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Authors: Chloe Kendrick
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she asked me if it was serious, I had to stop and think about it. Were things serious with Sheila? I knew how I felt, but I wasn’t sure all the time how she felt in return. Her actions indicated that she cared about me, but I couldn’t answer the question definitively. Did I want her to be serious? I answered honestly, “I think so.”
She beamed. “Young love is so wonderful. I love to see young people find each other. Too many times something comes between them.”
She looked at me, waiting for me to say something, but I wasn’t sure how to answer. I wasn’t exactly young. I was two years younger than she was. That was hardly Romeo or Juliet. I was an adult, settled into my own life, though it was changing drastically at the moment. Her comments seemed wildly out of place, but at the same time, I felt like I was expected to know something that I didn’t have a clue about.
Besides, I wasn’t sure that I agreed with that sentiment. For me at least, young love was all that great. It was too fraught with emotion and drama and angst for my taste. I’d missed out on dating in school, but there were a lot of pitfalls to avoid in this whole dating thing.
Her comments threw me off, and I puzzled over them all the way back to my house. I was greeted by my two Corgis, Bruno and Bess, so I took them for a long walk to sort out my thoughts. I had contact information, or something resembling contact information for her parents and other clients of Belinda Frias. I also was told that Mr. Frias was likely in the book. While the dogs stopped to sniff everything along our way, I made up a list of people to contact.
I decided to start with the husband, since Sheila always informed me that the spouse was the most likely person in a homicide. That usually preceded any discussion we had on getting more serious, so I wasn’t exactly sure where things would end up with us. However, I enjoyed things as they were now. Still it was a depressing statement about marriage that the happily ever after was the most likely to kill you.
I found Mr. Frias’ name in the original articles and then located him via the Internet. I opted to visit him in person rather than calling him. This was the type of intrusion that would likely be met with resistance, so I thought that I’d provide fewer chances to say no by meeting him face to face. From trying to get clients for my business, I found that people were more likely to be rude on the phone than in person, and they were worse still on a computer.
Mr. Frias’ house was located on Starr Street, and I was guessing from the address and what I’d been told that it was in one of the grittier areas there. I pulled up in front of the house, whose grass was almost taller than my own. The garage door was open, and everyone could see a kaleidoscope of projects. There were paths between the stacks of materials and half-built machinery in the garage. I remembered what Gwen had said about how Belinda had kept a job for the steady income. This is what happened when that income went away.
It didn’t bode well for him as a murder suspect. He had lost his security and now he had to live like this. Whatever motive he’d once had was now gone and he was left in a rundown part of the city. Poverty had risen drastically in Toledo, and visiting places like this didn’t let you forget that.
I knocked on the door, assuming that he was at home given that the garage door was open. After a few seconds, a man came to the door. He wore a pair of jeans with numerous holes and smudges on them along with a t-shirt that had once been white.
A Pit Bull stood behind him. The dog didn’t growl, but I knew their reputation. I was a bit tense, but as I watched the dog, I saw all the signs that said this was just a pet and not a vicious killer. The stance was off for attack, and the attitude was anything but aggressive.
“What?” the man said, stroking the dog’s head absent-mindedly as he waited for my response.
“I
She beamed. “Young love is so wonderful. I love to see young people find each other. Too many times something comes between them.”
She looked at me, waiting for me to say something, but I wasn’t sure how to answer. I wasn’t exactly young. I was two years younger than she was. That was hardly Romeo or Juliet. I was an adult, settled into my own life, though it was changing drastically at the moment. Her comments seemed wildly out of place, but at the same time, I felt like I was expected to know something that I didn’t have a clue about.
Besides, I wasn’t sure that I agreed with that sentiment. For me at least, young love was all that great. It was too fraught with emotion and drama and angst for my taste. I’d missed out on dating in school, but there were a lot of pitfalls to avoid in this whole dating thing.
Her comments threw me off, and I puzzled over them all the way back to my house. I was greeted by my two Corgis, Bruno and Bess, so I took them for a long walk to sort out my thoughts. I had contact information, or something resembling contact information for her parents and other clients of Belinda Frias. I also was told that Mr. Frias was likely in the book. While the dogs stopped to sniff everything along our way, I made up a list of people to contact.
I decided to start with the husband, since Sheila always informed me that the spouse was the most likely person in a homicide. That usually preceded any discussion we had on getting more serious, so I wasn’t exactly sure where things would end up with us. However, I enjoyed things as they were now. Still it was a depressing statement about marriage that the happily ever after was the most likely to kill you.
I found Mr. Frias’ name in the original articles and then located him via the Internet. I opted to visit him in person rather than calling him. This was the type of intrusion that would likely be met with resistance, so I thought that I’d provide fewer chances to say no by meeting him face to face. From trying to get clients for my business, I found that people were more likely to be rude on the phone than in person, and they were worse still on a computer.
Mr. Frias’ house was located on Starr Street, and I was guessing from the address and what I’d been told that it was in one of the grittier areas there. I pulled up in front of the house, whose grass was almost taller than my own. The garage door was open, and everyone could see a kaleidoscope of projects. There were paths between the stacks of materials and half-built machinery in the garage. I remembered what Gwen had said about how Belinda had kept a job for the steady income. This is what happened when that income went away.
It didn’t bode well for him as a murder suspect. He had lost his security and now he had to live like this. Whatever motive he’d once had was now gone and he was left in a rundown part of the city. Poverty had risen drastically in Toledo, and visiting places like this didn’t let you forget that.
I knocked on the door, assuming that he was at home given that the garage door was open. After a few seconds, a man came to the door. He wore a pair of jeans with numerous holes and smudges on them along with a t-shirt that had once been white.
A Pit Bull stood behind him. The dog didn’t growl, but I knew their reputation. I was a bit tense, but as I watched the dog, I saw all the signs that said this was just a pet and not a vicious killer. The stance was off for attack, and the attitude was anything but aggressive.
“What?” the man said, stroking the dog’s head absent-mindedly as he waited for my response.
“I
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