long before it starts coming out in weird ways and at weird times.”
“I thought I had dealt with it,” Josie said.
Gretchen smiled. “By doing this job? No, not the same thing as dealing with it, processing it, moving on from it.”
Josie knew Gretchen was just as intimately acquainted with trauma as she was. “What do you do?”
“Since everything came out a few years ago,” Gretchen said, “I’ve been in therapy.”
Nothing sounded quite so painful to Josie as therapy. Gretchen must have seen it in her face because she said, “I know you don’t think it will help. A lot of people don’t see the value in it, which is understandable, but it’s helped me a lot. Anyway, what do you say we turn around and get back on the road? Check out Vera’s apartment, see what we can turn up there?”
“Yes,” Josie breathed. “That sounds good.”
Thirty-Seven
Colbert was a small town to the west of Denton, its quaint streets laid out in a grid pattern with all the necessary amenities and shopping at its center in old brick buildings that looked like they’d been built in the 1800s. The apartment that Vera Urban had been renting under the name Alice Adams was on the first floor of a duplex about five blocks from Colbert’s main street. It was well kept but nondescript, just like the street it sat on. The landlord met them at the front door. After they made introductions, he handed them a copy of the lease. Josie studied it. It had been signed five years earlier. “It was always month-to-month,” he told them. “She always paid cash, rarely complained. She was a model tenant, really. I’m sorry to hear what happened to her.” He unlocked the front door and ushered them inside. “She said she didn’t have any family. I guess that means all her stuff is… well, I’m not sure what I’ll do with it so feel free to take anything you’d like. I’ll wait outside.”
The apartment was small but bright, airy, and clean. The living room held a couch and coffee table across from a small stand with a television and DVD player on it. Along one wall was a row of bookshelves. Half of them held DVDs and the other half held dog-eared, broken-spined paperback books. Beyond that was a kitchen/dining area fit for no more than two people. A hallway off the kitchen led to a bathroom and large bedroom.
Josie and Gretchen searched meticulously, finding few personal items other than some pieces of junk mail which were addressed to “Resident”. The bathroom had a few more prescription bottles—painkillers, additional anti-anxiety drugs, and heartburn medication. In the bedroom were more well-used paperback books on the bedside table but again, nothing personal. No photos, no cards, not even home décor items like knick-knacks or wall hangings. It was obvious someone lived here, but the entire apartment seemed very impersonal. Almost like a hotel room.
A noise from the bedroom closet startled them. Gretchen’s hand lingered over the Glock at her waist. At Josie’s nod, she unsnapped her holster and drew her weapon, keeping the barrel toward the ground. Josie did the same. Gretchen moved to stand behind Josie, and together they approached the closet door. Heart thundering in her chest, Josie swung open the door and lifted her gun, trying to focus in on any potential threat. Before she could even process what she was seeing, Gretchen erupted into laughter behind her. Both women holstered their weapons and stared at the large orange striped cat doing its business in a litter box on the floor of the closet. A moment later, it sauntered out of the closet and meowed loudly. It went straight to Gretchen, rubbing its body against her legs. She reached down to pet it, and the cat arched its back at her touch.
Josie took in a couple of breaths, waiting for her heart rate to return to normal. “Looks like Vera—or Alice—wasn’t living alone, after all.”
Gretchen picked the cat up and talked softly to it. It purred in her arms. She held it away from her body before hugging it again. “It’s a she,” she told Josie. “No collar though. Let’s hope Alice took her to a vet regularly. Maybe they’ll know her name.”
She placed the cat back onto the floor so she could help Josie explore the contents of the closet, but the cat stayed close, weaving in and out of Gretchen’s legs. “She likes you,” Josie noted. The closet took up almost