Chapter Ten
Ten
“You sure this isn’t creepy?” Dane whispers.
If you must ask that question, the answer’s almost certainly yes—that is what I’m sure of. Nonetheless, we’re in front of Jonathan’s townhouse, so I gently nudge him with my nose to indicate that there’s no turning back now.
“We’re just being pedestrians,” says Miguel, squinting at the boxy modern building.
The walls are mostly glass, though the inside’s hidden by thick curtains.
The lawn, which is behind a tall metal gate, is covered with pebbles instead of grass.
In its center, there’s a sign with a picture of a dog squatting with a circle around him and a line through both.
So JMB’s not a dog lover. Yeah, well, now I’m not such a fan of his, either.
“Uh, I feel like we’re gawking more than we’re walking,” says Dane.
Miguel ignores this comment. “You’re sure you got the right address? This doesn’t seem like him. I was imagining, like, something classy with red brick and window seats. You know—bookish.”
“I’m as surprised as you, but of course I’m sure. Found his address in last year’s tax records, and there’s been no sale on this property since then.”
“Tax records? Now who’s creepy?”
Dane frowns. “Thought you wanted to find JMB.”
“I do,” Miguel says quickly. “In fact, I’m almost impressed. I just didn’t realize you had the cojones to pull that off.”
“I told you, I’m good at tech stuff. If you’re ever ready to set up an online store…”
Miguel holds up a hand. “Focus, Dane.”
“I’m focused, chief! Should we go knock?”
“Not just yet.” Miguel looks down at me.
“Harold, I wonder if maybe I should have left you behind. Might be weird bringing you to the front door, especially given that no-dogs sign.” He rubs his head and thinks for a moment.
“Let’s walk the block first, observe the area as casually as we can—just in case anything’s amiss or he’s out and about. ”
“I wonder if we should come back when it’s dark?” Dane seems unusually nervous for someone whose first idea was to stash Jonathan in the trunk. “The guy’s probably way too used to people getting all up in his business.”
“No one’s in anyone’s business—we’re just out for a walk. So, let’s walk.”
A lot of people must live in JMB’s neighborhood, because as we make our way back down the block toward the car, we weave through strollers and gaggles of teenagers and loads of dogs and their humans.
I can tell the crowd’s making Miguel twitchy, but the truth is, we’d never be this invisible if we were in West Haven.
“I’m just going to talk to him, man to man,” says Miguel, but now he’s talking to himself. “If he can see my face, realize that I’m a real person and that his decision has impacted me personally, then surely he can be reasoned with.”
“You nervous?” Dane asks.
Miguel shoots him a withering look. “It’s not like the future of my business, which happens to employ you, is on the line or anything.”
“Fair, but you’ll be fine. Just be…” He trails off. If I had to guess, he was about to tell Miguel to be himself. But that self isn’t around these days.
We’ve reached the end of the street, so we cross to the side opposite Jonathan’s house. Miguel’s mouth forms a tight line as we begin walking toward it. “Be on the lookout for signs of life,” he instructs Dane.
I personally see plenty of those—and they’re all squirrels whose beady eyes are boring holes through my fur. I don’t have to speak rodent to know their sharp squawking proclaims a killer’s in their midst. We’re almost directly across from the house when Dane stops abruptly. “Chill.”
“What?” says Miguel, glancing around.
“Chief, that is not chill. Slow your roll and check out eleven o’clock—balcony. Tell me what you see.”
“Uh…oh! Someone’s up there,” whispers Miguel.
I follow his gaze to the flat surface on the second floor. It’s only sort of visible from where we’re at. But a person’s definitely there, sitting in some sort of lounge chair.
“I think it’s a woman, but that’s strange—I’m almost positive JMB doesn’t have a partner,” Miguel says in a low voice.
“Maybe it’s a house sitter or something. I can go ring the bell if you want.”
“Then you do know how to use a doorbell?”
Dane grins. “Don’t tell my boss. Why don’t you hang back and let me and Harold handle this?”
I get to help? I’m so excited I pee on the pavement, just a little.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” says Miguel, but Dane’s already marching across the street and tugging me behind him. When he reaches the gate, he presses a button on a box near the top of it.
“Go away!” calls a voice from above. The voice is…young, it seems, but deep and serious sounding.
Dane looks up with surprise. “Hiya! We just want to ask you a question!”
The person is at the edge of the balcony now, leaning over a metal railing. I still can’t really make her out, but she seems small.
“You never heard of stranger danger?” yells the person. “Shoo!”
Dane glances over his shoulder at Miguel, who’s already making his way across the street.
