“You realize we don’t have a lot of time here?” Kinnick asked. He kicked his black wingtip in the direction of Stride’s overflowing desk. “You’re doing way too much work on this yourself already.”
Stride knew there was no point in reminding the chief that he had been the one to ask Stride to lead the case personally. It was all political and bureaucratic calculation with K-2. The city wanted this to go away—fast. “The perps are cooperating,” Stride said. “There’s nothing big here that needs me.”
“And we both know that we’re already outside the zone on this one. Odds are it’s not going to clear. I’m going to have to pull you and Maggie. Give the lead to Guppo. He can take this going forward. If we find something, you’re back in.”
“That’ll just give more ammo to Bird,” Stride protested. “It’s too soon. Give us a few more weeks. We don’t want to look like we’re walking away from the investigation.”
“You think I like this?” Kinnick asked. He scratched his forehead and patted down the gray hair that stretched across his skull from one big ear to the other. “Stoner’s a friend of mine. But you’re not making any headway.”
“I need another three weeks. You said yourself, the mayor’s hot on this one. If we don’t have anything by then, I agree, it’s a cold case. Guppo can take the lead. He’s already got Kerry.”
Kinnick shook his head and frowned. He sighed as if he were making an enormous concession. “Two weeks. And if we get anything else in here, I pull you early. Got it?”
Stride nodded. “I appreciate that. Thank you, sir.”
The chief pushed himself out of the chair and wandered back to the elevator without saying anything more. The doors opened immediately and swallowed him up. The machinery hummed as it returned to the fourth floor.
Stride took a deep breath. He knew how it worked. K-2 hadn’t come down here to pull him off the case. It was too soon for that. But he wanted Stride to know that the clock was ticking.
“What should I do?” Maggie asked. She stared down at three cards, adding up to twelve. The dealer’s up card was a six.
Stride propped his cigarette in an ashtray, where its smoke curled up and merged into the gray cloud hovering over the blackjack tables. The haze clung to the low ceiling. When he inhaled, he tasted stale smoke. His eyes burned, partly from the unventilated air and partly because it was now after midnight, more than eighteen hours after his day began. He had stayed at city hall until Maggie called and threatened to haul him out by force.
“Stand,” Stride said.
“But I’m only at twelve. I think I should take a card.”
Stride shook his head. “Odds are the dealer’s got a ten. He’ll have to draw at sixteen, and he’s likely to bust. Stand.”
“Hit me,” Maggie said. The dealer slapped a king of hearts on the table. “Shit.”
Stride waved a hand over his cards, which showed fourteen. The dealer flipped his hole card, which was a jack, then dealt another card to his hand. It was a ten.
“Asshole,” Maggie said.
Stride laughed as the dealer added two more chips to his stack.
The tiny casino reeked of sweat, collecting on the skin of a hundred people crammed into its claustrophobic quarters. Most were dressed in flannel for the winter night but sweltering in the heat generated by bodies and machines. It was close and loud. The slots pinged with electronic noises and the clatter of coins plinking into the trays. The room burbled with conversation and the occasional scream as a jackpot hit.
They had been playing for almost an hour, and he was up forty dollars. Maggie was down twenty. He took two chips and slid them into the betting area.
“You’re winning,” Maggie said. “Why not let it ride? If you bet more, you’ll win more. You always bet two dollars every single time, even when you’re on a streak.” Maggie made a face, then clucked like a chicken. She took ten chips and dropped them on the table in front of her. “No guts, Stride.”
“Big talk from a gal who’s losing her shirt.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she said, winking.
All day long they had reinterviewed people who knew Rachel. The late-night jaunt to the casino was a way to forget the case that had obsessed them for three weeks. But they couldn’t escape. Bird Finch’s interview showed up on the television suspended over the bar. They didn’t need to hear the sound. It was bad enough to read Bird’s angry body language.
“Maybe Bird is right,” Maggie grudgingly acknowledged. “Maybe we have a serial.”
Stride glanced at Maggie out of the corner of his eye. Then he shook his head, not convinced. “The two just don’t feel the same.”
“Don’t they? Or do you not want them to be the same? We’ve got two teenage girls who lived within a couple miles of each other, both disappearing without a trace.”
“The method doesn’t feel right,” Stride said. “We both agree that Kerry was either a stranger perv or a hit-and-run, right?”
Maggie nodded. “Except I don’t really buy the hit-and-run. They just run, they don’t hide the body. I think someone grabbed her.”
