Page 14 of Wild Idol (Tyson Wild Thriller #82)

“ I s she dead?” Ms. Fowler asked, her suspicious eyes narrowing at me.

“We just need to rule that out as a possibility,” I said.

Her eyes rounded, and her jaw went slack. “A possibility?”

“I’m sorry, we just don’t know.”

Her lip quivered, and her eyes brimmed.

“It’s too soon to say. There was an accident earlier.”

“What kind of accident?”

I gave Margret limited details. She obviously didn’t catch the news on TV.

Mrs. Fowler looked dazed, trying to put all the pieces together.

“I feel terrible that we’ve put you in this situation,” I said. “I know it’s difficult, but until we have further information, we have to assume that she’s still alive. ”

I didn’t want to give her false hope, but I didn’t want to destroy her world either.

Margret sniffled, nodded, and wiped her eyes.

“As far as I recall, she never had any broken bones. If she has any tattoos, she never told me about them, and I never saw them.” Mrs. Fowler thought about it for a moment.

“She’s got a scar on the back of her head when she fell off a swing when she was a little girl.

Hit her head on a rock, and I had to rush her to the emergency room. She got a few stitches.

“What about dental work?”

“She had braces as a kid. She had a few fillings. Nothing major unless she’s had work done in the last six months.

But you never know—she could have gotten veneers or some other type of cosmetic procedure to help her look more like Sable.

I’m telling you, she was obsessed. I think sometimes she thought she was her.

I know she’s been doing drugs from time to time, and I think it just messed with her head.

She was having some issues. Depression and whatnot.

” She shrugged again. “Like I said, I think she just wanted to escape.”

“Do you know if she was seeing anyone?”

“Well, she had been dating Matthew for a long time, but I’m not sure what the status was. I think they broke up a few months back, but I could be mistaken. They could have gotten back together for all I know. Like I said, it’s been quite a while since we talked.”

“What about friends?“

“I think she’s still close with Alyssa, but I’m not sure. ”

“I’ll need contact information for both of them.”

Mrs. Fowler nodded. “I’ll just get my phone.”

She stepped back into the house and returned a moment later. She texted me her contact info.

“You mentioned she was doing drugs here and there,” I said. “Do you know if she owed anybody any money? Was she dealing? Could she have gotten sideways with somebody?”

Mrs. Fowler shrugged. “I guess anything is possible.”

I thanked her for the information, apologized once again, and assured her we would be in contact the minute we heard anything.

We left the porch and ambled back to the Porsche.

Jack said, “This just keeps getting weirder and weirder.” he paused. “Maybe Emily stole the car to pay off a drug debt.”

At this point, anything was possible.

“Or maybe she was just out for a joyride.”

“You know Brenda’s gonna ID the body eventually,” JD said. “We’re gonna come right back here and tell that woman her daughter is dead.” Jack frowned and shook his head.

We climbed into the Porsche and headed back to the station to fill out reports.

Afterward, we headed back to the Avventura and called it a night. We’d had enough chaos for one day.

In the morning, we got an early start and headed over to Matthew Langston’s apartment. He lived in the Harbor Lights Apartments. From that location, you couldn’t see the harbor.

It was a decent complex with a series of four-unit structures, all built around a central pool. The lot was unsecured, and there was no gate around the property.

JD found a place to park. We hopped out and walked the path to unit C204.

We climbed the steps, and I put a heavy fist against the door.

The amber sun crested the horizon, casting long rays.

A few palm trees swayed overhead in the breeze.

The grounds were relatively well maintained.

The pool was nice and clean, with plenty of lounge chairs and a barbecue grill.

From my research, Matthew was a bartender at Beach. He got popped on a DUI a few years ago and was in the system.

Footsteps shuffled to the door a moment later. His muffled voice spilled out. “Who is it?”

I flashed my badge to the lens and made introductions.

Matthew pulled open the door and wiped the sleep from his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

“No problem. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

He was a handsome guy in his mid-20s with close-cropped brown hair, brown eyes, a rugged jaw, and a dimpled chin. He had a boyish charm about him. Matt’s arms were sleeved in tattoos. He’d answered the door wearing only boxers.

“When was the last time you saw Emily Fowler?”

His brow knitted like it was an absurd question. “Haven’t seen her in a long time. It’s been a few months, at least. Why? Is there some kind of problem? ”

“No. We just need to ask you a few routine questions.”

“What kind of trouble is she in?“ he asked, knowing better.

“Do you know where we can find her?”