Dead Run by Erica Spindler

Author:Erica Spindler [Spindler, Erica]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780778312833
Published: 2011-11-14T13:00:00+00:00

Carla did as Val requested. Mark Morgan had no priors. No known aliases. He was twenty years old and grew up in Texas. His landlady, a Key Wester who claimed to have met Ernest Hemingway on one of his visits to Sloppy Joe’s bar during the forties, had nothing but good things to say about the young man.

“Sweet as pie, that one,” the woman said, leading Carla down the hall to Mark Morgan’s room. She stopped in front of a door and looked at Carla, squinting against the curl of smoke rising from the cigarette dangling from her bright coral lips. “Anytime I needed something, he was happy to help. Always ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no ma’am’ from him. I was sorry to lose him.”

“He moved out for good?”

“Don’t know for sure. He didn’t pay his rent this week, and I haven’t seen him.” Her hands, knotted with arthritis, shook as she found her master key. “That’s the way it is with these kids. They rent by the week then move on. He was here longer than most.”

Carla didn’t hide her disappointment. “The room’s been cleaned then?”

“Not yet. My girl who cleans for me, she’s been under the weather.” She smiled; the cigarette wobbled, its inch-long ash dropped to the floor. “Besides, I kinda hoped he’d come back.”

“You ever see him with other kids? A girlfriend?”

“A girl sometimes. Dark hair. Pretty.”

Tara had dark hair. “You think you could identify her from a picture?”

“Maybe.” She drew her eyebrows together as if a thought was suddenly occurring to her. “Is Mark in some sort of trouble?”

“Not necessarily, ma’am. Just following up on a couple leads.”

The landlady unlocked the door. Carla stepped inside. The unit consisted of a bedroom and kitchenette and smelled slightly stale, as if it had been closed up a while. She scanned the interior. The bed was neatly made. A Bible lay on the nightstand. She crossed to it and picked it up. The leather was soft and worn from use, the pages well thumbed. It was bookmarked in the Book of Revelation.

She returned it to the nightstand then crossed to the three-drawer chest. She opened the top drawer, found it empty, and opened the next two. They, too, were empty. She found the tiny closet the same way.

She turned to the landlady, hovering in the doorway, watching her. “What’s through there?” She pointed at the partially closed door across from the kitchenette. “Bathroom?”

“Uh-huh.”

Carla crossed to it and pushed the door open. Several pieces of dirty clothes littered the floor. It looked as if the kid had stripped, stepped into the shower and left the garments where they lay. A towel had been used and thrown over the shower ring.

Carla pushed aside the curtain and peeked at the tub. The faucet dripped. A half-empty bottle of shampoo sat on the window ledge behind the shower. A scrap of soap sat in the dish. A whisper of warm, humid air slipped through the cracked window casing.

She replaced the curtain, frowning. Mark Morgan had left without even taking the time to pack all his things.

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