high-pitched barking. It wasn’t that she didn’t like dogs. She’d grown up with a German shepherd, for goodness sake, but she wasn’t totally convinced that Chihuahuas were actual dogs. Her brain was still fuzzy, as if she’d taken a sleeping pill. Not that she ever did. Natalie didn’t need much sleep, but when she finally crashed, she went out like a light. Hitting the counter, she managed to pull out the filters and grounds, pouring in the Kona blend she treated herself to on payday.
After the coffee was started, she looked around her house again. The small living room flowed out onto a whitewashed wooden deck that was the real reason she had leased the place. It was her second house in San Diego, but the one she hoped to stay in. Close enough to downtown to ride her bike, she was within walking distance of cafes, a good market, and lots of boutiques and restaurants. The fact that she also had a friendly, grandfather-ish landlord helped too. Mr. Sanchez thought being a writer was slightly more glamorous than it actually was, but then she was fairly sure she’d heard His Girl Friday playing more than once from her side of the wall.
As if on cue, her phone rang. Where wa sts her phone? She always knew where her phone was. It was practically glued to her hand. Natalie looked around in confusion, noting the general disarray for the first time. Her nice black dress was hanging on the back of the dining room chair. Her heels were tossed by the couch. Her purse… was ringing.
Picking it up from the coffee table, she dug around, hitting answer just in time to hear her editor, Kristy, muttering.
“—least have the decency to call if she’s not coming in like she said. Don’t know—”
“I’m here, Kristy.” Shit, she sounded annoyed. It was Saturday, wasn’t it? Natalie rubbed her eyes. It had to be. She wasn’t supposed to go into the offices of the Tribune on Saturday.
“Hey! Where are you? We were supposed to meet for lunch at the Hash House, remember?”
“Oh shit,” she groaned. “What time is it?”
“How late were you out last night? Did you find him?”
She wrinkled her forehead. “Find who?” She racked her brain. Where did she even go last night? Her dress said nice restaurant or club, but she didn’t remember. She blinked, the scent of coffee starting to clear her head.
She didn’t remember?
“I don’t know. Whoever you were supposed to be meeting. Dan thought it sounded like a guy. Weird name though.”
“Kristy, I don’t…”
“What? Are you okay?”
Natalie cleared her throat. “I’m not sure.”
All annoyance fled her friend’s voice. “Hey, what’s going on? Do you want me to come over?”
“I, uh… I remember leaving work last night.”
“You left late. You told Dan you were following up on a lead for the coyote story.”
“Right.” Where had she been? Pushing down a swell of panic, Natalie walked to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, drinking it black. It burned her mouth, but she swallowed anyway, desperate for the jolt of caffeine. “I remember coming home. Mr. Sanchez was here. He made me a pan of enchiladas.” She opened the fridge. The metal pan was there, missing two enchiladas from her dinner last night.
“You have the best neighbors. Loud and Louder never make me anything.” Kristy lived next to the most vocal married couple in history. Natalie would think her friend was exaggerating except she’d tried to watch a movie at Kristy’s one time and they’d actually given up after round three was louder than both rounds one and two.
“Okay, enchiladas here,” she muttered to herself. “Think, Nat. Where did you go?”
“Do you really not remember what you did last night? Because that’s not good.”
“You’re telling me. It looks like I went out, but…”
She looked around, taking in the evidence she could see. Dress thrown on the chair. Shoes kicked off. Purse thrown on the table with her phone not plugged into the charger for the night. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she’d gone out with friends to a club or a bar, drank too much, and came home to crash. But if she’d gone out drinking, Kristy would have been there.
“Kristy…” She took another drink of the scalding coffee. “I don’t remember what I did last night. Like, no memory. At all.”
“You didn’t meet anyone, did you?”
She laughed a little. “No evidence of amorous encounters. Sorry.”
“I can always hope.”
As soon as she said it, her stomach dropped.