Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft by Catherine Nelson

driveway, and went to the
door. So far, Danielle Dillon was unlike anyone I’d ever looked for. And
everywhere I looked just made her more confusing. Today alone I’d been to four
neighborhoods I’d never been to before while looking for FTAs. Not that I was
necessarily making a correlation, but I had tracked a lot of skips to trailer
parks, and after only a few weeks in the biz, I was already intimately familiar
with a lot of the apartment complexes and lower–middle class neighborhoods
around town. It seemed to me that if the people who lived in these pricey
places were committing crimes, they were either committing serious crimes for
which bail wasn’t an option, or, more likely, they had the means of posting
their own bail and had no need for companies like Sideline. Why, then, had
Danielle Dillon needed Sideline?
    I rang the bell and
waited. When the door opened, a man smiled out at me. He was about six feet
tall, and while he appeared to be only reasonably fit, I sensed something about
him; it was almost like he was radiating power. I attributed it to his wealth;
rich people bleed money. I’m pretty sure that’s a documented fact somewhere. He
had a simple, almost friendly face, blue eyes, and brown hair that was styled
neatly. I guessed him to be approaching forty. I wondered how he could afford such
a big house when most of his neighbors had to be at least ten—more likely
fifteen years—older than him.
    “Hi,” he said,
smiling. “Can I help you?”
    I handed him a card.
He pushed the door open a bit wider and stepped out onto the porch, accepting
the card and looking at it. Behind him, I could see through the entryway to the
living room and noticed a lit display case containing several shiny things.
From what I could make out at my distance, they were all of different origins
and time periods. I didn’t need to see them closely to know they were
expensive.
    “I’m Zoe Grey. I’m a
bond enforcement agent for Sideline Investigations and Bail Bonds. I’m looking
for this woman.” I held up the picture. “Have you seen her?”
    He looked at the
picture then back at me, shaking his head. His gaze lingered on the photo, I
thought.
    “Nope, sure haven’t.
What’d she do?”
    What is it that makes
rich people so nosey?
    “I’m not at liberty to
discuss the details of her case. What about the name Danielle Dillon—that mean
anything to you?”
    He shrugged. “Nope. Is
that her name?” He inclined his head toward the photo I was still holding up.
    I was about to answer
when something caused me to stop. I think it was the way he asked the question.
Regardless, I rethought my answer.
    “I’m sorry, I can’t
say. How long have you lived here?”
    “A couple years. Why?
Did that girl you’re looking for live here once?”
    “I’m just following up
on a lead. Listen, thank you for your help … I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
    “Eric.”
    He didn’t seem
inclined to offer his last name, and I chose not to push. There are other ways
to learn that sort of information.
    “Eric. Thanks for your
help. Oh, hey, I was going to ask, is this your car?” I pointed to the 2014
Chevy Camaro parked in the driveway beside a 2012 Toyota FJ Cruiser.
    He smiled and took
several steps across the porch, looking at the car.
    “Yes. A classic
reborn. Do you like it?”
    I’m a huge fan of
Chevy cars and trucks, and I think the Camaro remake, inspired by the first
generation design, is a very hot car. His was silver. I would have preferred an
orange one. I kept this last bit to myself.
    “Yes. The first
generation Camaros were the best looking.”
    He looked at me
appreciatively. “You’re into cars?”
    “Who doesn’t like
muscle cars?” I asked, walking off the porch. “Please call me if you see the
woman in the photo or think of anything that might be helpful.”
    “I’ll do that.”
     

4
     
    After stopping at all the addresses
listed for Dillon and turning up zilch, I drove back to the office.