Before She Disappeared by Lisa Gardner

Author:Lisa Gardner [Lisa Gardner]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2021-01-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

It is a bright, sunny morning as I head down the final few blocks to the Samdis’ apartment. Even with daylight on my side, I find myself hunching my shoulders and gazing around nervously. If Mattapan is a mix of good and bad neighborhoods, this isn’t one of the good ones.

Rusted chain-link fences buckle and gape, revealing modest yards long on neglect—abandoned piles of battered kids’ toys, drifts of dead shrubs, borders of shattered beer bottles and used condoms. Each triple-decker seems determined to appear even more broken down than its neighbor. I honestly can’t tell who’s winning.

This isn’t the place to be after dark. I’m not even sure it’s somewhere I should be now, as I feel eyes starting to fall upon me, and more and more human-sized silhouettes appear at the windows to monitor my progress. I am definitely an outsider here.

Deep breath. In through my mouth. Exhaling through my nose. Not the first time I’ve been through this. Stay calm, relaxed, focus. I’m not a threat. I have no issues. Just a couple of questions for the family.

On my right, the front door opens and three African American males come strolling out, crossing their arms over their muscled chests and pinning me with their best thousand-yard stare. Followed by similar movement from the house across the street. Then up ahead to the right. Then left.

Am I this unwanted here?

I arrive at the Samdis’ building, which is neither the best nor worst on the block. The narrow triple-decker has shed huge flakes of dark green paint, while the stacked front deck sags dangerously forward. A giant piece of plywood patches a hole along the right side. Two more are nailed on the roof.

I don’t have to open the front gate. It’s already collapsed, the front corner gouged deep into the earth. I shimmy around it, kicking a deflated soccer ball that plows into a pile of empty booze bottles. I startle from the noise, snag my jacket on the rusty chain link, and tear a hole.

“Shit!” I curse, then belatedly catch myself. Relaxed and focused. The family I need to speak with are looking for reasons not to like me, excuses not to help. My job is not to give them one.

I pick my way up the front steps. One of the boards is so rotted, I skip over it completely, landing harder than I would like on the one above. I feel it shake upon impact, and clamber up the remaining stairs in a burst of adrenaline.

The second I hit the landing, the front door opens. A young Black male stands before me in a white tank top, and sagging dark jeans. He wears his hair in a million braids, curving back from his face before falling like a curtain to his shoulders. He has a giant diamond stud in one ear, and enough ink sleeving his forearms and twining around his neck to serve as a second shirt. Even looking straight at him, it’s impossible to see behind the confusion of tattoos, jewelry, and hair extensions.

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