that before I get in contact with my brother—which I will, and soon—I might need a place to lie low for an hour or two.”
“A place—? Like here?” She was dumbstruck. “You want to crash here?”
“Not crash, but just hang out until I figure out my next move.”
“Why? I know you’re in some kind of trouble. I got that feeling, but I understand that’s always kind of your thing, right?” When he didn’t respond, she added, “So now you want me to aid and abet?” She couldn’t believe it. “My dad’s—”
“I know who your dad is. Rick Bentz. Partner to Reuben Montoya. Who you already reminded me just happens to be my brother.”
“And you want me to lie to them and let you stay here—”
“Not lie.” He shook his head. “Not stay.”
“Just equivocate.”
“Or say nothing.”
Was he nuts? “I can’t—”
“Fine. I get it. Dumb idea.” He was backing away, palms out. “I just knew that you don’t exactly shy away from trouble.”
“So you, what? Thought you could take advantage of that?”
He was dead serious. “Well, there could be a story in it.”
“I write true crime.”
“I know. Think about it. A whole new homicide for you to put into book form.”
“An exclusive?”
“Sure.” He shrugged.
“You’re involved. In a homicide.”
“No,” he said, and was dead serious, “but I’m gonna find out who is. Think about it.” And then he asked, “So you’re okay now?” He motioned to the now-silent and unmoving garbage tub.
No. I’ll never be okay. Not again. Maybe not ever. “Sure.”
“Good. Then you should call the police.”
“I will.”
He nodded.
He was opening the gate that led to the front of the house. “You sure you got this handled?” He pointed at the unmoving tub. “You got this handled?”
“Now.” She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Okay, then I’ll see ya around.” And he was gone, through the gate, his footsteps quick and fading as she reached for her phone and put a call in to her father.
“Odd,” she said aloud. Cruz was lying. She sensed it. So why had he really dropped by? She whistled to Dave and headed inside, wondering why Cruz had suddenly appeared, wondering who had dropped a cottonmouth into her trash, and more importantly, why. She didn’t think Cruz had left the snake in her trash only to appear. . . no, that didn’t make any sense.
“Par for the course,” she said as she punched in her father’s cell number.
Nothing was making sense these days.
