I thought about the neighbors who were likely seeing me for the first time through their front windows, stuttering steps, wobbling knees. I was a mess. My feet scraped against the pavement with every stride. I turned my focus to picking them up deliberately to eliminate the sound that grated against the quiet of the early morning.
The scuffing didn’t disappear, but it lessened. Just my right side, the side that had always felt the brunt of my MS, still refused to give me perfection. A thump of the left, then a scrape of the right, uneven and ill-timed, a soundtrack out of a children’s ghost story. With the few scars I had that lingered, I still looked that part as well.
I stopped myself short. No, not as bad as it was. Willow, a kind woman I’d met inside the confines of Eden’s Haven, had given me cream that had reduced the scars’ appearances dramatically.
My knees buckled for the third time. I relented to my body’s needs and slowed my pace. Crisp air woke my senses. Dew settled over my skin so thick I felt as though if I wiped it away I might fling water into the air. The fields were covered in small ponds, large puddles of water that were saturating the ground to the point of overflow. I knew from my childhood that the area had layers of hard pan, a seemingly impenetrable layer of clay that refused to let the water sink low. It gave the illusion that the land was so saturated by water that flooding was occurring.
In reality, the hard pan worked as the bottom of a swimming pool and flooding occurred without total saturation. Central California was always thirsty. At least it had been my entire life. Water was a conflict within the state, farmers against politicians, cities against rural communities, arguments that seemed to never be solved. People had to live, sure, but farmers in California provided food for not only the state, but for a vast majority of the country. Politics were never my forte, so I tended to keep my opinions to myself.
I scanned the ponds ahead and finally spotted what I remembered from life growing up in the area. Tall, white, statuesque birds poised in the water, often one leg lifted from the pond as if the chill was too much to have both legs in. The egrets had always been a favorite of mine. Sure, the ducks were cute, and once or twice a friend had shown me baby ducklings on their seasonal pond. Adorable, but once fully grown they were loud. The Canadian geese were even worse. Both seemed to have to announce their arrival with gusto, as if they were the most fantastic part of the pond party. All show, and for what? I’d never noted anything spectacular about them.
The egrets, however, made no sound, not even when they landed in the water. I never heard their wings. I never heard them call. They were pure elegance with a long wingspan reaching like the fingers of a ballerina on point.
I tripped and stumbled forward, barely stopping myself from eating asphalt. The white birds took flight at my sudden bout with coordination. Who was I kidding? I was no egret. I wasn’t even a duck. I glanced to my right and saw a couple dozen cows. Chances were, I wasn’t even as graceful as the clumsiest in the herd. I took the next left and started back to my parents’ house. I jogged twelve steps before I had nothing left. It had to be good enough, at least for today. Healing took time, and time was all I had to burn at the moment.
I stomped my feet on the porch as I walked up my steps, in the hope that if Amos was indecent, he’d have fair warning of my approach. I pushed the door open with caution. He was still on the couch, but awake, if you could call it that. Eyes swollen with sleep, he glared at me as if I’d caused every one of his problems.
“Where’d you go off to at this awful time of day?”
“Jogging.” When he remained dumbfounded, I pulled on the elasticity of my pants and let them snap. “Exercise? Have you heard of it?”
“Why do you talk so dirty, so early in the morning? Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” He pulled himself up to sitting and sprawled over the back of the couch to call after me as I walked down the hall. “Oh right, I forgot, you barely talk to your mum.”
I thought of about eight obscene gestures and words I could say, but opted with firmly shutting my door. He’d never been a morning person, but neither had I. Typically it worked best if we didn’t talk at all. I twisted the hot water knob in the shower and waited for the room to fill with steam. I stripped off my sweaty clothes and tossed them into the wicker basket in the corner. I hoped it was for clothes. I was usually wrong about that sort of thing. Details of the case filtered through my mind, and without thinking I picked up my cell phone and logged on to PI Net.
PI Net was my main source for monetary revenue by way of case work. Since it had gone national in the last six months, my workload had doubled. It didn’t require being in the same state to do a background check, or locate vital records, and in reality that was where most of my cash flow came from. Basic internet searches were within my wheelhouse, and the more complicated ones I farmed out to Kip if I hit a wall. Other cases, the larger ones, still required origination in my home state, but I have to admit I fudged those lines a bit from time to time.
I scrolled through the available jobs, absentmindedly killing time. An alert popped up on my phone, a message from another PI named Avery Jacobs.
“Heard you skipped town. Someone scare you off?”
I rolled my eyes at his message on the screen.
“I wasn’t scared off. I’m on a case. Check your facts.”
The dancing ellipses in the bottom left corner told me he was typing, and a second later the message appeared.
“Hope you’re not operating out of state. You know your license doesn’t allow you to jump state lines.”
It wasn’t out of concern that he warned me. It was all a threat. Technically my investigator’s license was only good in Washington if I planned to question people, preform surveillance, or snoop around as I was prone to do. If the licensing board found out that I was trying to use it for something like a murder trial, out of state, they could take my license away. The work I’d done at Rockin’ B had been bad enough, but I could have construed it to say I was helping a friend pro bono. But something like this, cut and dried investigations, it could be trouble for me. Nothing would make someone like Avery happier. Technically I was helping a friend prove his innocence, and none of that was a problem, but Avery could build it into one if he worked at it.
