18
The woman wore a lacy halter top, Daisy Dukes, and flip-flops. A muddy kaleidoscope of ink ran down each pale arm. I guessed she was in her forties, but she could have been younger.
“What’re y’all doing in Bonnie and Holly’s place? Y’all cops?” she asked through a mouth of rotten teeth as we approached. Her voice was like gravel in a blender.
“Not exactly,” I replied. “Holly’s gone missing. Her aunt’s worried, so we’re trying to find her. Did you know Bonnie and Holly well?”
“Yeah, I knowed ’em.”
I perked up. “Any idea where Holly might be?”
She crossed her arms. “What’s it worth to you?”
About fifty grand, I thought. I pulled my wallet out of my pocket. I didn’t generally carry my purse when I worked. It was unwieldy and just something to lose. All I had in the wallet was a ten
