Page 141 - The Houseguest

POOR BASTARD
I arrived at the condo, parked and went inside. Brian was still at work, so I walked around looking for any clues that might affect the operation as I went upstairs to check his emails. His sent folder proved very informative as I read the emails he’d written to his sister, Laura. “I’ve lost my phone,” one began. “I had to get a replacement phone,” was the subject of the follow-up email. And just when I thought I would find no further information, I read the subject in the last email he’d sent the evening prior: “A detective called me last night.”
I clicked on it for more details and read what the poor bastard had written: “I think I’m in trouble again. A Detective Fitzgerald came by here asking me questions about my whereabouts. Sis, they found my phone on the ground near a kidnapping scene. I wasn’t there, I swear. Please God, believe me. What am I going to do? I can’t go back to jail. I won’t make it this time. Pray for me. Can you meet me tomorrow?” As I read his words, my heart was pounding hard. I felt so satisfied, like a mountain climber who’d made a detailed plan to hike Mt. Everest and reached the summit. My brilliance surprised even me.
A knock at the door rudely interrupting my self-gloating. Quickly shutting down Brian’s computer, I hurried downstairs to greet the one and only, “Detective Fitzgerald” at my door. I was filled with anticipation and excitement. It felt unreal, as though a crime show was playing out in front of me in which I was the director and best- supporting actor.
“May I help you?” I greeted her with the appropriate amount of curiosity and courtesy. “Are you the owner of this place?” she asked
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life