I figured he’d been displaced by Katrina and still didn’t have a home, but Mom said no, Toby had always lived in a trailer.If I hadn’t known this area had been spared by the hurricane, I’d have been sure this particular trailer had been swept away by the floods and dragged back. It certainly looked that way. It even seemed to have mud spatter, until I got close enough to see it was rust. A lot of rust. One window was boarded up. The roof sagged at two corners. A single hinge held the screen door in place. Where other trailers had nice grass front “yards” and even flower beds, this one had mud, with beer cans piled as statuary.Otherwise it was a decent trailer park. Respectable enough that we felt comfortable leaving the Mercedes in the visitors lot, though Mom did cast a security spell on it.We didn’t worry about sneaking up on the derelict trailer—the remaining windows were dark with blackout blinds.“What’s his type?” I asked as we approached.“Blondes, I think.
