Chapter Three
As I drove home, I mulled Katie’s sister’s odd behavior. I understand why people want to be left alone, but looking up a number for me? To help find a missing person? Seriously?
I pushed aside further thoughts of Katie’s sister and her weird ’tude. That was her problem, not mine. I sped south down New Hampshire Avenue, turned onto Randolph Road, then wound through backstreets toward Georgia Avenue in Wheaton, to my apartment and office therein.
I’d been lucky to sublet a studio I could barely afford at the Heights, a building rehabbed from a Sixties-era mid-rise to gleaming high-rise splendor. It was a quick walk away from the Metro Red Line. Not to mention all sorts of fancy new stores and the arts district. All part of the suburban renewal effort during the past few deca
