Page 33 of Widow Lake

Derrick looked up from his phone. “Manager ten years ago was a guy named Omar Coolidge. He’s still there.”

“Let’s see what he recalls about Darla, Vincent Billings and Amy.”

The sun was blistering the grass, blinding their way as they walked to the door. Ellie’s scalp tingled with a burning sensation.

Derrick knocked and Ellie stood back as the door opened and Derrick introduced them.

The skinny man in jeans and a T-shirt looked scruffy and unkept, a throwback to the hippie days with low hanging jeans and shaggy shoulder length hair. A single earring glittered on his left lobe. His eyes were glassy and he reeked of pot.

“Mr. Coolidge,” Derrick began then introduced them. “May we come in?”

Coolidge fidgeted, one hand on the door jamb as if preparing to slam the door—or run.

“Please,” Ellie said. “We just need to talk to you for a minute. It’s important.”

“What’s this about?” Coolidge said, his voice edgy.

“We need information on a couple of young women who rented apartments from you ten years ago,” Derrick said. “The first, a woman named Amy Dean who went missing.”

His eyes shifted past them. “That was a long time ago. These apartments had a lot of renters since. I can’t remember them all.”

“But you might recall her because she had a little girl,” Ellie said diplomatically. “And the police questioned you when she was reported missing.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

Derrick elbowed his way in. “There was also trouble with another young girl, Darla Loben, who claims she was attacked by spiders in her apartment.”

Coolidge’s breath rattled out.

Ellie studied the place as she entered. The apartment was small, a combination living area/kitchen that was stuck in time with a dingy mustard-color paint, cheap furnishings, and a hall that probably led to the bed and bathroom. Ellie couldn’t tell if it was a one-bedroom or two.

Worn furniture, faded builder’s grade carpet, sports posters of the college’s football team and PBR cans gave the impression the guy was repeatedly reliving his college days.

His body language was defensive, raising suspicions. He knew something but didn’t want to get involved.

“Did you attend Widow Peak College?” Ellie asked.

His beady eyes turned wary. “For a semester but got bored,” he muttered. “Got the job managing the complex here and it worked out.”

“And you’re happy as a manager?” Ellie asked.

The guy lifted a wheat-colored brow. “Pays the bills.”

“Do you handle maintenance as well?” Derrick asked.

Coolidge twisted his mouth sideways as if that was a trick question. “Yeah. My dad was a handyman. I learned from him.”

“I’m sure the young girls in the complex appreciate having a smart guy like you here to help them when things go wrong in their units,” Ellie said.

A small smile tilted the corner of his mouth. “I guess so.”

Derrick cleared his throat. “Now, tell us what you remember about Amy?”

Coolidge picked at a crumb on his shirt. “Not much. Like I said a lot of girls have come and gone since then.”

Ellie’s tone grew sharper, more to the point. “The police questioned you and the residents about her. What did you tell them?”

The man’s eyes twitched slightly. “That students drop out all the time. Go home to Mama or run off with a boyfriend.”

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