Read Online Nothing To Sniff At (Animal Instincts Book 5) by Chloe Kendrick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chloe Kendrick
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looking for the Troxels. They moved two days ago. In a hurry.”
I could see that this woman was going to be a wealth of information. “How did you know?” I asked, hoping to stroke her ego.
“I saw you down at their place yesterday and today. I knew you had to be looking for them. They probably owe you money. It would certainly be in line with them.” She smiled as she said the last sentence, a little bit of malice showing in the glint on her teeth. She was enjoying this way too much.
“You’re amazing. They do owe me money.” I decided to play along with her. Her story was much better than the one I’d concocted.
“Just like them. I gave that man a dollar one day to buy an ice cream from the truck, and he never did pay me back. I couldn’t believe it.” The notion that a dollar was worth remembering fit the same era as the hat.
“You don’t know where they’ve gone, do you?” I tried to look desperate for cash, which wasn’t a stretch. I had no intention of telling her the real reasons I wanted to talk to this family. I wouldn’t trust her to keep a secret, which was currently working in my favor.
“No, they packed up two trucks two nights ago and left. Didn’t tell a soul they were going.”
I frowned, pretending to be upset about the money. “Do you know who the landlord is? I wonder if they left a forwarding address.”
She had a pad of paper by the door, and she scribbled something down. She tore it off and handed the paper to me. “This is the address and phone number of the landlord. Tell them that Delores gave you the number.”
I nodded and thanked her. The November wind was blowing, and I shivered as I got in the car. Now that I had a buzz-cut, I could feel the cold weather against my scalp, which I wasn’t used to.
I looked at the paper, which had the name Steven Weinberg who lived in Ottawa Hills. I sighed and started the trip there. I had expected a rash of cold calls like this to find Barkley, but now it was apparent that I’d be doing the heavy lifting for finding the fake dog instead. It just went to show that I didn’t know everything about investigation. Not by a long shot.
I didn’t bother to call the home in advance. I didn’t want the polite brush-off that came with technology. People had a harder time saying no to someone in person than they did via email or phone. Face to face interactions nearly always got me what I wanted. I drove out to the suburb, which was relatively well-off with homes much nicer than mine.
Pulling up in front of the house, I opted to tell a story to see if I could find Troxel. I knew that the truth would likely not get me far at all. Desperate times called for extreme measures.
I knocked on the door and waited. A much younger man than I expected answered the door. He was probably in his late teens or early twenties with dark curls and a lithe body that had not started to experience the decrease in metabolism that comes with life. He carried the air that he was incredibly uninterested in whatever I had to say. “Yeah?”
“I was looking for Steven Weinberg?”
He snorted. “That’s my dad. He’s not here right now. What’s this about? No offense, but you don’t look like the type of person he normally works with.”
I felt a flush run through my cheeks, even in the cold air of the day. I immediately chided myself, thinking that I’d gone years without worrying what people thought of me. However, now that I was disavowed of the idea that staying low-key kept people safe, I was suddenly aware of being judged by this boy and coming up lacking. It was not a feeling that I enjoyed. Part of me wished for the old Griff’s attitude in dealing with this kid.
“It’s about a matter with one of his tenants, Jackson Troxel. He’s left the house he was renting, and he’s got my dog.” My story seemed to be fair, since Troxel had apparently engaged in dognapping. Being tracked down for the same offense seemed to please my sense of
I could see that this woman was going to be a wealth of information. “How did you know?” I asked, hoping to stroke her ego.
“I saw you down at their place yesterday and today. I knew you had to be looking for them. They probably owe you money. It would certainly be in line with them.” She smiled as she said the last sentence, a little bit of malice showing in the glint on her teeth. She was enjoying this way too much.
“You’re amazing. They do owe me money.” I decided to play along with her. Her story was much better than the one I’d concocted.
“Just like them. I gave that man a dollar one day to buy an ice cream from the truck, and he never did pay me back. I couldn’t believe it.” The notion that a dollar was worth remembering fit the same era as the hat.
“You don’t know where they’ve gone, do you?” I tried to look desperate for cash, which wasn’t a stretch. I had no intention of telling her the real reasons I wanted to talk to this family. I wouldn’t trust her to keep a secret, which was currently working in my favor.
“No, they packed up two trucks two nights ago and left. Didn’t tell a soul they were going.”
I frowned, pretending to be upset about the money. “Do you know who the landlord is? I wonder if they left a forwarding address.”
She had a pad of paper by the door, and she scribbled something down. She tore it off and handed the paper to me. “This is the address and phone number of the landlord. Tell them that Delores gave you the number.”
I nodded and thanked her. The November wind was blowing, and I shivered as I got in the car. Now that I had a buzz-cut, I could feel the cold weather against my scalp, which I wasn’t used to.
I looked at the paper, which had the name Steven Weinberg who lived in Ottawa Hills. I sighed and started the trip there. I had expected a rash of cold calls like this to find Barkley, but now it was apparent that I’d be doing the heavy lifting for finding the fake dog instead. It just went to show that I didn’t know everything about investigation. Not by a long shot.
I didn’t bother to call the home in advance. I didn’t want the polite brush-off that came with technology. People had a harder time saying no to someone in person than they did via email or phone. Face to face interactions nearly always got me what I wanted. I drove out to the suburb, which was relatively well-off with homes much nicer than mine.
Pulling up in front of the house, I opted to tell a story to see if I could find Troxel. I knew that the truth would likely not get me far at all. Desperate times called for extreme measures.
I knocked on the door and waited. A much younger man than I expected answered the door. He was probably in his late teens or early twenties with dark curls and a lithe body that had not started to experience the decrease in metabolism that comes with life. He carried the air that he was incredibly uninterested in whatever I had to say. “Yeah?”
“I was looking for Steven Weinberg?”
He snorted. “That’s my dad. He’s not here right now. What’s this about? No offense, but you don’t look like the type of person he normally works with.”
I felt a flush run through my cheeks, even in the cold air of the day. I immediately chided myself, thinking that I’d gone years without worrying what people thought of me. However, now that I was disavowed of the idea that staying low-key kept people safe, I was suddenly aware of being judged by this boy and coming up lacking. It was not a feeling that I enjoyed. Part of me wished for the old Griff’s attitude in dealing with this kid.
“It’s about a matter with one of his tenants, Jackson Troxel. He’s left the house he was renting, and he’s got my dog.” My story seemed to be fair, since Troxel had apparently engaged in dognapping. Being tracked down for the same offense seemed to please my sense of
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