Page 46 of Another Girl Lost

“That sounds like Tiffany,” the woman said with a smile. “Tiffany isn’t here. She hasn’t been here for days.”

“Do you know where she could be?”

“She might be working. She might be getting high. I never know with her. Give me your number and I’ll have her call you.”

“She’s got my number.”

A brow arched. “You aren’t a cop, are you?”

That startled a chuckle. “No. Not even close. I’m an artist.” As proof I held up my ink-stained fingers.

That seemed to satisfy her. “Tiff’s known for going MIA. Give her a few days and then worry.”

“She ran away a lot when we were in high school,” I lied, hoping to learn more about Tiffany. “A lot of times she came to my parents’ house.” Fabrications swirled around me, and if I wasn’t careful, they would tangle, ensnare, and trip me up.

“Why are you in town?”

“My mother’s funeral.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to tell Tiffany because it would have meant something to her. We talked a lot about our moms. And I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Tiffany doesn’t have many friends. She’s always been wired tight.”

“I remember,” I lied. “She was a skinny little kid.”

“Yeah.”

I dug a pen and scrap paper from my pocket. I scrawled a note and my number asking her to call me. I wrote my name in bold block letters and underlined it. “Just in case. Can you give her this?”

“Sure.” She flicked the edge of the paper with her finger. “When she’s gone for more than a few days, she’s usually at Jeremy’s.”

“Her boyfriend?”

“Really her drug dealer. He has a house in the Fairmont Park area. I don’t know the address. But ask anyone near there and they’ll tell you how to find Jeremy.”

I knew the area. I’d been to a house in that neighborhood a few weeks ago looking for Tiffany after she’d texted me asking for help. I’d found her. We’d argued. She’d been so high. She’d wanted money, not help. Finally, I’d left without her. “Thanks.”

As I walked to my truck, a man called out to me. He said he needed a favor. I moved faster, gripping my keys. His shouts grew louder and angrier. When I slid into my truck, I locked the door immediately and started the engine. I didn’t bother to look back to see who’d been shouting.

Tiffany really knew nothing about Tanner, but maybe she had something to say about Sandra Taylor. Could she have overheard Tanner and his girlfriend, Lynn Yeats, when they’d shared so many breakfasts at the diner? Maybe Tiffany called in the tip. Maybe she knew something about Della? Maybe I was simply fishing.

Regardless, I needed to find Tiffany.

Chapter Thirteen

DAWSON

Sunday, July 14, 2024

2:00 a.m.

Dawson stood at the foot of the bed watching Margo sleep. In the five hours they’d been in this room, they’d gone for round two and then three. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this satisfied. This validated.

HR problems aside, he worried about the fantasies he’d tapped into tonight. He’d harbored dark needs, but this was the first time he’d given them life. Neither his wife nor his few girlfriends had ever voiced Margo’s shadowy desires, which had dovetailed with his perfectly.

God help him, he’d liked it all. Liked knowing he was in control. As the ropes tightened around her wrists, power had triggered a sensation of pure euphoria that banished the failures that had been circling since he’d been pegged as the cop who’d talked to Tanner Reed and not picked up on any whiff of trouble.

Control was a precious commodity in his world. His ex-wife had used him to whitewash her drug problem, and then she’d tossed him out. And on the job, he chased the missing and the dead. Many of the missing didn’t want to be found, and the ones who did were oftenalready dead. He closed some homicides, but too many remained open. The wins were rare, and most days he felt as if he were running in quicksand. The harder he struggled, the deeper he sank. Unlike the old-timers on the job, it would be decades before he could grab a pension. Rudderless. Hopeless. Trapped.

Margo rolled on her back, and the sheet fell below her breasts. She made no move to cover herself as she studied him. “That was fun.”

---