To recap this woeful tale, Manny had somehow manipulated his way into coming with me to question Karen Daugherty about the whereabouts of her son. That's how I found myself sitting with him in his pickup on a street in West Lake trailer park at lunch the next day.

I watched him nervously as he unclipped his side holster and placed it and the firearm it held into the armrest storage.

"When she opens the door," he said. "Try not to be too hasty."

"Hasty?" I eyeballed the armrest with unease.

"It's a sensitive situation. We don't want to come on too strong."

"Oh, of course."

"The key is to gain her trust."

"Right."

"The best way to get information is to ask her easy questions. Don't come in hard with something that'll offend. And try not to react to anything she says."

"Mmm hmm."

As he continued giving me his oh-so-helpful tips, I peered through the window. His claim that people got robbed every other day seemed exaggerated. It didn't seem any more dangerous than any other neighborhood to be honest. There wasn't much of anybody around except for old porch sitters taking in the chilly afternoon air.

The street was lined with white rectangular homes that sat perpendicular to the street. The vinyl siding on most of them were fading and dingy. The street itself was thinly paved. There were no sidewalks or lawns so to speak, only sparse splotches of thin pale grass that grew in the dirt between each structure. The trailers seemed to go on in neat white rows forever.

I didn't feel unsafe. Manny could be such an alarmist about these things. But to be fair, he does see a lot of corpses for a living.

"Okay," he said as he pushed open the door. "I got an hour for lunch. Let's go." It was so cute how he thought he was in charge.

...Wait...was he in charge? Did he just take over this thing?

I clambered out of the passenger side door after him. Speechless, I watched him walk toward the door of the trailer like a man in charge. My eyes slid to where he usually clipped his badge. It was gone, probably tucked in the hiding spot next to his gun. Not that it mattered. Even the blindest person on Earth could tell he was a cop. Authority and power seemed to emit from him like smoke from fire.

Not gonna lie, it was kinda hot. Then again, that's what had attracted me to him in the first place.

But anyway, he walked towards the door like someone who had a firm understanding of the law. "You got that stuff I gave you, right?"

I raised a playful eyebrow. "You mean my assassin's cache? It's in my purse."

He smirked and gave thee commanding raps to the door. "Good."

We waited. After thirty seconds I turned to him and said, "Maybe she's not home."

"She's home." He knocked again. Harder this time.

I was about to suggest we call it in when something clattered from inside the trailer. The clattering was followed by a cough, a thump, and a curse. We looked at each other before Manny knocked again.

"Yeah. Yeah." Came a deep and husky voice from inside. She opened the door and her bony frame wobbled into the entryway. "Whatever it is I don't want any."

I spoke first. "We're here about Peter."

"You cops?" she wheezed from behind thin chapped lips.

"No."

"You reporters?"

"No."

"Then what do you want?"

"Mrs. Daugherty I'm a private investigator working for Rachel Blair."

She rolled her eyes. "I should have guessed."

"Do you mind if we talk for a minute?"

"Yes." Her voice was cloudy and unpleasant. As if she'd smoked one hundred packs of cigarettes a day for twenty years.

"It would only take a minute."

"I don't know where he is."

"Well, maybe he said something-"

"We ain't talked in years."

"That's not what Ms. Blair said."

"She talks too much."

"We just want to help him."

"Fine." She leaned against the frame of the door. Guess we're doing this on the porch. It's just as well. The stench of old cigarettes coming from inside hit me in face like a brick. "What do you want to know?"

Manny asked the first question. "Has Peter contacted you in the last few days?"

"No." She scratched at her thin, light colored hair and yawned. "The last time I spoke to him was years ago, like I said."

"So, you haven't spoken recently?" he kept his voice low and easy.

"That's what I said, innit?"

"You don't seem worried."

"Ain't nobody told the boy to beat some woman's head in. He was always hardheaded."

"Hardheaded? In what way?"

"When he was younger he'd get in fights at school. Took after his daddy like that."

I tried to interject with my own question, but Manny had pretty much commandeered this thing. "Is it possible his father has seen him?" I was going to ask that goddamn it.

"That son of a bitch ain't seen him since the day he left."

"Has Rachel Blair been in contact with you?" I hadn't thought to ask that question. Why was he better at this than me? ...Wait...

