Page 10 of Shelter for Martina

“That’s great! Perfect. Somewhere casual or plain or fancy or what?”

“Casual.”

She nodded. “Got it.”

“I’d better go,” Bud said, and waited until she’d risen from her seat. “But you have my number and I have yours. And if I get a chance to talk to Adams, I’ll let you know.”

“Please do. And thank you again for taking some interest in Renita. I’ve felt so alone in all this, and I didn’t know who to call, and nobody—”

He touched her arm lightly to interrupt her. “I’m on it now, and I’ve got plenty of others with me. We’ll get to the bottom of it, I promise.”

“Thanks, detective.”

“Bud.”

She giggled. “Bud.”

“Come on. I’ll walk you out.” He left enough money on the table for their coffee and a generous tip, then walked her out the door and to her car. “I’ll give you a call Wednesday evening to make sure we’re still on.”

“Good. That works. Bye, Bud,” she said as she slipped behind the wheel of her car.

“Bye, Martina.” He walked slowly to his own car and watched as she buckled her seatbelt, backed the car out of its parking space, and left the lot.

As soon as he was in the car, he dropped his head to the steering wheel. “Oh, god, what the hell are you thinking, Griffin?” he moaned aloud to himself. It was too late. He might as well get ready.

He had a date. It was the first date he’d had in over twenty-five years. Was he really ready to get back out there? There was only one way to find out, and in two days, he’d know for sure.

* * *

The guy had managedto hold him off all afternoon on Tuesday, which made Bud furious. There was little doubt he was lawyered up, but Bud still wanted to talk to him. By Wednesday morning, he’d had enough.

There was a white car and a black truck in the Adams’ driveway when he pulled up. At eight in the morning, most people weren’t expecting a visit from the state police, but that was exactly what Bud was betting on. He rapped on the door and waited, then knocked again. From somewhere in the house he heard a sour voice yell, “Hold your horses!”

The door finally opened a crack and a hazel eye under a scraggly eyebrow peered out. “Who the fuck are you?”

“DetectiveAlbert Griffin, Kentucky State Police PostSixteen. I’d like to talk to you about—”

“I done talked to the sheriff. I don’t need to talk to you,” the man said and tried to close the door, but Bud already had his foot in it. “Hey. You need a warrant to come bustin’ in here.”

“I’m not bustin’ in here. I want to talk to you, that’s all. I’m trying to find RenitaAnderson, and I understand you might’ve been one of the last people to see her.”

“Well, fuck me… Can you wait long enough for me to put on my pants?” Bud could tell the man was exasperated, but he didn’t care.

“Yeah, as long as you don’t close this door,” Bud warned.

“Naw, naw, I won’t close the door. I’ll leave it open. Wanna watch me put ‘em on?” the smartass asked.

“That’s not necessary.” He waited and, after what seemed like forever, the man was back. “I take it you’re PhilAdams.”

“If I’m not, you just wasted your time, didn’t you?” He pushed the storm door wider and motioned for Bud to come in. “Well? I ain’t got all day, man. Sit down wherever you like. You’re goin’ to anyway.”

“Thanks.” Bud pulled out his notepad and a pencil. “So you said Renita and Marty were here? At this residence?”

“Yeah. About ten o’clock that night.”

“And you said they were arguing. Is that correct?”

“Yeah. They were. Something about he wanted her to tell him something and she wouldn’t, and he was all mad like.”

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