“Look,” I wrote, “I’m in state, but I started those rumors so that I could get someone off my tail. Trust me, I’m still in Washington.”
Avery was likely stewing on his next move after my last lie. Finally the ellipses popped up, and then his message.
“I guess we shouldn’t see you on PI Net too much then, will we?”
He was calling my bluff. What did it matter to me? For the next week or two I knew I’d have my plate full with Amos’ case. I’d only turned on PI Net out of reflex. I closed out the chat bar. Steam filled my bedroom from the shower I’d forgotten. My head fell forward because I couldn’t lie to myself. I knew habit wasn’t the only reason I’d logged in.
Before my last case I’d started chatting with someone who called himself Sleuth28. I’d never learned his real identity, but my instincts had led me to believe it was Ryder trying to find a safe way to talk to me. I wanted to see if the profile was active, if anyone had logged on in the last two months. I performed a quick search and scanned the profile page.
Nothing.
The profile was inactive.
I let my phone fall on the bed and slipped into the warm water of my neglected shower. My water routine would have to shift to living in California again. Drought climate meant I had to be careful with water. Washington didn’t have that problem.
My scars glowed red in the heat. I breathed in the steam to cleanse my psyche. My head wasn’t where it should be. My head was in the hall outside Ryder’s room staring through the window where I’d left him, but that wasn’t going to save Amos’ life. Somehow I had to find a way to focus without Ryder beside me.
Chapter 4
“I’ll drop you off at your place, then I’m going to swing
by the station and see if anyone there will let me peek at the case file. If I’m lucky, we can get some copies and go to the crime scene later. Do you know if they’ve released it yet?”
Amos squirmed in his seat. “Yeah, a few days ago.” He motioned to the street as my SUV neared the corner. “This one. You can let me off on the corner. I’ll walk.”
I scoffed. “You wish. I need to know where you live.” He started to protest, and I cut him off. “The exact location. I know too many of your tricks, Amos.”
His lips tightened, but he said no more, just a flick of his finger when he wanted me to turn. The half-hour drive from my parents’ place into the city had been quiet. I wondered if he was replaying the memories from our old relationship like I was. I couldn’t read him, not exactly. I noted his tight jaw, his averted eyes, but his hands remained still, too still.
People naturally move, but Amos was focused on staying motionless. He had something to hide, and he knew I was the one person who could see it. After all, he’d trained me.
I pulled up to a four-story apartment building and parked on the curb. When I turned off the car, Amos groaned.
“Really? All the way up? You’re not even going to let me tidy up a bit?”
He had plenty to hide, but I needed his trust more than his secrets at the moment. “What number?”
His left eyebrow twitched as his smile went crooked. “45B, top floor.”
“So you have time to escape, right?”
“Aw, love, I tried to tell you before, I’m a changed man.”
He popped the door open, and I turned the key in the ignition.
“I’ll be back in ninety minutes, Amos.”
“Yeah, I know.” He motioned for me to keep my voice down. “It’s Mack, yeah?” I managed not to roll my eyes at his alarm for almost blowing his cover. A couple of teenagers took note, but I doubted they were very dangerous. Still, Amos acted as though my words were risky. Was it real? Or was he just trying to manipulate me like one of his muppets? It was always too hard to tell with him.
At least until it was too late.
♦ ♦ ♦
Since my father had been a prosecuting lawyer my whole life, I’d grown up with cops coming around the house. It was a long shot, but I hoped someone would recognize my last name and it might hold a little sway within the precinct. Granted, the other part of me hoped no one would recognize me as Mack’s sister from the day before.
I pulled open the door to the lobby and a wave of homesickness washed over me. I thought of the missing person’s poster Ryder had made for me when he hadn’t even known my name. We had fought in a lobby much like the one I stood in, and I wanted to go back in time and smack myself upside the head for ever being difficult with him. He was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I couldn’t help but wonder what would be different if I had—it didn’t matter. I had a case to work.
“How can I help you?” the desk sergeant asked me as I approached the counter.
I smiled and hoped it didn’t look too much like a dog baring its teeth. “My name is Lindy Johnson. I’m a PI working a case. I was hoping I could talk to someone about the file.”
“Is it an active case?” The sergeant shifted. “Are you properly licensed?”
I wondered if Avery Jacobs had somehow contacted the precinct to tell them I was coming. “Yes, it’s an active case.” I carefully sidestepped his question. “I’d be happy to show you my license as well.”
“You know we can’t let you look at an open case, Miss Johnson.”
He was right; I did know that, but I was arrogant enough to try.
“Can I at least talk to the detective assigned to the case?”
“Look—” he started in, but his rant was cut short by another voice.
“Lindy Johnson? Little Lindy, is that really you?”
It caught me off guard, not just because of his sudden appearance, but because it rattled loose old memories from my childhood. Memories caught in foggy water, clear enough to know they were mine, but not enough that I knew who it belonged to. I turned to follow the voice and found Layton Granger just beyond the doorway.
