Page 21 of Fish out of Water
It was part of a fish. Specifically, the tail part.
The tail part of a fish that looked just like Penelope.
And not just one. The box was full of them.
Mr. Frazier kept a box full of frozen fish tails in his freezer.
And I thought I was weird.
I shoved the flaps back into place and dug through a couple more drawers, crossing my fingers that I didn’t have to go all the way back to my apartment for the tape I needed to hide my snooping.
I got lucky and found a roll of clear packing tape. I slapped some on the box and shoved it back into the freezer, being careful to put it in the same spot I found it in.
I stood in the kitchen, looking around for anything else that might harbor a possible clue to where my aged neighbor could have gone.
And who exactly Grant was.
I went to the bathroom and peeked through the medicine cabinet. There was a bottle of aspirin, a tube of muscle cream, and a few containers of floss.
No toothbrush, no toothpaste and no prescription drugs, so that was good. Meant Mr. Frazier was still brushing his teeth and taking his medications. I bent to peek under the sink.
A few extra rolls of toilet paper were stacked on one side and a bottle of cleaner sat on the other.
Nothing too suspicious so far.
Hopefully that meant all this was exactly what Grant was telling me it was.
That he really was Mr. Frazier’s nephew and Mr. Frazier would be back soon.
But it still didn’t explain the money or the way Grant hustled me out of the mailroom when those strange men came in.
So my search continued. I went to the bedroom next, dropping down to look under the bed. Nothing. Not even a dust bunny.
Mr. Frazier was pretty neat. Way neater than I was.
I grunted as I lifted up the mattress, looking between it and the box spring for anything that might have been shoved there. This was the spot I’d been most hopeful about.
But I struck out again.
If all I found were frozen fish tails I was going to be pissed.
I went to the other bedroom which looked like it was probably where Mr. Frazier spent most of his time. A large recliner sat next to a little table across from a television. A handmade afghan was neatly folded and draped across the back of the chair and the carpet was a little worn right in front of it.
This was going to be my jackpot.
I stuffed my hands down in the corners of the chair, digging for anything that might have fallen in. Other than a few crumbs and the remote to the television the chair was as clean and clue free as most of the rest of the apartment.
I bent to look down at the shelf under the table. A few phone books sat under an archaic phone.
Who in the hell used phone books anymore?
I actually knew the answer to that.
Everyone at Sweet Side Apartments.
I scooted the top book out and flipped through the pages. Nothing interesting. I checked the middle one before moving on to the third and final book.
About halfway through a sheet of lined notebook paper was tucked between the pages. I pulled it free and scanned the list of what appeared to be addresses. None of them were labeled in any way. Just the number, street name, and city.
