Page 19 of Bred By the Wolfman

She shrugs. “Why not? That’s why they exist.”

I’d be expressly going against DreamTogether’s policies if I hired someone to help me find her. But I’m not above it at this point, either.

“What could a PI do that I can’t?” I ask.

“Maybe get her forwarding address?” She shrugs. “They’re the professionals, not me.”

I spend the rest of the barbecue chewing over her suggestion. It might be exactly the thing I need. Because the instinct to find Dee, to watch over her, is all-consuming.

The first chance I get, I start searching for private investigators. Though most look like spam sites, a few locals pop up. I call each one, but two of the three say they aren’t taking new work.

The third one, a young-sounding woman, hums on the other end of the line when I ask her rates.

“Tell me what you’re after, and then I tell you how much it costs,” she says, and I can hear her tapping a pen on a desk.

“I’m trying to find a woman,” I say.

“I knew that already.”

I huff. “A woman who’s carrying my child. A human woman.”

There’s a momentary silence, and then: “And you don’t know her?”

“I do know her. I just... don’t know where she lives, or how to get in touch with her.”

The PI hums thoughtfully on the other end of the line. “Interesting conundrum. Okay. I don’t ask details because I don’t care. I generally try to keep out the axe murderers, but I think you’re just after your kid. That will cost you four grand.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare down at it.

“Four grand?”

“What did you expect to pay? This is my living. Now cough it up, or this call can be done.”

She’s a real ball-buster, and it reminds me of Dee.

“Fine.”

“Fax over the information,” she says, “and I’ll see if I can help you.”

A fax machine? I must be living in the wrong decade.

She rattles off the number and promptly hangs up. I write down what I can about Deanna, including her old address and place of work. Then I trudge down to the local print shop to see if they can get me to a fax machine.

A few minutes later I get another call.

“Cash only,” the PI says without introduction. “And I’ll find your baby momma.”

“Done.”

I hope I’m not throwing my money away, but it’s worth it if it gets me even a little closer to finding Dee.

DEE

The morning after picking up Robbie at the bar, I go after my knitting more vigorously. I thought he would be the perfect distraction, but now I have a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. Whatever hunger was sated by last night, it was surface level, and now the need is back even worse than before.

To distract myself, I put on nature documentaries that might be somewhat educational, and that way I don’t feel like I’m simply wasting my day away watching soaps.

Though I do love soaps.

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