Cole
Our first meeting was with Mrs. Dallen. The owner of the house Adam had stayed in. Her daughter had decided to tag along, and I was grateful that we had managed to snag a quiet booth in the back of the diner.
“So, Mrs. Dallen, tell me what you remember about Adam,” I said as I looked at the older woman. She nodded and her daughter – Macy – gave her an encouraging smile.
“Adam was a lovely boy, but he was always late with his rent,” she said, and it felt a bit anticlimactic. “He rented that house from me for a year, I did an inspection twice,” she went on, and I nodded as I added it to my notebook. “I remember the first time I did an inspection…he had been living there for only a few months, maybe four, maybe five, I can’t quite remember…but the place was a mess. A stinky mess,” I s
