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My old bones weren't ready for it the way I'd hoped they'd be.
I was stiff and sore the next morning and Elizabeth showed no mercy, treating me to intervals on the sand. I begged off halfway through and she finished her workout, smiling at me each time she jogged back to her starting spot. I tried to beat her back to the house and was ahead of her most of the way, but she sprinted easily by me at the end, giggling as she cruised past.
I applauded myself for not tripping her.
I showered and changed and headed back out to El Cajon.
I'd gotten a message from Mike that he'd spoken to Cleo. He didn't give me any indication as to how she’d reacted, but he did reiterate his wish for me to take another peek to see if anything didn't look right. I wasn't exactly sure where to go but I figured the house where I’d found Patrick was as good of a starting point as any.
It looked different when I pulled up to the curb. There were two pick-ups parked in the driveway and there was a single strand of yellow tape draped between the house and the tree that blocked off access to the backyard. A guy with bright blond hair and wearing a T-shirt and jeans was loading a couple of trash bags into the bed of one of the trucks. He was shorter than me, but broader, with shoulders that looked like they had pads on top of them. He eyed me cautiously as I came up the drive, pushing the blond hair out of his eyes to get a better look.
“Help you?” he asked, not bothering to hide that he had no interest in doing so.
“Maybe,” I said. “My name's Joe Tyler. Patrick's uncle is a good friend of mine. His name is Mike.”
The guy made no move nor said anything that indicated he cared.
“I was here yesterday,” I said. “I was the one that found him.”
He turned toward the crime scene tape, then back to me. “Oh. Okay.”
I nodded at the house. “You live here? With Patrick?”
He adjusted the bags in the bed of the truck. “Yeah.”
I waited but he didn't say anything.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” I said.
More silence.
“You moving out?” I asked.
He turned around to face me and folded his arms over his chest. A tattoo of a music note decorated one of his forearms. “What does it look like?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Dumb question.”
“What's your name again?”
“Joe Tyler.”
“Right,” he said, his eyes suspicious. “Yeah, I'm moving out. Landlord's kicking us out.”
“Were you in the band? With Patrick?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Why are you here? I mean, I get you found him. But why now?”
“I'm a friend of Patrick's uncle,” I said again. “His mother hadn't heard from him for several days, so he called me to check on him. I found him yesterday. Just trying to get a handle on what happened. Nothing else.”
“Are you a cop?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, but his uncle is.”
His expression didn’t change. “So what are you then?”
“High school teacher,” I said. “But I used to do some investigating. I can give you his uncle's number if you want to call him to verify. I understand.”
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, it's fine.” He extended his hand. “I'm Ricky Brown.”
I shook his hand. “Sorry we aren't meeting under better circumstances.”
He shrugged. “Is what it is.”
“You talk to the police?” I asked.
“Nearly all night,” he said, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “So if I'm being a dick, it's because I've been up all night dealing with all of this.”
“You're not, and I get it,” I said. “Can I ask why you're moving out now? Seems like a hassle you don't need.”
“No shit,” he mumbled. He blew out a breath. “Our landlord's an asshole. Kind of guy who deposits the check the second he sees it, but disappears the second we need a plumber, you know? He was already kicking us out, but he showed up here last night and made it clear he wanted us out today.”
“I'm sorry,” I said. “That sucks.”
“And then some.”
“Are the other guys here?” I asked. “Your bandmates?”
He shook his head. “No. They bailed. Supposed to come back but who knows? Everyone's a little fucked up right now.”
“Rightly so,” I said, nodding. “How long have you guys been together?” I asked. “The band, I mean.”
“Almost four years,” Ricky answered. “Ruben and Patrick knew one another, and David and I went to high school together. Patrick was looking to put a band together, I saw the ad.” He shrugged. “We all just clicked.” He glanced at the house. “And, look. I get you're trying to help Patrick's uncle or whatever. But if I don't get this shit out of the house, our landlord is gonna show up and make it worse, you know? Not trying to be rude or anything, but taking shit from that guy is the last thing I need right now.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I get it.” I gestured at the house. “You need an extra hand?”
Ricky squinted at me. “Why do you wanna help me?”
I understood his apprehension and I was trying not to get irritated by it. “Look, I get it. Rough night and now you're getting tossed. Patrick's uncle is one of my best friends and he asked me to just find out some things, if there's anything to find out. There's nothing else going on, I promise.” I paused. “I'll help you get your stuff loaded up and I'll buy lunch. Let me ask you about the band and Patrick and that kind of thing and we'll call it even.”
“I did the whole question and answer thing with the cops last night,” Ricky said, running a hand through his hair.
“And I promise I won't have nearly as many questions,” I said. “I'm offering an extra set of hands and a free lunch. I'd say that's a good deal, considering the night and morning you've had.”
Ricky studied me for a moment, probably still trying to decide if I had some ulterior motive. I really didn't. I wasn't thrilled about moving furniture, but I recognized that he was under the gun and I was getting in his way. If I was going to get a clearer picture of Patrick and his life, the least I could do was offer to help one of his friends in exchange for asking questions.
“Probably take us about an hour,” he finally said. “You have time?”
“I do.”
Ricky looked at the house and shook his head. “No idea where the other two are, but I can't wait on them.”
“All the more reason to let me help.”
Ricky turned back around to me. “Alright. You help me and we can talk about Patrick.”
“Deal,” I said.
“And lunch,” he said.
“And lunch,” I said.