"No. Why would she call me?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. His apathy reminded me of the way Detective Kruse had sounded when he questioned me. "She'll be your daughter-in-law soon."

Karen got sassy. "Don't make us best girl-friends."

I took advantage of a pause and jumped back into the conversation. "I understand you lost custody of him when he was quite young." Manny cut his eyes at me but kept quiet.

Karen Daugherty frowned. In fact her whole demeanor changed. Her shoulders tensed and her jaw clenched at the mention of CPS. "Police came and took him after some bitch said I was getting high around him. So, I fell asleep a few times. Ain't I allowed to sleep? Where was the proof, huh? This is nothing but the government taking kids to indoctrinate them with their demonic agendas. He was my son. And looky here now. What was the point of it all?"

"So the allegations of child abuse weren't true?"

"Hell no! I never got drunk or high around him. And the nanny state thinks spanking is abuse now too. I got spanked and I turned out just fine!"

"Did you ever meet Ken or Trudy Bergman?" Manny asked.

"Yeah, I met that woman once." She glowered so hard the already profound lines on her face deepened. "Tried to get me to sign away my rights. Told her to shove that paper work up her ass. It was my kid!"

Manny cocked his head. "You never terminated your parental rights?"

"Hell no. Ol' girl came around here in her fancy car and fancy clothes talking 'bout, 'it would be better for him' or something. I don't know. Fuckin' uppity yuppity rich bitch. It was in his best interest to be with his real family."

I handed her a business card which she was sure to toss as soon as the door closed. "If you hear from him, please give me a call."

"And what you gonna do, huh? Tell him to turn himself in? Gonna get a kidnapping charge on top of murder. They don't even care that it's his son. Just like they didn't care when it was mine."

How would she know Derek was her grandson? Peter only knew when I told him, and that was only a few days ago.

I took Manny's advice and held my reaction. "Hopefully, considering the circumstances they'll go easy on him."

"Sure," Her mouth pressed into a grimace. "And I don't appreciate cops knocking on my door in the middle of the day for no reason."

"We're not cops," I said.

"You're not. He is." She looked at Manny with disdain.

I forced myself to smile. "Sorry for bothering you."

Once we were back in the pickup Manny put the key in the ignition and locked the doors. "She's lying."

"I know."

"I don't think you'll be able to get much more from her. But she does know something."

"At least now I know she's talked to him."

He looked over at me with mild surprise. "You caught that?"

"Of course."

He shook his head and grinned. "Sometimes I forget how smart you are."

"Excuse you."

"I mean at this particular thing." When I folded my arms over my chest he laughed and said, "Let me apologize with lunch."

That brought a smile to my face. "Okay."

What? Mama always said not to turn down a free meal.

************************

I saw him. He stood tall in front of me. His body was wide and sturdy. His eyes were dark and cold but a smile played at his lips. He came towards me, his presence lurking and shadowed. I tried to move but remained paralyzed with dread. He was on me suddenly. The tips of his fingers caressed the flesh at my throat. But before he could grasp it something inside me popped. My finger grazed the trigger. He stumbled back, his eyes white and cold. He hands clasped over his heart. Blood flowed like a spring of red river water. His voice rose, soft like a whisper.

'You killed me.'

I reeled forward but found myself sitting in darkness. My heart pumped so fast the beating in my chest was audible. A layer of sweat dappled my skin. My hands clutched at the comforter. My breathing shuddered so fast I trembled.

Hands gripped my shoulders and I flinched.

"Baby, it's okay. It's just me." Manny sat up beside me in the bed.

"Sorry I-"

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's over now." His hands massaged my shoulders. The heat from his touch burned me. "Maybe you should talk to someone."

"Like a therapist?" Did he think I needed therapy? How mortifying.

"If it would help you-"

"Nothing's wrong with me!"

He paused, thinking of what to say. I thought surely this was the start of a fight, especially since my tone was less cute and friendly than he'd ever heard before but all he said was, "I'm sorry."

"I'm fine."

"I know."

I could feel his hands tugging at my body. Pulling me down toward the bed like he'd done so many times before. I clinched up. "I don't want to," I whimpered the words like a helpless child and felt instantly ashamed.

"No," he said. "Just lay down with me."

