The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [60]
Item by item, Joey shoveled through the muck, grabbing and transferring fistfuls of old spaghetti, discarded rotini, and leftover mac and cheese. “Lots of pasta—not a lot of cash,” she whispered to Noreen, whose job it was to catalogue. “There’s onions and garlic… a wrapper for pre-cut portobello mushrooms—that’s his baby-step to high society—otherwise, nothing expensive in the way of veggies—no asparagus or fru-fru exotic lettuce.”
“Okay…”
“He’s got a torn pair of old underwear—boxers, actually—which somehow seems impressive, though it’s actually gross…”
“I’ll make a note…”
“Some American cheese wrappers… a plastic Shop-Rite deli bag…” She pulled the deli label close to read it. “… a pound of turkey, the store-brand cheap stuff… empty bags of potato chips and pretzels… He’s bringing lunch every day.”
“How’s take-out look?”
“No Styrofoam… no Chinese delivery containers… not even a pizza crust,” Joey said, continuing to dig through the wet mess. “He doesn’t spend a dollar ordering out. Except for the mushrooms, he’s saving every dime.”
“Packaging materials?”
“Nothing. No electronics… no batteries… just a plastic wrapper from a videotape. All within his means. The biggest splurges are high-tech Gillette razors and some double-ply toilet tissue. Ooop—he’s also got a wrapper for some super-absorbent Tam-pax—looks like our boy’s got a girlfriend.”
“How many wrappers?”
“Just one,” Joey answered. “She’s not here every night—maybe she’s new… or she likes him staying at her place.” At the bottom of the bag, Joey shook out four filters of old coffee and used her fingers to rake through the sand dune of grinds. “That’s it. A week in the life,” Joey announced. “Of course, without the recycling, it’s only half the picture.”
“If you say so…”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know… it’s just… do you really think rummaging through garbage is going to help us find them?” Noreen asked sheepishly.
Joey shook her head to herself. Oh, to be that young. “Noreen, the only way to tell where someone’s going is if you know where they’ve been.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “Think we can get the recycling?” Noreen asked.
“You tell me. What day do they—?”
“Pickup’s not till tomorrow,” Noreen interrupted. “I got the web page up in front of me.”
Joey nodded. Even the mouse had to sometimes roar.
“I bet it’s still in his apartment,” Noreen added.
“Only one way to find out…” Shoving the garbage cans back in place, Joey took her red leash on a walk toward the front of the house and down Oliver’s shaky brick stairs. Next to the painted red door was a small four-pane window that held a single blue-and-white sticker: “Warning! Protected by Ameritech Alarms.”
“My butt,” Joey muttered. This kid won’t order Domino’s; he’s certainly not springing for an alarm.
“What’re you doing?” Noreen asked.
“Nothing,” Joey said as she pressed her nose between the bars that covered the window. Squinting tight, she peered through the tiny apartment. That’s when she saw it—on the floor in the corner of the kitchen—the royal blue plastic recycling bin filled with cans… and the bright green bin stuffed with paper.
“Please tell me you’re not breaking in,” Noreen asked, already panicking.
“I’m not breaking in,” Joey said dryly. She reached into her purse and pulled out a zippered black leather case. From there, she removed a thin, wire-tipped instrument and shoved it straight into Oliver’s top lock.
“You know what Mr. Sheafe said about that! If you get caught again…!”
With a quick flick of the wrist, the lock popped and the door swung open. Pulling her last garbage bag from her pocket, Joey took a quick scan and grinned. “Come to momma…”
* * * *
“Why’re you making such a big deal?” Joey asked, kneeling in front of and flipping through the two-drawer file cabinet