Page 61 of Forget That Guy
I remained calm. Barely.
I tried not to flinch as I said, “Yeah. That’s her.”
“I talked to her when she arrived. Told her that I didn’t need her help anymore. The dog died in the night.”
That didn’t track with the phone call the granddaughter had placed this morning. The granddaughter of this man had said that the dog was alive and suffering. That he needed immediate assistance.
My silence made him shift from foot to foot.
“She left hours ago after I told her my dog passed.”
“About what time exactly she leave?” I asked carefully.
This fuck was lying to me.
I could tell.
Baron looked at his watch. “At about ten in the morning, I guess? I can check the cameras.”
“Sure, would you mind?” I asked.
Baron was being accommodating, I’d give him that. But he still gave me a bad vibe.
He pulled up his phone and hit a button, then turned the phone to me.
I watched through the bars as the white Ford pulled into his driveway, the window rolled down, and a delicate hand came out to press a button on the keypad.
The video ended, and then he clicked on another one.
This one was time stamped about twenty minutes later when she finally backed out of the spot and left.
“I had to give her directions out of here because the signal was so bad. She wrote the direction down in that span of time and left,” he continued.
His story was logical. Plausible even.
But I still got the feeling that there was something more going on here.
“Do you mind if I take a look around your property?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
I leaned my elbows against the gas tank of my bike and studied his face.
In his position, I would’ve said the same thing.
I didn’t want people on my property. Not anyone I didn’t trust.
I, however, didn’t like that he was denying me entry.
I knew that there was something more going on here than met the eye.
He was keeping secrets, and I didn’t like secrets in my town.
“Okay.” I nodded once. “If you see her, or have any more information, I want you to call the Dixie Wardens clubhouse, The Mercantile, the mechanic in town, or call Hopps or drop by the laundromat, and let them know anything you think of.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but I continued, “Or, you could run by…”
I’d purposefully started to name off any and all of the business that the Dixie Wardens controlled, knowing that he would get the picture.
