The Competition

35

“Do you realize how much a new Smith and Wesson thirty-eight special costs?” I asked, when we got back into Bailey’s car.

“No, but I’m guessing you do.”

“Over seven hundred bucks. If that gun Shane was trying to sell to Pedro really was new, his price was ridiculously low. Looks like Shane had a little business going on the side.”

“Selling hot guns?” Bailey said. I nodded. “Pretty risky. If anyone ever ratted him out he’d do some serious time.”

“He doesn’t seem like the type who’d play out those consequences. Like Isaiah said, he’s got authority issues.”

“Assuming Paul Bunyan back there sussed him out right.”

“So you saw it too?” I grinned at Bailey. “He was actually kind of dreamy, don’t you think?”

“To me? No. But I noticed you got a little fluttery.”

“Fluttery.” I gave her a look. “Me. Are you high?”

“S’okay. He looked like he wouldn’t have minded letting you do a little more questioning either.”

“You can let me out of this car anytime.” I folded my arms and looked out the window. The road to the freeway led us past miles of strawberry, Brussels sprout, and lettuce fields. We were out in the middle of nowhere.

Bailey turned on the radio. The opening organ notes of “Light My Fire” filled the car. I usually love the Doors, but the timing right now only served Bailey’s obnoxious purpose. And, of course, she was smiling. I glared at her. “I just want you to know I’m ignoring you.” She stifled a yawn.

We rode on through the fields in silence. I thought about what we could accomplish while we were up here in farm country. “You want to try and dig up Nancy Findley?”

“That’s what I was thinking. Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

“Not necessarily better, but if we have trouble finding her, we could head back to L.A. and see what Evan and Caleb have to say about Shane Dolan. If Logan was that impressed with Shane, he might’ve tried to show him off.”

“Good idea.”

Bailey called in and asked for a location on Nancy Findley. As it turned out, she lived in Thousand Oaks, just a few minutes south of Camarillo, which was on our way back to L.A. And she was in pocket.

“Guess it was meant to be,” I said. “So where’s ‘in pocket’?”

Bailey pulled off the freeway. “You’ll see.” Five minutes later, she’d parked in front of a tattoo parlor in a strip mall. It was sandwiched between a nail salon and a frozen yogurt place. Kind of a nice combination of services. I could just picture it: “Hey, Mom, let’s have a girls’ day. We can do mani-pedis, get tattooed, and have double scoops with sprinkles.”

Nancy was easy to spot because she was the only girl there. Also because she had waist-length, neon-green hair with a black stripe down the middle, multicolored tattoo sleeves that snaked up her neck-one of which was an actual snake-a double nose ring, a lip ring in the left corner of her mouth, and rows of piercings up each ear. And those were just the things we could see. I forced my imagination away from all the other piercing possibilities both above and below the belt.

Bailey had pulled up a photo of Shane on her cell phone. After we’d made the necessary introductions, she showed it to Nancy. “Do you recognize this person?”

Nancy, who’d been practically catatonic when we introduced ourselves-so much so, I suspected chemical or herbal influences-suddenly woke up. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh no!” Nancy’s eyes were round with fear. “Is Shane in trouble? Did something happen to him?”

“We just need to ask him some questions,” I said. “When was the last time you saw him?”

Nancy wrinkled her nose. “Do you mean actually saw him, like in person? Or like on FaceTime?”

“Let’s try in person first,” I said.

“That would be a little over a month ago. It was at the tree service where he works.”

“Did he discuss any plans he may have had to leave the city for any reason?” I asked.

“No.” Nancy’s brow furrowed. “So he’s gone?”

No, I just like to hear about my suspects’ vacation plans. “It seems so. Do you remember what you talked about?”

Nancy frowned at the floor and jammed her hands into the back pockets of her skinny jeans. When she looked up, I saw she was blinking back tears. “That…uh…he didn’t think it was going to ‘happen’ for us. That I couldn’t keep coming by his job and calling him and…like that.” The tears finally escaped and rolled down her cheeks. She gave them a rough, angry swipe.

If Shane had been standing there I would’ve slugged him. Sure, she was a little strange, and, yes, quite possibly a stalker. But still. Knowing what we did about Shane so far, I’d guess Nancy was one of the many girls Shane had picked up, got bored with, and dumped. Asshole.

“I’m sorry, Nancy,” I said. “Did you talk to him again after that? On FaceTime?”

“Yeah. But I called from a friend’s phone, so I don’t think he realized it was me at first. When he came on, I could tell he thought…”

It was someone else. I might’ve been channeling some issues of my own with past boyfriends, but seriously, if I ever found him, I was going to mess this jerk up so bad.

“I told him I just wanted to see him one last time. He said his boss was calling him and he had to go. Said he’d call me later. That was a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t heard from him since.” Nancy heaved a big sigh and swallowed the rest of her tears. “I know he wasn’t good for me. My mom says it’s for the best and I’ll get over it, but it just doesn’t feel that way right now.”

Oh, Very Young, it never does. “Your mom’s right. You won’t be over it until you’re over it. All you can do is keep reminding yourself that you deserve better. Eventually, you’ll believe it.”

Nancy nodded. “Thanks.”

We gave her our cards and told her to call if she heard from him. She promised she would.

We headed back to the 101 freeway, southbound for L.A. “Feel like killing him?” I asked.

“Nah, killing’s too fast. I’d kneecap him. Both knees.”

“Nice.” When it comes to payback, Bailey and Toni are creative geniuses.

At that weirdly inopportune moment, Graden called. “Rachel?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t recognize his voice at first, and I think mine was probably still in “I hate Shane” mode.

“You okay? You sound…strange.”

“Sorry. I’m just a little tired. It’s been pretty nonstop.”

“I know,” Graden said, his tone warm and full of sympathy.

My lizard brain remembered that Graden wasn’t Shane or any other asshole I’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Look, I just got word that a letter addressed to you was delivered to the school.”

School? “What school?”

“Fairmont High-”

“Why on earth would anyone send mail to me at-”

“Good question. And there’s no return address. It feels bad to me, Rachel. I know this may sound paranoid, but I told them to leave it right there and not touch it. I called in the bomb squad-”

“Jeez, seriously? It might just be someone who recognized me on some news footage or-”

“I’d be glad to be wrong. But I’m not taking any chances. The bomb guys are going to handle it. Assuming it doesn’t explode, Dorian’s people will check it out. But I expect everyone to move fast, so you should be able to get a look at it pretty quick. I’d suggest you get downtown as soon as you can.”

I agreed, ended the call, and told Bailey what he’d said. “I don’t know how many people would’ve recognized us from the news footage though. The shot I saw was maybe two seconds.”

“Yeah, but they showed footage from the Antonovich trial that had your face all over it. So anyone could’ve written that letter. Might just be a weird fan-”

Big cases always brought out the tinfoil-hat brigade. “I’m still getting mail about that trial…”

“Yeah, the only thing that bugs me is no return address. I’m with Graden. If it was an innocent thing, why not leave a return address?”

That was the question. One of them anyway.