Dead Last
“He showered, selected a fresh polo shirt. Another day, another alligator on the chest.
He paced around the apartment for an hour, looking out his window at the eastern windows of the house. April’s bedroom. Shades drawn. No lights. Car gone.
At nine when Frank arrived, Thorn told him about April, that she’d started her obituary for Monday. They knocked at the front door but no one came. Frank called her phone and they could hear it ringing inside. No one answered, no voice mail.
“You got a key?”
Thorn dug it out. He knocked again. Still no answer.
“We’ll set the trap at the Silver Sands,” Frank said. “It’s out of the way, I know it like the back of my hand. The beach access is a minor problem. Might have to call on Rivlin and Vasquez. But between the four of us, we can lock it down tight.”
Thorn opened the front door and they stepped into the foyer. Thorn called out. Nothing. He walked down the hallway to the kitchen, Frank tagging along, looking at the family photos.
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