Page 25 of Skeletons in the Closet

“Yes.”

Since there was no reply to that one, I continued. The next two emails were from Beth to Olivia. Both contained links to theToronto Star, one of the city’s more prominent newspapers, and a single line of text:

Show Noah.

When I clicked the link, it asked if I wanted to subscribe or log in to view the article.

“Fuck.”

“Go back.”

I clicked back to the email, and Tallus snapped a picture of the link. He did the same with the last email since it directed us to the same site, presumably a different article.

I couldn’t think of any other keywords to search, but it didn’t seem to matter. Something told me this wasn’t a simple affair. It had the surface qualities, so it made sense Faye might think Noah had been cheating, but a gut feeling told me there was more to it.

I slapped the laptop closed. “We gotta get out of here.”

Thankfully, Tallus knew when to shut up and move. We were out of the building and on the street within ten minutes, walking swiftly to where I parked the Jeep. My mind spun on the few details of those emails. I needed to see them again. I wanted to read those articles.

“Send me the pictures,” I said as I rounded the vehicle and got in.

Tallus tossed the shoulder bag and camera props in the back and busied himself on his phone. When he asked for my email address, I rhymed it off.

“Sent.”

“Look up Rowell Housing.” I threw the Jeep in gear and headed back to the office.

Two blocks later, Tallus spoke. “Rowell Housing is a family-owned and operated property management company founded in twenty eighteen by Sean Rowell, who is one fugly-looking dude. Yeesh. You see this guy?”

Tallus held his phone out with Sean Rowell’s face filling the screen. I barely spared him a glance. He wasn’t who concerned me. Besides, in case Tallus missed it, I wasn’t winning any beauty contests either, so I didn’t feel like berating another man for his unfortunate looks. We couldn’t all be as pretty as Tallus.

“Location?”

Tallus lowered the phone and plugged away, clucking his tongue as he searched their website. “Their office is located in a plaza on Ellesmere Road. They’re closed today.”

“Look up Sean Rowell or Beth Rowell. See if you can pin a home address.”

It was unlikely, but it would keep him busy so I could think. We’d learned more than I expected, and it wasn’t tying up into a neat bow.

I’d half hoped I could shake free of Tallus once we got back to the office—he’d successfully completed the task of getting us into the building—but I was not so lucky. He ignored the hint when I asked him where he’d parked and if I could drop him off at his car.

The next thing I knew, he was on my heels, following me up the stairs and down the mildew-scented hallway. He’d found a few social media profiles for Beth Rowell and gave me a running commentary on her life when all I’d ask for was a home address.

“She went on a smoothie kick two months ago and posted daily pictures of her concoctions. They start out healthy enough, but the ingredients read more like a dessert menu by the end. Listen to this one…”

I tuned him out as I unlocked the door and aimed for my desk, tossing the ball cap aside and scratching my scalp. The hat fit too snugly and made my head sweaty. I liked the fedora better. It was worn in and didn’t make me itch.

Before I got to work, I found gum and popped two pieces.

Tallus, uninvited, dragged a chair over and sat opposite me, still engrossed in his phone. With him occupied, I pulled up my own search engine. In under five minutes, while listening to Tallus yammer on about Beth’s hot yoga and spin classes, I located the Rowells’ home address and wrote it down. I would have to plan to do some reconnaissance on Beth, look deeper into her profile, and see what I could find, but first…

I opened the photos Tallus had sent to my email and was copying the web addresses for the two newspaper articles onto a pad of paper when Tallus exclaimed, “I’ve got it. She lives on Fenside Drive, about ten houses down from a public school. Cute place. See.” He turned his phone.

“I know.” I tapped the notepad where I’d written the address down.

Tallus gawped. “How’d you do that so fast?”

“YouTube. Obviously.” It was a joke, and I was as shocked to hear it fall from my mouth as Tallus must have been to hear it.

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