I gave in and let him pull me into his arms. I nestled into his chest and felt it rise with every breath he took. His skin was cool but mine still burned from fever. He wrapped his arms around me. His hands absently rubbed up and down my back. My breathing returned to normal.

At some point before he drifted off, he kissed the top of my head. I felt tears welling up but willed them not to fall. I refused to cry for nothing. Instead I focused on the gentle beating of Manny's heart until I finally drifted off to sleep.

Early the next morning, I stared into my coffee pot. I liked to say I was deep in thought, but the truth was I was having a hard time looking him in the eyes. This wasn't the first nightmare I'd had. Only the first time he'd caught me. Losing control in front of him was humiliating and for the first time since we'd started dating I longed to not be in his presence.

When the last drop fell, and I no longer had anything to distract me I poured him a mug and handed it to him with my eyes lowered.

"We could talk about it." He said gently. "I know it's been hard."

I took a sip of my morning mug of tea to stall but couldn't think of anything to say. "I don't want to talk about it." I honestly wasn't even sure were to begin.

His eyes raked over me like there was something more he wanted to say but he only smiled. "Okay."

What a relief.

"Sorry there's no creamer." The subject change wasn't the smoothest, but I was desperate to talk about anything else. "I wasn't expecting company."

"It's okay. I can drink it black."

I sat down at the table, desperate to stop fidgeting. "I'm sorry I woke you. You could've stayed in bed."
He looked down at me from where he was leaning against the counter and shrugged. "I need to go by the house anyway to feed and walk Bertie."

"Give her a big ol' kiss on the mouth for me," I teased.

"Uh, no." he managed a weak laugh but got serious all of a sudden. "At least think about what I said."

He was talking about the therapy again. But there wasn't anything wrong with me besides a bad dream every once and a while. It was a waste of time. "Okay. Fine."

He smiled and leaned over the table to kiss me. It was horrible. The taste of coffee could only do so much to mask his absolutely horrendous morning breath. Memo to self: if he's going to stay over here, I need to get him a tooth brush stat.

We made eye contact and I watched the smile spread across his face. He'd done that on purpose.

"You're nasty."

He laughed like there wasn't a care in the world. "No, I'm the greatest."

Randy Watkins worked at a transmission shop on Ellis street, so during lunch I drove on over to see if he could shed some light on the situation.

They had me waiting for him in a waiting room that was smaller than any I'd ever seen at a mechanic's shop. I casually flipped through a three-year-old car magazine and observed through the large clear window as the mechanics worked. I wondered which one Randy was. Or if he'd be more cooperative than Karen Daugherty had been.

After about ten minutes they pointed him my way and I stood and slung the magazine back on the side table without a second look. The man walking toward me was short and thin and had long brown hair tied back into a modest pony-tail.

"You asked for me?" His voice was unexpectedly gruff considering his petite-ness.

"Yes. I'm a private investigator working for Rachel Blair."

His eyes widened when I said her name. It was subtle, but I saw it. "What's this about?"

"I'm investigating Peter's disappearance. I understand you were his AA sponsor."

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his oil stained coveralls. "The relationship between sponsor and sponsee is confidential."

"I'm sure it is," I said. "I don't need to know anything about his previous addiction problems. I just want to ask a few questions."

"I don't know anything." Everyone always said that. Like they're trying to plead the fifth.

"Has he contacted you in the last week?"

"No."

"Has he ever talked about his relationship with Trudy Bergman."

"Of course. He hated her."

"Were you aware of the abuse allegations against her?"

"Yeah."

"Has Rachel Blair contacted you in the last week?"

He squirmed when I said her name. "No."

"Have you ever met her?"

He swallowed and said with a less than straight face, "No. He liked to keep his private life private."

There was more I'd planned to ask, but the nature of his lies made me shift gears. "Thank you. You've been a big help." I held my hand out and let him limply take it.

He looked relieved it was over. "No problem."

I understood two things from this conversation. One, Peter's likely been in contact with him in the last week. And two, Randy Watkins and Rachel Blair knew each other and were possibly currently in contact with one another.

But, why?

Furthermore, why would Rachel keep that from me? I got in my car and started the short, ten-minute drive back to Taste Teas. Randy knew her. That was clear to me. But he'd seemed surprised by my visit. Why wouldn't Rachel tell him she'd hired me?

The deeper this thing went the less my attention stayed on Peter and the more it turned to Rachel.