"How long are they on this. . ah. . vacation?"
"Just long enough to pick up some cash and tour the city. Speaking of cash, when is your aunt going to need my services again?"
"I'll ask her."
Daisy was a natural with animals, connecting with them in a way she couldn't with people. Daisy occasionally helped out with the purse dog training whenever Nina had more business than she could keep up with.
Matt Albright's blue Chevy swung around the corner, two blocks down. Gretchen had been expecting him. The man never gave up. She was running out of time. Gretchen kept an eye on the unmarked car. "I'm looking for a drug addict named Ryan Maize. Do you know him?"
"We stay away from the druggies," Daisy said. "They're insane. Totally over the top. And they steal from us." She looked down at the shopping cart filled with her possessions, then up at the blue car pulling to the curb.
"Wait here," Gretchen said to her. She stepped off the curb and rounded on the driver's side. "Please stay in your car," she said.
Matt paused halfway out of the car and gave her a dazzling, toothy smile. "You're telling me to remain in my vehicle?"
"Correct."
His eyes swung to Daisy, who had her hands on her hips and didn't look pleased to see him.
"She's never going to talk to me if you're part of the conversation," Gretchen explained.
"What are you two talking about?"
"This and that. Now please stay in your car."
"Okay," he said and climbed back in.
"What's he doing here?" Daisy wanted to know.
"You remember Matt Albright. His mother is the president of the doll club. He's a friend."
Daisy glared at his car. "A cop is a cop. I know you like him, but I wouldn't trust a cop as far as I could spit, and I can spit a long way. He'll be nice and friendly until he gets what he wants."
That wasn't news to Gretchen. That pertained to all men, not just cops.
"I need to find Ryan," Gretchen said. "Can you help me?"
Daisy tilted her head, considering the request. "I'm not sure," she said. "Try Twenty-fifth and Van Buren, pink stucco house. But be careful. Those druggies are dangerous." Daisy shook her head and clicked her tongue before adding, "This city ought to clean up its streets."
14
"Come with me," Gretchen said to Matt after Daisy had wandered out of range.
"Where are we going?" Matt said with a suggestive grin.
"Have you found Charlie's son yet?"
"Almost," Matt said.
"Almost doesn't count. If you want to talk to him, I'll take you there."
"I'll follow you over."
"Come with me. It will give me a chance to tell you about my first impression of him."
"My mother already told me. But I'd like to hear it from you."
He slid in beside her. Gretchen related the story of yesterday's chase down Scottsdale Road. Matt sat next to her, gripping the sides of the car's seat.
"You can trust me," Gretchen said, noting his clenched fists and braced posture.
"I've heard that before," he quipped.
Gretchen had never driven with a cop in her car. She drove as carefully as she could, obeying every traffic sign, coming to complete stops, using her directionals properly. What a pain! Twenty-five miles an hour was much slower than she thought.
Out of the corner of her eye, she had the feeling he was watching her every move. She was relieved when he answered a call on his cell phone. Business kept him occupied until they were close to their destination. Gretchen made a turn onto Van Buren and slowed to look for the house.
"This must be it," she said. "It's the only pink stucco."
She pulled to the curb.
"Wait in the car. I'll be right back," Matt said.
"Not in a million years. This is my gig. You're tagging along for the ride. I'm the one who found him."
"You're impossible. I knew driving over with you was a bad idea when you suggested it. We should have taken my car." Matt didn't look like he meant it. Or maybe he did, but his lips had that amused turn to them. "What next?" he said. "Should we surround the house and go in with guns drawn? You can cover me. Oh wait, you don't have a gun."
"Shush."
They both stared at the house. Chipped pink stucco. A broken window boarded up with plywood. Discolored blinds, all drawn.
"Stay here," Gretchen said.
"What? I'm the law enforcement official, in case you haven't noticed. You're stealing my line. You stay here."
"No way. I'm the one who found this address. If you weren't so busy following me, you would have found Ryan by now."
"I haven't been following you."
"I'm going in."
"I happen to be the detective in charge of this case. I don't wait in cars."
She gave his garb an appreciative glance and wondered if he'd look as good in a uniform. He wore one of his social causes T-shirts, a white one that proclaimed, Running Strong for American Indian Youth. She'd seen him wear several with different motifs. This one had teepees against a backdrop of soaring eagles and an orange setting sun.
"You look like a cop," she said.
"No, I don't. That's the whole point of working undercover. So I don't look like a cop."
"He won't even open the door if you go up to it."
"He isn't going to open it either way."
Gretchen was already making her way up a broken sidewalk. Wilted shrubs framed the house. It looked deserted. She knocked softly and listened for movement inside. Nothing. She banged loudly. Then banged again. Gretchen could smell Matt's Chrome cologne floating on the breeze behind her.
She thought she heard something inside. A scurry sound like a mouse. Or a rat. The place was probably crawling with rodents and insects. The door opened a crack, and an eyeball peered out.
"I'm looking for Ryan Maize," Gretchen said. "Is he here?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Gretchen Birch. I'm a friend of his mother's."
"No, you're not. You're a cop."
"I'm not a cop."
Gretchen heard a chuckle behind her.
"Do you have a search warrant?" the person inside asked.
"No. I'm trying to tell you, I'm not a cop."
The minuscule opening in the door began to close. Matt's arm shot out to stop it. He flashed identification with his other hand. "I'm the cop," he said. "Don't make a bad choice. Open the door and talk to us."
"Don't you need a warrant?"
"Not to ask questions about a death."
The door swung open, and Ryan stepped hesitantly out onto the porch wearing the black do-rag. He squinted and rubbed his eyes. His shoulders slumped with an air of defeat, like he expected life to keep disappointing him. Classic drug addict's philosophy, Gretchen thought. They blamed their circumstances on bad luck and the actions of others, instead of taking control and making different choices.
"I don't feel too good," Ryan said, leaving the door ajar.
"I think I'm sick."
Matt gave him a cold stare.
The porch was covered with cigarette butts and round burn holes. Gretchen tried to look past Ryan into the house, but the interior was dark. The sunlight blinded Ryan. He covered his eyes. "Make it quick," he said. "I gotta go. I'm gonna be sick."
Gretchen tried not to look at the silver ring piercing his lower lip.
Matt leaned against the stucco wall, outwardly relaxed and appearing casual. But he wasn't. "First, I have a complaint. You assaulted this woman."
Ryan glanced at Gretchen. "She chased me down the street and grabbed me. I was looking through the window, and she started yelling and coming after me."
Gretchen squirmed. He wasn't lying. When he said it like that. .