Waking the Witch

eleven

For the first part of the drive, Michael struggled to make conversation, but without the case, we didn’t have anything to discuss, and he was playing up his determination to avoid that. I tried asking about Claire but he only gave short answers, clearly uncomfortable discussing his sister with a stranger. Finally, I asked about his job, and that got him talking. Yes, he did use it to veer toward the case a few times, checking to see if I’d nibble. I didn’t. No sense making this easy for him ... or risk losing out on a free meal.

And it wasn’t a meal I’d have cared to miss. Michael had gone all out, making reservations in the nearest city—Vancouver, Washington, just across the state border from Portland. He’d picked one of the best restaurants there. Upscale continental. The kind of place that made me really glad I’d packed the dress.

I ordered what I wanted. I never get the most expensive thing on the menu, but I don’t stress about the cost. Michael didn’t bat an eye, even suggested an appetizer. Added a very nice bottle of wine, too. I don’t know my wines, but it was good.

Michael kept my glass filled. Being a considerate guy, though, meant keeping his filled as well. Being nervous meant that he drank his a lot faster and didn’t seem to notice that I was barely on my second when he was starting his third. It hit him a lot harder, too, and by the middle of the entrée, the granite-jawed cop was gone and I was getting a very nice look at the guy underneath, the one who drove a modified BMW and blushed at being caught eyeing a pretty girl.

“—so at this point, the guy finally notices the video camera,” he was saying. “He stares at it for a minute. Just stares, like he’s never imagined such a thing in a liquor store. Then you see him mouth two words.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Exactly. He’s standing there, a hole in the ceiling behind him, broken bottles from his crash everywhere, blood dripping down his face. Then he sees the flashing lights. He could still run. But, no, he figures he can salvage this. Cops walk in two minutes later and find the guy leaving a twenty at the till with a note. Store was closed. Keep the change.”

“Big of him.”

“I thought so.”

He took another sip of wine. The server stopped by to ask about dessert. I took a menu, and Michael followed suit. As we read them, I could see him doing a mental “oh, shit” of his own, his fuzzy brain realizing the meal was almost over and he hadn’t gotten anything out of me.

We ordered. After the server left, he said, “Speaking of dumb criminals, how about that Cody Radu? Everyone in town is sure he at least killed the first two girls. Maybe Claire, too.”

“But no one can prove it, which doesn’t make him very dumb.”

“No, of course not.” It was cute, watching his brain skidding on the wine. “He’s the opposite of a dumb criminal. That’s what I meant.”

The coffee arrived. He took a big gulp, gasping as it burned his throat. I decided to help him out. If he wanted leads, I’d give him some ... just not real ones.

“From what I hear, there’s a good reason Bruyn can’t pin Ginny and Brandi’s murders on Radu,” I said. “He didn’t kill them himself. He hired someone.”

“What?”

“I don’t know if it was the same for Claire. I’m still trying to find a link between her and Radu ...” I trailed off, but he didn’t bite. “Word is that Radu hired this guy who lives over near Cougar. You know where that is?”

“I think so.”

“Guy’s name is Brody Manchester. Claims to be an Iraq vet, but I can’t find a record of him serving. I suspect the only serving he did was in a penitentiary. Sounds like a real whack-job.”

“And he lives in Cougar?”

“Near it. He has a camper and moves around outside town staying ahead of the cops. I figured I’d swing by tomorrow afternoon and hunt him down.”

“Good idea.”

“Do you want me to call you if I find anything? I might need backup.”

“Sure. Absolutely. Manchester, you said?”

“Like the soccer team.”

He took out his BlackBerry. “I’ll do some digging myself.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

Two CUPS OF coffee and an espresso crème brûlée had not made Michael any steadier on his feet.

When we reached his car, I held out my hand. “Keys?”

“I’m good.”

“Please tell me you’re not one of those cops who thinks the laws don’t apply to him.”

“No, course not. I ...” He looked around, blinking, then nodded. “You’re right. One glass too many. But you had—”

“One and a half, the last sip an hour ago, and I’m firie.” I walked along a yellow line dividing parking spots. “Want me to do it backwards?”

“Sure.”

I did, making him laugh ... and hand over the keys.

As I pulled out of the parking space, he said, “Watch out. She’s got a lot of—”

I hit the gas, smacking him back in his seat. At the street, I braked, sending him snapping forward.

“Sweet,” I said.

“Just be careful. You may not be impaired, but your reflexes could be a little—”

I tore off, accelerating, then hitting the corner fast and hard. Three blocks later I idled at a stop sign.

“Reflexes okay?” I said.

“Carry on.”

I turned left.

“Actually, the highway is—” he began.

