Racing the Light (Elvis Cole #19; Joe Pike #8)(12)

“Just asking. I’m coming into this late.”

“No, we didn’t check, but everything looked fine. Besides, Ryan was there. He hadn’t been able to reach Josh, either, and they had plans.”

I wanted to check the mauve, but pretended to watch the cat.

“Did you talk to the neighbors?”

“A couple of days later, but only two of his neighbors were home, an older woman in the pink house and two kids in the peach. The kids moved in the week before, and didn’t know who we were talking about. The woman wasn’t much better.”

I studied the pink and the peach, and snuck a peek at the mauve. The curtains did not move.

I said, “Okay, last thing.”

“Go for it.”

“Did Ryan mention a woman named Skylar Lawless?”

“Negative. Who is she?”

“She’s a porn actress.”

“Okay. And?”

“She and Josh are friends.”

Wendy Vann hesitated.

“Friends friends, or friends?”

“It’s only a possibility, but I’ll run it down.”

“Josh and a pornstar?”

“Let me know about the phone. Tell Adele I’m on it.”

“I’m not telling her about the pornstar.”

I put away my phone and climbed to the blue bungalow. It was a pretty sky blue with a dark blue door, but nobody answered. I peered through a gap in the curtains and saw rooms without furniture. The blue bungalow was vacant. The peach was across from the blue, but Wendy had spoken with the two people who lived in the peach, so I walked downhill past the mauve to the red. The red bungalow appeared lived in, but nobody was home. Which left the mauve.

I climbed the steps to the cracked maroon door. A long time ago, the cracks had been filled with liquid wood and someone had painted the door. But over time, a relentless sun had shriveled the putty. The cracks had opened, and the paint had bubbled and flaked. Now the cracks looked like varicose veins.

I knocked three times. Nobody answered, so I knocked again.

“Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Josh Schumacher, your neighbor across the courtyard here. Could I speak with you for a second, please.”

The peeker didn’t answer and the curtains didn’t move.

An air conditioner jutting from the bungalow’s side thumped as the compressor kicked off. Maybe the AC had drowned my voice, and the peeker hadn’t heard me. I knocked harder and spoke louder.

“We haven’t been able to reach him, and we’re concerned. Have you seen him recently?”

Something creaked on the far side of the door.

I said, “It’s important.”

Silence.

I stepped back and glimpsed the curtains ripple.

People.

I stepped into a bed of ivy and followed the ivy around the side of the bungalow past the air conditioner and gas meter to the electric meter and the breaker panel. The breaker box was old, corroded, and cocooned with cobwebs. I opened the panel and cut the power. The air conditioner stopped with a heavy thump.

I hurried back to the door, and stood to the side. Forty seconds later the door cracked open and a thin man in his sixties shouted from the crack.

“I know you’re hiding, you prick! The cops are coming. I called’m!”

I stepped out fast and wedged my toe into the crack before he could close the door.

“Thanks for your help, sir. This won’t take long.”

He put his shoulder into the door and made unh-unh-unh sounds as he pushed.

“You prick! I’m warning ya! I got a gun!”

Unh-unh-unh.

I said, “Josh Schumacher, the guy who lives in the yellow house? Have you seen him recently?”

“This is breaking and entering. This is assault.”

Unh.

I said, “Josh disappeared. His mother believes he was kidnapped.”

The man stopped pushing and peered through the crack.

“You’re lying. Kidnapped?”

“Tall guy, redhead, heavy—”

“I know who you mean. The lardass. You police?”

“Private.”

I slipped a card into the crack. He squinted at the card, then peered at me.

“No shit. A private eye?”

“Awesome, isn’t it?”

He read the card again.

“Elvis. People give you grief?”

“Not more than once.”

He stared for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“Good one.”

Good one.

I said, “Getting back to Josh, have you seen him?”

Leon Karsey stepped out and introduced himself. His hair was long, slicked back, and mostly gray. A stained white T-shirt hung from his shriveled shoulders, and legs as skinny as chopsticks stuck out of plaid shorts. He was barefoot.

Karsey sneered, and waved toward Josh’s bungalow.

“How could I miss the bloated blimp? He lives right in front of me. I can hock a loogie on his doorknob from here.”

He hocked a loogie, let fly at Josh’s bungalow, and admired his work.

“The thicker they are, the farther they go. It’s a gift.”

You met amazing people in my line of work.

I said, “Did Josh say where he was going?”