Chapter Twenty-Four
High-rise, low rent.
The receipt from Ruffles told me Christina rented apartment 808. I walked up to it and pressed my ear to the door. I could hear a TV running inside, a murmur of voices, and a laugh track. I knocked.
The television went quiet, but no one answered. The room inside fell silent.
I’d come this far, fortunate enough to find a trail of clues to lead me to her doorstep. Even if whoever was inside was not Christina, it would likely be someone who could help me find her.
Might as well go for broke.
“Christina,” I said, not too loud but with enough volume to be heard through the door. “I’m here to help. I know what’s going on. And if you can work with me, I promise you that I’ll do my best to help you figure this out. I’m a P.I.—a private detective. I’m
