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  67. 3:46 a.m.

“If you find us a clue to who killed your mom, I’ll give you a couple more.”

Meow.

“Seven? How bout three?”

Meow.

“Four, but no more.”

Meow.

“Fine, five.”

He jumps off the counter and zips out of the kitchen.

After my unlikely chat with the POTUS, I was far from convinced that Jessica Renoix had not died at the hands of Connor Sullivan. But he had put a couple chinks in the armor, enough that I was looking for a connection between Jessica and a third party. If this was a ménage à trois, then someone knew the President was coming over to Jessica’s house with a big bag of cash. I was hoping to uncover some clue as to who that person could be.

I spend five minutes in the living room looking through a bunch of pictures on the walls. The Clemens appear to be in their late sixties, but that could have been exacerbated by UVA and UVB rays. There is a son and a daughter. Four grandchildren by the looks of the framed school pictures.

Finding nothing that speaks to the murder of Jessica Renoix, I make my way into the master bedroom. I hit the flashlight on my phone, illuminating the many elephant trinkets scattered about the room. I wonder if Jessica or Mrs. Clemens was the elephant nut. I guess the latter. In fact, everything in the room, the entire house, appears to belong to the Clemens. Had they known Jessica well enough to let her around all their valuables without a care in the world? Detective Ray had said the Clemens told her Callie/Jessica had contacted them through Craigslist, so Jessica wasn’t an old family friend. Ray also mentioned they’d given her a great deal on the rent. Did she charm them, much like she’d charmed the President?

Jessica had been living in the house for going on three months, yet there was no sign of her.

The closet was full of the Clemens’ clothes. The dresser as well. Well, at least most of the dresser. Unless, Mrs. Clemens was wearing thongs and a size two, which I highly doubted, the bottom three drawers belonged to Jessica. I rifle through her bra and panties, then her shirts and tops, then her jeans. I stick my hand into the pocket of each pair of jeans. On the fifth pair, I find a small slip of paper. A receipt.

I unfold it.

Best Cash Pawn Shop.

She sold something to them for $1,200.

Meow.

I look down at Lassie.

“Too late, buddy. I already found it.”

Meow.

“Okay, okay.”

I give him two more treats.

Meow.

“You’re welcome.”

Five minutes later we are home.

…

“It’s up here on the left.”

“That neon sign?” asks my dad.