3 a.m. (Henry Bins 1) by Nick Pirog Page B

a
couple string cheeses from the fridge.  Lassie springs onto
the counter and begins clawing at one of the cabinets. I open it
and find some little treats. I feed him a couple. He gobbles them
down.
    “ Dude, you didn’t even
chew it.”
    Meow.
    “ You’re gonna spoil your appetite.”
    Meow.   

    “ If you find us a clue to
who killed your mom, I’ll give you a couple more.”
    Meow.
    “ Seven?
How bout three?”
    Meow.
    “ Four, but no
more.”
    Meow.
    “ Fine, five.”
    He jumps off the counter and zips out of the
kitchen.
    After my unlikely chat with the POTUS, I was
far from convinced that Jessica Renoix had not died at
the hands of Connor Sullivan. But he had put a couple chinks in the
armor, enough that I was looking for a connection between Jessica
and a third party. If this was a ménage `a trois, then someone knew
the President was coming over to Jessica’s house with a big bag of
cash. I was hoping to uncover some clue as to who that person could
be.
    I spend five minutes in the living room,
looking through a bunch of pictures on the walls. The
Clemens appear to be in their late 60s, but that could
have been exacerbated by UVA and UVB rays. There is a son and a
daughter. Four grandchildren by the looks of the framed school
pictures.
    Finding nothing that speaks to the murder of
Jessica Renoix, I make my way into the master bedroom. I hit
the flashlight on my phone, illuminating the many elephant trinkets
scattered about the room. I wonder if Jessica or Mrs. Clemens was
the elephant nut. I guess the latter. In fact, everything in the
room, the entire house, appears to belong to the Clemens. Had they
known Jessica well enough to let her around all their valuables
without a care in the world? Detective Ray had said the Clemens
told her Callie/Jessica had contacted them through Craigslist, so
Jessica wasn’t an old family friend. Ray also mentioned they’d
given her a great deal on the rent. Did she charm them, much like
she’d charmed the President?
    Jessica had been living in the house for
going on three months, yet there was no sign of her.
    The closet was full of the Clemens’
clothes. The dresser as well. Well, at least most of the
dresser. Unless, Mrs. Clemens was wearing thongs and a size two,
which I highly doubted, the bottom three drawers belonged to
Jessica. I rifle through her bra and panties, then her shirts and
tops, then her jeans. I stick my hand into the pocket of each pair
of jeans. On the fifth pair, I find a small slip of paper. A
receipt.
    I unfold it.
    Best Cash Pawn Shop.
    She sold something to them for twelve
hundred dollars.
    Meow.
    I look down at Lassie.
    “ Too late buddy. I already
found it.”
    Meow.
    “ Okay, okay.”
    I give him two more treats.
    Meow.
    “ You’re
welcome.”
    Five minutes later we are home.
     
    …
     
    “ It’s up here on the
left.”
    “ That neon sign?” asks my
dad.
    Best Cash Pawn Shop is in one of the
sketchier parts of town, just on the outskirts of D.C. The drive
had taken nearly 35 minutes and I’d eaten my breakfast in the
car.
    I turn around and look at Murdock and Lassie
in the backseat. They hadn’t gotten off to a great start. According
to my father — who had driven to my house around midnight — when he
and Murdock had entered my apartment, Lassie had come out from the
bedroom to investigate. Murdock — big, sweet, dumb, Murdock — had
never seen a cat before and went berserk, barking his head off and
chasing the cat all over the condo to the point where the couch was
overturned and the downstairs neighbors were banging on the walls.
My dad was trying to harangue the giant pooch, when Murdock
suddenly stopped barking. My dad looked down and couldn’t believe
his eyes. Lassie had somehow found the bag of treats I’d brought
home the night before, opened it, and had dropped a treat at the
feet of the enraged canine. Murdock ate the treat and Lassie set
another peace offering at his feet.
    When I woke up a couple