“Too many cars. Don’t worry. I have an excellent sense of direction.” I took the first left onto a back road. “Columbus is this way. Roughly.”

I hit the gas.

I PARKED BESIDE my motorcycle.

“Good thing we took the back roads,” he said. “One cop and you’d have been out of a license.”

“Not too worried about that,” I said as I got out.

He eyed me over the roof. “You do have your license, don’t you?”

“Sure. I’ve got one.”

“One?” He looked at my bike. “Please don’t tell me—”

“Then don’t ask. I’m honest, remember? Not necessarily law-abiding, but unrelentingly honest.” I walked around and held out the keys. “And I do believe you’re ready for these.”

As I handed them over, he caught my hand.

“I had a good time tonight,” he said.

“So did I. You aren’t nearly as boring as you look.”

His laugh rang through the empty lot. “God, you are honest.” His hand slid around my waist, pulling me to him. I backpedaled away.

“Kissing? On a first date?” I said. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

He grinned and tried again, but I danced out of his reach.

“Second date,” I said. “And only if you let me drive your car again.”

“Without a license?”

“Ah, such a moral dilemma.” I unlocked my motel room door. “Call me tomorrow night if you’ve made up your mind.”

“I don’t think it’ll take that long.”

“Mmm, it might. Better wait until then. See if you’re still interested.”

I slid inside and closed the door before he could say more.

I stood there, fingers on the chain. I’d had a good time, too. Not a rock-my-world date, but a really nice one.

As I got older, I dated less, and I’d thought I was just slowing down, getting ready for that big moment when Adam would notice me, but after I realized that wasn’t happening, I just kept slowing down.

In some ways, it was like mourning after a bad breakup. I needed to get back in the game, and Michael would have been a nice place to start. Too bad he’d never call for that second date.

“Now that’s a dress,” said a voice behind me. “He let you get away that easily? What’s wrong with the guy?”

I spun to see Jesse stretched out in the armchair, file on his lap.

“Good thing I didn’t invite him in,” I said.

“Why would you do that? It was business, wasn’t it?”

“I can multitask.”

He laughed.

“You seem to have a talent for getting into places you aren’t supposed to be,” I said, kicking off my heels.

“You did read my record, right?”

“It’s juvie. Sealed.”

He arched his brows. “What kind of detective are you? Break and enter, as you probably guessed. Two years in juvenile detention, where the only thing I learned was how not to get caught next time.”

“Shocking.” I sat on the edge of the bed. “And you’ll give me pointers, right?”

“Anything you want to know.” He set the file on the side table. “I apologize for breaking in. Kind of. But I was sitting in my truck and the manager kept looking at me like he was five seconds from calling the cops.”

“That’s your pickup? The blue one? Or, presumably, used to be blue, at some point?”

“Yes, which explains the manager’s interest.”

“So, to avoid being suspected of breaking in, you broke in.”

“Exactly. If it bothers you, though, I won’t do it again.”

He said it like he was offering not to smoke in front of me.

“Call me next time,” I said. “So I know you’re inside and don’t blast you with an energy bolt.”

“Hadn’t thought of that. Consider it noted.”

He reached for an open Coke bottle on the table. When he couldn’t quite get it, he flexed his right hand slightly and the bottle slid to him.

“Show-off,” I said.

“Hey, I have to use my powers for something. They aren’t good for much else. Not like I’m a supercharged Volo.”

“And good thing, too.”

He frowned, then snapped his fingers. “Right. Lucas mentioned that you guys knew one. Quite the character, I hear.”

“Crazy psycho bitch, more like. Left me trapped in a research lab, tried to kill Paige and Lucas, and probably had something to do with my mom’s death. Let’s just say I fondly recall the day Paige sent her home to hell.”

“Don’t blame you.” He took a swig of Coke. “So, as you can tell, I’m swinging by earlier than expected. I figured I’d read the files and make copies of some pages.” He held up a camera. “I also figured I’d take you for a beer and discuss the case if it’s not too late.”

“It’s only ten o’clock.”

“I’m giving you an out, in case you’re still pissed off at me for dumping the case on you.”

“I was never—”

“Annoyed, then. So you’ll join me for a beer?”

“Or two.”

“Good.”

I grabbed my shoes. My cell phone chirped on the night table.

“You forgot this,” Jesse said, grabbing it for me. “It’s been going off all night.”

Not so much forgotten as left behind so I couldn’t get a call from Adam when I was out with another guy.

I checked it. Three text messages. One missed call. All from Adam, looking for that promised update. Damn.

“Just a sec,” I said to Jesse. Then I popped off a quick text, saying I was still working and I’d call in the morning.