“Um, that’s a child,” Miguel says, just loud enough for Dane to hear him. “Does Jonathan have a daughter?”
“According to the internet, no,” says Dane, shrugging. “But I’m gonna press the doorbell again. Maybe he’ll answer this time.”
“I said go!” hollers the girl. “If you don’t, I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re stalkers.”
“No one’s stalking anyone!” Miguel calls up to her. “We’re looking for Jonathan!”
“No duh!”
We’re clustered together at the gate now, and admittedly, I can see why two men and one dog loitering in front of a famous novelist’s house might seem a bit suspicious.
The girl eyes us, then says angrily, “I’ll count to five and then I’m going to go dial nine-one-one. One…two…three…”
The vein in Miguel’s neck is throbbing like it’s trying to find a way out.
“We’re just worried about Jonathan,” he tells her.
“I know him. Well, sort of—he was supposed to come to my bookstore last week, but his assistant said he went missing. Lakeside Books in Southwest Michigan? Maybe he mentioned it?”
The girl opens her mouth to say something, then pauses.
“Seriously, we’re not stalkers, and we’re not strangers. I spoke to Jonathan’s assistant myself. I just need to know why he didn’t show up at the event. Can you go get your parent?”
“No, I cannot go get my parent,” she says in a mocking tone. “Now get lost!”
But someone has appeared beside her, someone much taller, with long hair that’s blowing in the breeze. Unless Jonathan has made some big changes since he took his super serious author photo, it’s not him. Before I can further examine the figure, they both step away from the balcony and disappear.
“Bummer,” says Dane.
“No,” says Miguel firmly. “Not a bummer. Though that obviously wasn’t Jonathan, we have confirmation that he lives here. And whoever that was knows where he is—I can tell. Now we just need to convince her to get that adult to come out and speak with us.”
“We could throw rocks at the glass,” Dane volunteers. “That’s gonna get annoying real fast.”
“The number of suggestions you make that could result in jail time is astonishing.”
“Dude, I’m not the one trying to talk some kid into giving me info about her dad.”
“I was not trying to talk her into anything. Besides, I think we’d know if he had a child.”
“Not if it was a secret love child,” says Dane, his eyes wide.
They’re so busy bickering that they haven’t noticed the woman walking down the path that cuts through the pebbled lawn. I start circling Miguel to try to get him to look up.
“One second, Harold,” he tells me.
If he’s proof of evolution, I’m not sure the experiment worked.
“Hi there,” says the woman through the gate, and Miguel startles.
He whips around to face her. Then he stares…and stares. I’d say the cat’s got his tongue, but for the life of me, I don’t know what a cat would be doing in a human’s mouth. “Uh, hello,” he finally manages.
“Hello. May I ask who you are?” The woman’s voice sounds like a babbling brook.
She’s—well, to be honest, she looks like a lot of the women who come into the bookstore, if taller than average.
Loads of hair, mostly dark with lighter threads that catch the light.
She’s wearing a long dress that’s the color of daffodils.
Her glasses make her eyes big, like a lemur’s.
And I know, the way a dog just does, that she is a good person.
Miguel clears his throat. “I’m Miguel Rivera, the co-owner—er, the owner—of Lakeside Books, where JMB—I mean Jonathan—was supposed to do an event for us earlier this week.”
The woman sighs. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry he didn’t show?” asks Dane from behind Miguel. “Because so are our customers. And we’re here to demand a do-over. Oh, I work with Miguel. Obviously.”
“Do you know where he is?” Miguel asks her.
“Like my colleague Dane just said, I only want to speak with him and explain what his absence has cost us, with the hopes that he’ll make things right.
I haven’t been able to get ahold of him, which is why we’re here.
” He cringes as he hears himself say this. “I swear, we’re really not stalkers.”
“Believe it or not, I didn’t get the impression you were,” says the woman pleasantly.
“Well, good,” he says, and this is the longest he’s made eye contact with someone other than me in eons.
“I know it was Jonathan’s idea to come to the store in the first place, and I almost thought it was a prank, but he said he would be there, and it was supposed to be the biggest event in Lakeside’s history.
We were really counting on it for the income and to help people learn about our store and decide to buy their books there instead of online.
And—” Miguel catches himself and looks at the woman.
“I’m so sorry, I’m rambling. I didn’t even ask you your name. ”
The woman, who has been calmly listening to him, flashes him a smile that Amelia would’ve described as dazzling. “I’m Fiona Foster,” she informs him, sticking her hand through the gate. He’s still staring, but he takes it and shakes it wordlessly as she adds, “Jonathan Middleton-Biggs’s sister.”