My grandmother and I moved into Apartment 3B at the historic Fenwick Building three weeks ago, adopting a stray hound named Buster who roamed the alley.
The encrypted SIM card sat on my desk, a small, inert block of plastic and metal. I had no idea how to access whatever data it held. It felt like holding a key, but having no lock.
Grandma Martha was still upset about the pending animal seizure. I knew I needed to talk to Aunt Sarah about the SIM card and the bribe, but I wanted to wait until Martha was calmer.
Later that evening, another knock echoed through the apartment. This one was softer, hesitant.
I looked through the peephole. A woman stood there, her shoulders slumped, clutching a worn leather purse. She had long, dark hair and wore a faded denim jacket. Her eyes looked tired, but there was a flicker of something else there, something hopeful and desperate.
In her hand, she held one of the lost-dog flyers I’d posted around the neighborhood earlier in the week, hoping to find Buster’s previous owner if he had one.
“Can I help you?” I asked, opening the door only a crack.
Her gaze immediately fell on Buster, who had ambled into the hallway, curious. He sniffed at the air through the gap in the door, then let out a soft whine, a sound of recognition.
The woman’s breath hitched. Her eyes, already a little red, immediately welled with tears.
She pointed at Buster, her hand shaking. “That’s… that’s him, isn’t it? Buster? He was Clara’s dog.”
My blood ran cold. Clara. Clara Danforth, the woman Marcus claimed moved to California, the woman whose collar Buster had pulled from the wall.
“You… you know Buster?” I managed, my voice a whisper.
She nodded, tears streaming freely down her face now. “He was hers. I helped her pick him out at the shelter. She loved him so much.”
She looked up at me, her eyes pleading. “My name is Chloe Bennett. I used to… I used to live here. In this building. With Marcus.”
My mind reeled. Marcus’s ex-girlfriend. The pieces were starting to slot together, forming a picture I didn’t want to see.
“Marcus Gable?” I asked, just to be sure.
She swallowed hard, nodding again. “Yes. I lived in Apartment 4B right after Clara… after Clara left.”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I saw your flyer. I knew I had to come. I have to tell you something.”
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