From Muddy Water by Allan Davis

Author:Allan Davis [Last, First name]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-177180-524-7
Publisher: Iguana Books
Published: 2021-09-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The morning after our dinner at Sailor’s, Kirsten appeared for breakfast in her usual bathrobe with cats and PJs with dogs. I was seated at the kitchen table writing up a contract on my laptop for the Shepherd Foundation.

Kirsten sat opposite me. “So, what made you decide?”

“Your story about blue-eyed good and evil. Mario’s baby had blue eyes. That karma thing you always wear that’s always looking at me has blue eyes. Maybe those missing children had blue eyes. The fact is, if the mothers believe their missing children are still with them, still calling to them, although the voices of the children grow fainter, those voices will never fade away, and neither will the blue of their eyes.”

“Sounds poetic, dude. Poetic but true.”

Kirsten plugged in the kettle and opened the top cupboard for one of her Tazo Organic Chai Black Weirdness teabags. She poured her tea into a Tim Hortons mug that Mrs. Ex had packed away out of sight years ago. She sat opposite me, looking into her tea. She said, “The Lazore family disappeared in June. The three girls disappeared in June. This is June. Make an appointment with Reverend Beachy, see what he has to say about Lois.”

“Reverend Beachy will protect his parishioners. He’ll tell me nothing.”

“Dude, I told you, that’s why you need the help of the associate you just hired.”

With her little finger cocked like teatime with the Queen, she said, “Here’s another idea. I will go undercover. I will find a way to get inside the Lazore and look around and give you another reading.”

“And if you get caught?”

“I’ll pretend I wanted to rent a room. I’ll say, I heard there might be a vacancy, so I thought I’d I have a quick peek. Oh my, yes, and what an interesting old house. But no one answered my knock, so I tried the door and oh my goodness, it wasn’t locked.”

Kirsten returned to the kitchen for more tea in her Tim Hortons mug. She stood at the counter, one hand on her hip, the other stirring in the sugar. She placed the mug on the table and went upstairs. She returned in ten minutes looking like a street kid, dressed in a short-sleeve T-shirt and ordinary jeans. There was that about her. She could go undercover as a fifteen-year-old kid trying to rent a room. She could go undercover in a bar trapping cheaters. She could con anyone into anything.

Except, the undercover idea returned me to that other thought that was bugging me. She had only one suitcase when she moved in, nothing more. Yet she had this endless supply of clothes picked up at Goodwill, she said. “No bed bugs or roaches, I hope,” I had said, and she’d given me her attitude, leaving me with an unanswered question: does she have another apartment that she’ll move back to when she feels safe? That would explain the difficulty with paying the rent. This would be the logical explanation.

Kirsten said, “Let’s go check out the Lazore.

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