Miss Trailerhood by Carina Taylor (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📗

she showed up to my trailer and offered to introduce me to her neighbors. But after the “tour,” I was sure of one thing: she was doing her best to get rid of me.

I knew what she was up to. She was trying to scare me away by showing me the “rough” side of trailer-park life. Jim and his threadbare underwear had nearly worked. I still needed to bleach my eyes out. Unfortunately, I hadn’t bought any of that when I did my big shopping trip after kicking Riley out of my trailer the first day I moved in.

I sat in my single-wide on the beanbag couch that FedEx had dropped off on my porch when I’d been walking around the neighborhood. I’d immediately pulled it out of the box and set it up in the living room. It was comfortable as heck.

After the tour of the trailer park, Riley had hurried off to her trailer, mumbling something about her work and a live. When I tried to ask what she did—even though I had already figured it out—she sprinted off, leaving me standing next to Gabe the Gunrunner’s house. He was one of the double-wide owners.

I hurried away from there and went back to my new place to get some work done.

It felt great to be away from Portland and my apartment I rented with two other guys. We’d originally rented an apartment together because we all traveled so much it was nice to trade off with whom was home to keep an eye on things. But I ended up spending more and more time there in between jobs.

This trailer park already suited me better. No loud background noise. No random girlfriends popping in all the time. No one blaring the TV or trying to carry on a conversation with me when, obviously, I didn’t want to talk. It was actually nice to have a space all to myself, even if it was falling down around my ears.

I glanced up at the warped, cracked ceiling. Yup. It definitely needed work.

I scrolled through my laptop, editing some photos I had taken from my last trip. Extras that I would probably sell to an indie magazine or somewhere online. I’d already sent my client the photos they needed. He’d only paid me for the photos he wanted to keep, rather than paying me for an exclusive shoot. Now I didn’t have another job lined up for another month.

It had been perfect timing to run into Riley.

As far as I could tell, Riley still thought I was a bum living off my parents’ money. She figured I dropped out of college because I didn’t like the work. Not true. I dropped out of college because I found other work I liked better. Photography was way more fun than business.

What she didn’t know was that I could see through her paltry attempt at photoshopping backgrounds on her social media. I clicked open the tab on my laptop to her Instagram page. Oh yeah, I’d finally put two and two together. It also helped that she had #crazyplantlady stenciled on the wall in her trailer. It made it easy to find her. She had one heck of a following. She’d done well for herself.

Her lifestyle Instagram was eye-catching. She had the perfect combination to draw people in. She was beautiful, unique, smart, and a talented deceiver. She gave them a portion of the story, and it made her followers want more. They asked her questions. Questions that she answered in the comments rather than with another photo.

I grinned as I clicked on a photo of her standing in front of her trailer with a false desert background. #arizonadeserts.

Yeah, that looked more like Idaho to me when I looked closely. But it was enough of a blur that she could get away with it, even with Arizona natives. Several Arizona dwellers had commented on the photo, saying, “I’ve been to this exact same spot!”

As if standing on the same stretch of desert built a greater connection to Riley.

I couldn’t even blame her followers—not when I had the same urge to connect with her.

I spent the next few hours reviewing her photos and liking every single one, adding annoying comments on some. I wondered if she was as curious about me as I was about her. I wanted to know what she’d been up to since I last saw her. I wondered if she thought the same.

Curiosity killed the cat, they say, and there was a knock on my door that I was pretty sure was the cat.

I glanced at the clock. It was already five o’clock. I’d spent most the afternoon cyber-stalking Riley. I closed my laptop and took my time putting it away. Another knock sounded, shaking the thin front door. I made my way toward it.

“May I help you?” I asked after I opened it to find Riley standing on the porch, a serene smile on her face. Faker.

“I was just coming over to see if you wanted to come to a neighborhood barbecue.” She smiled reassuringly, as though she had buried the hatchet. I knew better. But I was up for the challenge.

“Hang on while I grab my phone.”

I left the door open and walked into the kitchen to grab my cell phone and car keys. I didn’t mind so much if someone got into the house, but I wanted some kind of warning if they did. I wasn’t ready to lose my new laptop.

“I like what you’ve done with the place!” Riley commented from where she now stood in the center of my living room. She gestured to my beanbag couch.

“All right, so it’s not home sweet home yet, but it will get there.”

“Oh, I know it will,” she replied patronizingly.

I scowled. “Are we going to the barbecue or not?”

She scurried out of the house, a guilty expression on her face. “I don’t want you to be bored tonight. I’m second-guessing inviting you now. I know you’re used to so many