Page 85 of Another Girl Lost

“You need to stop feeding Tiffany. She’s ruining the look of the building.”

“I know. I’m trying to help her out. Margo just gave her cash. I thought that was so sweet.” I hoped my emphasis onsweetdidn’t sound too fake.

“You do-gooders are going to be the death of me.”

The groaning complaint had an endearing quality. He complained about Tiffany, but he’d never chased her off. “Dave. What’s Margo’s last name?”

“Larsen. Margo Larsen.”

“She’s in the unit that overlooks my place, right?”

“Yeah.”

“When did she move in?”

“Signed the lease two days ago. She’s got a move-in scheduled for next Friday. And for the record, she’s a cop.”

“A cop?” That was very unexpected.

“A detective or investigator.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I walked back toward my place and punched the code into the lock. Inside, I secured the doors and at the window stared up at the Belmont’s top unit.

Super weird that my latest Della double lived across the street and had a bird’s-eye view into my place. She’d called us roommates, like Della and I had been in that basement.

But Margo was a cop, which didn’t jibe with any scenario I’d ever written for Della.

Still, it felt a little like we were cellmates again.

Chapter Twenty-Five

DAWSON

Tuesday, July 16, 2024

1:30 p.m.

Dawson had identified the convenience store where the burner phone used to call in Sandra Taylor’s body had been purchased. It was a small place, located in the east end of Norfolk, did a lot of neighborhood transactions, and the security cameras weren’t working. The buyer had bought five phones on a busy Friday night. Whoever picked this place had made a smart move. Only one of the five phones had been activated.

Dawson wondered when or if the other phones would be activated as he parked in front of Jeremy Dillon’s house and paused to stare at the crumbling brick, tilting front porch, and broken windows. Jeremy was Tiffany Patterson’s drug dealer, and he had operated out of this house for almost a year. Jeremy kept a low profile but was known to the cops in the area. As the pattern went, there’d be a police raid and Jeremy would make bail and set up shop somewhere else. The guy had nine lives, surviving five or six stints in prison, drive-by shootings, and countless up-and-coming drug dealers who wanted to take over his business.

This area had once been a decent working-class neighborhood, but the economy and rising crime had driven out those families. Areas like this reminded him how fast life could go sideways.

A dark sedan pulled in behind his, and in the rearview mirror he watched Margo get out of her vehicle. Dark slacks and a sleeveless blouse skimmed her fit figure. Boots and a detective’s badge clipped to her waistband finished the look.

Dawson got out of his car, adjusted his sunglasses, and did his best to look at ease even as tension rippled through him. His right hand rested close to his weapon. “Have any trouble finding this place?”

“No. I have a stunning sense of direction.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Why are we here?” Margo asked.

“The call that led you to take a sledgehammer to that wall came from here.”

“Interesting.”

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