Read Online The Prophet (Ryan Archer #2) by William Casey Moreton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William Casey Moreton
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kitchen. He couldn’t see much, but there was movement. A minute passed and eventually an adult male in long shorts and a gray T-shirt walked past, grabbed something from the refrigerator, then returned in the opposite direction.
Archer dropped to the ground. The guy looked about thirty, with wiry arms and narrow shoulders. He looked pale, like he spent most of his time indoors.
Archer returned to the front door and pushed the button. He glanced down the street in both directions—still no sign of the Mercedes. Good.
He could hear movement inside. He could feel eyes assessing him through the small lens in the door, and stood far enough away for the guy in the shorts to get a sufficient look. Then he heard the bolt slide and the door opened against the chain. A third of a face glared at him through the gap in the door. The face didn’t look thirty. Late twenties at best. With fuzz on the chin and watery eyes.
“Can I help you?” the guy with the blond chin fuzz asked.
“I’m friends with Tatum,” Archer said. “Is she still here?”
“Who?”
“Tatum. She stayed here the other night. Short girl in a hoodie.”
“Don’t know her.”
“Do you remember her being here?”
“No.”
“I have a photo with me. Let me show you.”
“Buzz off, dude.”
Before chin fuzz could shut the door, Archer stepped forward and shoved his foot into the gap.
“Let me talk to Cecile,” Archer said.
“Take your foot out of my damn door!”
“Tell Cecile she has a visitor.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“What’s your name?” Archer asked.
“Glen.”
“Word of advice, Glen. Open the door before I kick the door and snap the chain. It’s your choice, choose wisely.”
“What do you want, man?”
“Take the chain off and give me two minutes.”
Glen blinked a half a dozen times, his mind clearly a blizzard of indecision. Finally, he said, “Okay, take your foot out.”
Archer removed his foot. The door closed and he heard the chain slide, then the door opened and Glen stared at him with all the brain wattage of a single Christmas tree light.
“What do you want, man?” Glen repeated.
“Where is Cecile?”
“Gone, man.”
“Where is gone?”
Glen shrugged. “Haven’t seen her today.”
“She’s your fiancée?”
Glen shrugged again, then nodded. “Sure, I guess.”
“What is there to guess about, Glen? Are you engaged to marry her or not?”
Glen nodded hesitantly.
“Did you give her a ring?” Archer asked.
“No.”
“Did you propose?”
“What do you mean?”
Archer decided Glen had best lay off the weed.
“Never mind,” Archer said, genuinely uninterested in the details of Glen’s relationship status. “Does Cecile work? Does she have a job?”
“No.”
“Where does she spend her time?”
“Here, mostly.”
“But you haven’t seen her today.”
“I’ve been out all day. Been back like an hour and she was gone when I got here. So I guess I haven’t seen her since sometime yesterday.”
“Does that concern you?”
“Not really. She does what she wants, and so do I.”
“When do you think she’ll be back?”
“No clue, man.”
“Do me a favor. Call her cell.”
Glen’s watery eyes blinked several times. Then he stepped away from the door and turned toward the kitchen. His cell was on the kitchen counter.
“What’s the problem, man?” Glen asked.
“I’m looking for a friend,” Archer said, “and I’m hoping Cecile can help.”
Glen put the cell to his ear.
“No answer,” he said.
“Try again.”
“Still no answer. Straight to voice mail.”
Archer glanced around. The interior lights shone through a haze of cigarette smoke. A white cat was perched on the back of a leather recliner.
“Mind if I take a look around upstairs?”
Glen shrugged. “Just be quick, man.”
Archer went up the stairs and found the bedroom with a view of the street. He hit the light. A mattress was on the floor
Archer dropped to the ground. The guy looked about thirty, with wiry arms and narrow shoulders. He looked pale, like he spent most of his time indoors.
Archer returned to the front door and pushed the button. He glanced down the street in both directions—still no sign of the Mercedes. Good.
He could hear movement inside. He could feel eyes assessing him through the small lens in the door, and stood far enough away for the guy in the shorts to get a sufficient look. Then he heard the bolt slide and the door opened against the chain. A third of a face glared at him through the gap in the door. The face didn’t look thirty. Late twenties at best. With fuzz on the chin and watery eyes.
“Can I help you?” the guy with the blond chin fuzz asked.
“I’m friends with Tatum,” Archer said. “Is she still here?”
“Who?”
“Tatum. She stayed here the other night. Short girl in a hoodie.”
“Don’t know her.”
“Do you remember her being here?”
“No.”
“I have a photo with me. Let me show you.”
“Buzz off, dude.”
Before chin fuzz could shut the door, Archer stepped forward and shoved his foot into the gap.
“Let me talk to Cecile,” Archer said.
“Take your foot out of my damn door!”
“Tell Cecile she has a visitor.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“What’s your name?” Archer asked.
“Glen.”
“Word of advice, Glen. Open the door before I kick the door and snap the chain. It’s your choice, choose wisely.”
“What do you want, man?”
“Take the chain off and give me two minutes.”
Glen blinked a half a dozen times, his mind clearly a blizzard of indecision. Finally, he said, “Okay, take your foot out.”
Archer removed his foot. The door closed and he heard the chain slide, then the door opened and Glen stared at him with all the brain wattage of a single Christmas tree light.
“What do you want, man?” Glen repeated.
“Where is Cecile?”
“Gone, man.”
“Where is gone?”
Glen shrugged. “Haven’t seen her today.”
“She’s your fiancée?”
Glen shrugged again, then nodded. “Sure, I guess.”
“What is there to guess about, Glen? Are you engaged to marry her or not?”
Glen nodded hesitantly.
“Did you give her a ring?” Archer asked.
“No.”
“Did you propose?”
“What do you mean?”
Archer decided Glen had best lay off the weed.
“Never mind,” Archer said, genuinely uninterested in the details of Glen’s relationship status. “Does Cecile work? Does she have a job?”
“No.”
“Where does she spend her time?”
“Here, mostly.”
“But you haven’t seen her today.”
“I’ve been out all day. Been back like an hour and she was gone when I got here. So I guess I haven’t seen her since sometime yesterday.”
“Does that concern you?”
“Not really. She does what she wants, and so do I.”
“When do you think she’ll be back?”
“No clue, man.”
“Do me a favor. Call her cell.”
Glen’s watery eyes blinked several times. Then he stepped away from the door and turned toward the kitchen. His cell was on the kitchen counter.
“What’s the problem, man?” Glen asked.
“I’m looking for a friend,” Archer said, “and I’m hoping Cecile can help.”
Glen put the cell to his ear.
“No answer,” he said.
“Try again.”
“Still no answer. Straight to voice mail.”
Archer glanced around. The interior lights shone through a haze of cigarette smoke. A white cat was perched on the back of a leather recliner.
“Mind if I take a look around upstairs?”
Glen shrugged. “Just be quick, man.”
Archer went up the stairs and found the bedroom with a view of the street. He hit the light. A mattress was on the floor
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