Damn, it's bright out today. You don't really notice from inside, but soon as you open the door, wham! It's like you've been snatched for interrogation and someone's shining a flashlight in your eyes.
But I got no time for my own troubles. Jon's nervous. Fidgety. He's moving fast and acting paranoid. I gotta keep on him without looking like I'm keeping on him, and he's not making that easy.
He sees his goal and makes a beeline. Black residence, 4214 Maple Road. Aging sedan sitting on the cracked asphalt of the driveway, deep red bricks framing the aluminum sheets of the garage door. It's not at all out of place in the suburban jungle I call home. That Jon chose to come here isn't too surprising. That he's so anxious about it, however, is.
The sound of the doorbell masks the scraping of rubber against bark as I perch myself hidden in the live oak in the middle of the Black's front lawn. I haven't been seen yet.
I'm not sure what to expect. It looks like Jon isn't either. He's shuffling. Still nervous. Hands in his pockets, hands out of his pockets. He rubs his fingers against his lips, and then the door opens.
Karyn Black. I'm not sure why a chick like her ever hung out with a guy like Jon. But they've been friends since as long as I've known Jon.
The look on Karyn's face, however, is not that of a friend. Not an enemy. Just not someone who's familiar with the guy standing at her door. She's confused. Flustered. She doesn't know why Jon is there, and Jon can't seem to explain himself. She interrupts his stuttering.
"Jonathan Gibson," she says almost too quietly for me to hear, "are you here to ask me something?"
She leans her head down so her bangs cover her eyes. Her smile twists with just the slightest hint of coquettishness. Her hands slide behind her back and one grabs the other at the wrist. I know that expression. Heck, I've used that expression myself on a couple hard cases when I couldn't get information any other way. There are only two possibilities here: either Karyn is playing Jon for information, or she's head-over-heels for him out of the blue for the first time since she's known the chump.
I put my eggs in that first basket, myself, but what could Karyn want to know that Jon wouldn't tell her willingly?
My thoughts are interrupted as Jon stumbles backwards over some flower pots. Whatever's going on, he's confused, too. But his confusion spells trouble for me: his stumbling is leading him to the middle of the lawn, right to the base of my tree. If he sees me, my investigation might have to stop right here.
