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“Cheers,” Emmy said. Then, “Do you believe in fate?”
Wasn’t it a little late for a philosophical discussion?
“It’s not something I’ve given a lot of consideration. How about you? Do you believe in fate?”
“I think there are things we don’t yet understand about the world. But don’t worry your handsome little head about the Bad Samaritan—a hundred bucks says that justice will be done.”
“I’m not sure I should take that bet.”
“Oh, go on. I like winning.”
Nico had heard enough about the Bad Samaritan’s handiwork to suspect that Emmy would indeed win. And if she did, it would be the best hundred bucks he’d ever spent.
“Why don’t I just send you the money right now?”
“That would also be acceptable. Did you mention the possibility of an immunity deal to Kaylin? I’m meeting with a pair of FBI agents about another matter tomorrow—yawn—and I could start feeling them out.”
“She isn’t keen on the idea of admitting guilt for something she didn’t do.”
“Yeah, I can understand that. We’ve got a few possibilities for the missing guests at the Bluebird Inn, but we’re having to track them down one by one. Some travel will be involved.”
“The cost doesn’t matter.”
“Then we’ll keep digging.”
“I hope you manage to get some sleep, Mrs. Black.”
“And I hope Kaylin and Sara find the peace they deserve.”
32
DASHA
“Can you talk?” Emmy asked, and I instantly regretted answering the phone.
Le sigh.
I dumped another bundle of cedar shingles on the scaffold platform and glanced at the treeline. If I got one more row finished before dark, I planned to go for a ride on my new motorcycle, which meant I didn’t have time to shoot the breeze with the British bitch.
“What do you want? Is there an issue with the La Rocca girl? She seems to be getting cosy with Belinsky.”
“I thought she might be. Do you see much of them?”
“I’ve run into them a couple of times. Could you send me a tracker? One of the small ones that uses kinetic energy to recharge.”
“Dare I ask why?”
“I need it for a craft project.”
Emmy just laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. And I’m actually calling to dish the dirt on Sara Baldwin.”
Okay, that was vaguely interesting. And also irritating. If anyone had dirt on a resident of Baldwin’s Shore, it should be me. This was my home, and if I hadn’t spent every spare moment for the last two weeks replacing the ancient roof on my cabin, then I’d be the one with the gossip. Not that I gossiped. I preferred to hold my cards close to my chest.
“Tell me.”
There had been a shooting last week, but for once, I hadn’t pulled the trigger. And I liked Sara. When I used to work for the Baldwins, she was the only one of the kids with a heart. I might not have one myself, but I was capable of recognising the trait in others.
Emmy detailed the events that had unfolded over the past week, and even as the sun dropped, I found myself more interested in the details than in firing nails into the roof and pretending it was my former mentor’s genitals. The man had ceased breathing several years ago, but hate never died.
