Page 80 of Nightshade

“You said Leigh-Anne stopped staying with you a couple months ago?”

“Yeah, just stopped coming or paying me.”

“Did she come back for her things or leave anything behind?”

“I kept her shit. I changed the lock and told her she could have her stuff when she paid what she owed.”

“So her stuff is still at your apartment?”

“That’s right. I guess it’s all mine now.”

“What’s there?”

“Just some clothes and some books. I think what she reallywanted was her phone charger, but I told her she could have that when she paid her back rent. She hung up on me and that was the last time I heard from her.”

It seemed unlikely to Stilwell that a phone charger was what Moss wanted back.

“Do you remember when that was?” he asked.

“A couple Saturdays ago,” Sneed said. “I remember I was here when she called. She had tried to sneak into the apartment ’cause she knew I worked mornings on Saturdays. She hadn’t counted on the lock being changed.”

“So she didn’t get her things?”

“Uh-uh.”

“And she had her own bedroom there?”

“It’s not really a bedroom. More like an enclosed porch. My place is kinda small.”

“Could we go over there first? I want to see what she left.”

“I guess so. I need to be back by four thirty to set up for the dinner shift, though.”

“I’ll have you back in time for that. Can you leave now?”

“Yeah, I told my boss. He said it was okay as long as I was back to work dinner.”

“Good. I’ve got a cart, so we can go.”

Leslie Sneed lived in Eucalyptus Gardens, an apartment complex on Banning Drive. In his year on the island, Stilwell had slowly been learning the characteristics of Avalon neighborhoods. He knew that Eucalyptus Gardens was one of five low-income-housing projects where many people in the tourism and service industry lived.

Sneed’s apartment was small and sparsely furnished, with a Taylor Swift poster taped to the wall over a hand-me-down couch that might have been older than its owner. Swift was holding a cat in the poster and there was an undeniable smell of litter box to the apartment.

The living room connected to a kitchenette that had a half-size refrigerator and a two-burner stove. There was an adjoining bedroom, a single bathroom, and a small porch off the living room that had been enclosed with louvered windows. There was no door to the porch, but a curtain had been hung across the entrance for privacy. Sneed pulled the curtain back and held out her hand to signal Stilwell in.

“Sorry about the cat litter,” she said. “I have to close up when I go to work.”

She walked onto the porch and started cranking open the windows. The litter box was in the corner, and a black cat was sleeping on a daybed on the other side of the porch.

“So this was Leigh-Anne’s room?” Stilwell asked.

“Yep,” Sneed said.

“Is the cat hers or yours?”

“He’s mine. I just moved the litter box in here when she stopped coming.”

There was no closet, but there was an old wooden cabinet against the wall next to the bed.

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