“Ranger? No way. You’re still working here?”
Layton Granger had been one of my father’s closest friends when I was a kid. We had him over for dinner at least three times a week. I used to climb up on his lap after dinner, and he’d tell me stories, all embellished I’m sure, and edited if my mother was in the room, of his exciting week. My father blamed Detective Granger for my interest in criminal psychology. In reality, it had more to do with my uncle Shane and my own personality, but Layton Granger had played his fair part in it.
He took a few steps toward me and balanced in the doorway. “No one has called me Ranger in years.” He chuckled. “You were the cutest kid with the way you couldn’t say my name right, then suddenly I had the coolest nickname around.”
I smiled, and for once it was genuine. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
He waved it off. “You made a young detective feel like a super hero.” He glanced once at the desk sergeant, who gaped on in interest. “So what brings you in, Lindy Belle?”
I cringed at my childhood nickname. “I’m working a case.”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “Cop?”
“PI.”
He shrugged. “Not that different.” He turned his attention to the sergeant. “What’s the hold up, Murray?”
Sergeant Murray cleared his throat to give him time to organize his thoughts. “It’s an active case file, sir. I told her we can’t—”
“Of course not, yeah, he’s right about that.” Ranger waved me over. “Come on back. Maybe I can dig up the lead detective on your case, and you can ask some questions.”
Sergeant Murray tapped the sign-in clipboard. I flashed ID as I quickly signed my name and fell into place beside Ranger.
“And hey,” Ranger continued for his desk, “if the case file happens to fall open and you catch a peek, I’m sure that sort of thing happens from time to time.”
He had a way of making things right. I remembered it from when I was a kid too. I could have the worst day, then Ranger would come over, and it was all giggles and fun from then on.
Ranger pulled a chair from a neighboring desk and motioned for me to sit.
“Not a cop, huh?”
“I like my job.” It wasn’t an answer, at least not a complete answer, but it would suffice.
He shifted a few files out of the way to uncover his keyboard and shook his mouse until his computer monitor flickered to life.
“Always thought you’d make a good cop.”
“Maybe I’m a better PI.”
“Yeah,” he nodded slowly as he looked me over, “maybe you do.” His large hands slapped against his blue jeans. “What’s this case you’re working on?”
The need to be honest pricked at my conscience. “It’s not official. A friend of mine got in some hot water, and I’m seeing if I can get him out.”
“Parking tickets? Parole violation?”
“Murder.”
Ranger’s mouth pinched tight. “Murder? What are you doing wrapped up in a murder case?”
“Like I said, my friend—”
“Yeah, I remember,” Ranger interrupted. “Who is this friend?”
“He goes by Mack.” Amos didn’t need my screwing up his con name twice in one day.
Ranger whistled through his teeth, low and long. “The Honey B murder? You’re the one who got Mack hooked up with an attorney? Where’d you get all that money?”
“Technically it was Mack’s money. I just delivered it.” I could tell from his stonewall expression that my words changed very little. I tried to look adorable again and knew I’d likely failed. “Who is the lead detective on that case?”
“I am.”
The words felt heavy.
“So I’m guessing you won’t let me see the report?”
His eyes darted to a file on his desk. Though he corrected in the nex
t second, I knew it was the file I wanted.
“It’s open and shut, Lindy Belle,” Ranger said. “There’s not much more to say.”
“No harm in me looking then.”
Ranger sighed and glanced over his shoulder as if someone might be watching.
“Look, I’m going to the copier for a second. I’m leaving you here alone, and I have no idea what mayhem you might get into while I’m gone.” I watched his eyes twinkle with conspiracy. “You have three minutes.”
The chair creaked and groaned as he moved. I had enough respect to wait for him to round the corner before I flipped open the case file and started snapping pictures. I wanted to read each page, but time wasn’t on my side. With a smart phone, I could tap and zoom later and review them.
By the time Ranger returned with a cup of coffee and a sheet of paper, the file was neatly stacked with the others on his desk.
“Anything else I can help you with?” Ranger sat back in his swivel chair.
“You hang out with Dad much anymore?” I stood up. “We haven’t seen you around the house in a long time.”
“Like you’re one to talk. You moved away a few years back, didn’t you?”
His avoidance hitched on my instincts like a burr, but I pushed it aside. “Yes, but I figured Dad hasn’t mentioned you either so…” I let my voice trail off and waited for his expression to change. When he gave me very little to work with, I tried a different angle. “You should come by sometime, I’m sure Mom and Dad would love to see you.”
He smiled up at me with that same nostalgic expression he had the first time he saw me. “Yeah, I just might have to do that.” Ranger rose to standing, three or four inches taller than me, and though his hair remained dusted with gray, he still carried that war hero aura that I had once idolized. “Lindy Belle, I want you to be careful with this case. Mack might be an old friend of yours, but he’s dangerous. That’s the only reason I let you see these files. You’ve obviously been through some hard cases,” he’d noticed the scars, “but this guy is different. He’s a sociopath. He’ll reel you in, just to gut you in your sleep.”
Fables & Felonies Page 3