Page 100 of Rage

“Lots of servers wear uniforms like that.” He shrugs. “Maybe the two of them had lunch here or something. I wouldn’t know.” He makes eye contact with me. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Wilma Borntrager,” I tell him. “She was Samuel Yutzy’s girlfriend. She was murdered two nights ago.”

He feigns shock, presses his hand against his chest. “Holy shit. That’s awful.”

“Mr. Wingate, that uniform she’s wearing is the same uniform I saw your servers wearing the other day when Tomasetti and I were here.”

He scoffs. “You’re mistaken.”

His eyes flick to the door behind me. I hear the shuffle of shoes against the floor. I turn to see Lucy enter. She’s carrying a bottle of sparkling water and a glass. Her smile lands on me. “Here you go, Chief Burkholder.”

I turn slightly, take the bottle and glass. “Thank you.”

I’ve just turned back to Wingate when I feel her hand thump down on my shoulder. Something pricks my skin, like a bee sting. An instant of pressure.

Twisting, I jump to my feet, knock her hand away. “What the hell are you doing?”

The girl stumbles back.

A wave of horror descends when I spot the syringe in her hand. “What is that?”

“I’m sorry,” she cries.

I lunge at her, grasp her wrist, stare down at the hypodermic needle. A hundred thoughts hit my brain at once. It’s an intramuscular injection. The barrel is half empty. “What did you do?”

She gasps when I squeeze. Her hand opens. The syringe falls to the floor at our feet.

I draw back, clock the left side of her face with my fist, and shove her away. Raising her hands, she flies backward.

I spin back to Wingate. He’s rounded the desk. Two feet away. Coming at me fast. Lips peeled back. Right arm cocked. I reach for my .38. “Stop!” I scream. “Stop!”

I yank my weapon from its holster. Finger inside the guard. Bring up the muzzle. Wingate lunges at me. The blow lands on my left cheekbone. Pain zings from temple to jaw. My head snaps back. My vision blurs.

I clutch the gun, bring it up, swing it toward him. “Back off!” I pull off a shot, but I know it’s a miss.

I don’t see the second blow coming. Pain explodes as something comes down on the back of my head. A lightning storm in my brain. Vaguely, I’m aware of my knees hitting the floor. The world going topsy-turvy.

I pitch forward and then I’m not aware of anything at all.

CHAPTER 25

Mona had lived in Painters Mill her entire life and not once had she been to The Club at Paint Creek. It was the kind of place for the affluent few. The kind of place she drove past and thought: Maybe someday. Generally speaking, she wasn’t easily bedazzled, but as she drove her cruiser down the tree-lined driveway, she was duly impressed.

“Damn,” she muttered as she pulled up to the front of the main building. Admiring the novelty lights and stonework, she picked up her radio. “Ten-twenty-three,” she said, letting Dispatch know she’d arrived on scene.

The place was closed now, but lights blazed inside. Not seeing the chief’s rental car parked in front, she idled past the entrance and cruised into the parking lot. There were three vehicles, but none of them belonged to the chief. She picked up her radio again. “Chief, what’s your twenty?”

Air hissed for the span of several seconds and then Margaret’s voice came back to her. “She ten-twenty-three’d seventeen minutes ago.”

“Huh.” Mona looked around. “Let me see if there’s a back lot.” Putting the cruiser in gear, she drove around to the back of the building, but there was no parking, just a dumpster area for the garbage truck.

Remembering that the chief had asked for radio silence, she picked up her cell and dialed the chief’s number. She listened to it ring half a dozen times and go to voicemail.

“That’s weird,” she murmured, and tried the radio again. But there was no response.

She dialed Dispatch. “Margaret, I’m at the country club and the chief isn’t here.”

“Are you sure? That’s not like the chief.”