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“And pointing out that she just got into town,” Waylon argued. “We don’t know enough about her to trust her.” He let it go after that, and after Dad agreed that we should keep Angela in the dark.
This was family business that had started before she arrived, so I didn’t push it. The circle of trust didn’t yet include her, but in time it would, I knew.
We spent another half hour eating and throwing around ideas about Lee’s disappearance.
“The bullet casings and blood they found near my place, combined with the shots Jordan overheard, mean the dude’s dead for sure, and it gives us a timeframe,” Waylon pointed out.
“Or wounded,” Mom said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Not at all,” Case argued. “Remember the Huntzinger woman who faked her death, and the husband ended up on death row until they found her in the Bahamas five years later? This could be just like that.”
“Yeah,” Waylon agreed.
“Refresh my memory,” Mom asked.
Case finished chewing. “Lorraine Huntzinger disappeared, and they immediately suspected her husband. But she set the whole thing up. All it took was a few drops of her blood at the edge of the driveway, another spot in the trunk of his car, and a spent bullet casing in the flowerbed. Case closed. She faked it to keep people from looking for her and her lover.”
“And you think he was cheating on Priscilla?” Mom asked.
“That’s not the point,” Case argued. “A few drops of your own blood and bullet casings are easy evidence to fake if you want to get lost. And, what better place to plant it than an enemy’s house?” He gestured to Waylon.
After all the food was consumed, we were exactly where we’d started—nowhere.
“One last thing,” Dad said. “If he’s dead, the killer will find out we’re asking questions, so watch your back and let me know if you sense any danger. Don’t keep it to yourself.”
Everyone nodded around the table.
As I drove back to the hotel, Dad’s words ran through my mind. “We have to find that person and unravel this.” Who the hell would that end up being? And how could I go about finding them? It sucked that I had the extra burden of keeping Angela out of our investigation while I was casting about for information. My only consolation? If we did have a killer in town, Angela would be safer not poking around.
CHAPTER26
Angela
I parkedin front of the Beach Kitchen, which had become our little lunch spot. Eating outdoors by the lake was soothing in a way the indoors couldn’t replicate. This was another thing Boston lacked.
I pulled out my laptop and locked the car, noticing once again how the flashy R8 garnered more attention than I cared for. The bright red color drew the eye, and the flashy design stood out against the pickups and SUVs that were common here. At first it had been a heady experience to get noticed everywhere I drove, but no more.
All that was irrelevant to my mission today. I had to make some progress on this new gig I’d accepted, and lunchtime away from my normal workspace had always been a productive period before. Somehow the change of scenery generated new perspectives on problems.
But first, food. I noticed that one young guy, probably a car nut, continued staring at me and didn’t look away when I challenged him with my gaze. The others had initially looked over and gone back to their meals and conversations. But that didn’t mean they weren’t snickering to each other about the girl who drove an expensive car but worked as a housekeeper at the hotel.
Fuck ’em.
I smoothed my uniform—the one that said I wasn’t as good as them because I scrubbed toilets—and walked toward the ordering window. One teenaged girl was in front of me in line when I got there. I took my place behind her and scanned the menu.
“A bacon cheeseburger, please. No onions,” the girl said. “A Coke and a small order of fries.”
Her voice was oddly familiar, and it wasn’t until she turned to the side that I recognized her as Stacy Clausen’s daughter, Tallulah. She glanced up at the menu again and rifled through her wallet. “Have the prices gone up?” she asked, seeming more and more agitated.
“Inflation,” Todd, the guy behind the counter, answered. “It happens.”
I noticed a small scar on her temple when she brushed her hair away while studying the contents of her wallet. Like any scar on a woman, it sent my brain on a tangent that wasn’t healthy. She was too young to be a victim already.
Todd kept ogling her as she leaned over the counter, counting her money.
Creeper.
She finally looked up. “Then change that to a Coke and a large order of fries, and not the burger. I’m sorry.”