“Fair enough. That’s what I think, too. But can you imagine the same guy stalking the inner streets of Duluth, where he can be seen from dozens of houses? It just doesn’t feel right. A stranger’s going to look for opportunities, a girl alone in the middle of nowhere. He’s not going to drive up and down residential streets. The risk is too great.”
The blackjack dealer, who sported long black hair and a wimpy mustache, assessed them nervously. He caught Stride’s eye, then pasted a sober expression on his face and kept dealing cards.
“So it’s just coincidence?” Maggie asked.
Stride shrugged. “We’re not a small town anymore. Shit like this happens. My bet is that whoever stalked Kerry isn’t still in the state. And Rachel—the more I see of this case, the more I feel like the answer’s at home.”
“Emily and Graeme both passed the polygraphs,” Maggie reminded him. “And the background checks came up clean.”
“I don’t care,” Stride said. “There’s something in that triangle that smells like trouble. You’ve got Emily and Rachel at each other’s throats and Graeme walking into the middle of it. I want to know why—and what happened.”
“We could get some heat about this,” Maggie said. “If we push the family too hard without any evidence, what’s K-2 going to say?”
“K-2 wants answers. Let’s talk to the minister again. Dayton Tenby. Someone had to know what was going on inside that house.”
“Okay. That’s fair.” Maggie pumped her hand as she landed another blackjack. She took a careful sip from her drink, avoiding the pineapple slice and frowning as the umbrella kept bumping her face.
“Hello, Detective.”
Stride didn’t know where the voice came from. It was suspended somewhere in the noise of the casino, yet close by, like a faint strain of music. He wheeled around to look behind him.
A woman stood there smiling at him. She wore a thigh-length black leather coat with a belt tied at the waist. Her blonde hair was wind-tossed. Her cheeks were flushed.
“It’s Andrea,” she said. “Remember me? From the school?”
“Sure,” he said awkwardly, coming out of his trance. “I remember.”
Maggie shifted in her chair and stared at both of them. She caught Stride’s eye and cleared her throat conspicuously. Stride realized that he hadn’t introduced her, and he saw, too, that Andrea suddenly realized that Maggie and Stride were together. She instinctively took a step backward, not wanting to intrude.
“I’m sorry,” Stride said. “Andrea, this is my partner, Maggie Bei. We decided to play a few hands to unwind after pounding the pavement all day. Maggie, this is Andrea Jantzik. She teaches at Duluth High.”
“Charmed,” Maggie said slyly. “Why don’t you join us? Take third base. Let Stride here teach you all he knows about blackjack, which is how to win and not have fun.”
Andrea smiled and s
hook her head. “Oh, no, I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding at all.” Maggie hesitated and concluded that subtlety wasn’t working. “I’m just his partner in crime. That’s all.”
“Oh,” Andrea said. She repeated, “Oh.”
“In fact,” Maggie said, “I think I’m going to try my hand at the slots. There’s one here called the Big Pig, and it’s supposed to oink when you hit the jackpot. I’d like to hear that. So why don’t you take my place?”
“Are you sure?” Andrea asked.
Maggie was already out of her chair and guiding Andrea forcefully into it. She finished off her drink in two loud gulps, then took the umbrella and put it in her pocket. She waved at both of them. “Have fun, you two. I’ll call you tomorrow, boss.”
Stride nodded at her, smiling sarcastically. “Thanks, Mags.”
Maggie gave him a broad wink while Andrea was settling into the chair next to Stride. Then, before she walked away, Maggie leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“She wants you, boss,” Maggie said. “Don’t blow it.”
10
Andrea slipped her leather coat off her shoulders and draped it over the nearest stool. She was dressed to kill. Her black skirt strained to cover her thighs. Her legs were athletically curved and sleek under black stockings. She wore a pink satin blouse, which glinted under the casino lights. The top two buttons were undone, revealing a hint of bare skin that swelled as she breathed. Her makeup was impeccable and had obviously taken time to apply, from the pale gloss on her lips to the delicate streak of eyeliner above her long, light lashes. A thin gold chain graced her neck, and she wore sparkling sapphire earrings that accented her eyes.
It was a vampish look, full of invitation, but Stride realized that Andrea simply couldn’t pull it off. She was uncomfortable. She tugged at her skirt, trying in vain to pull it farther over her legs. Her smile was shy and awkward, not at all confident. She played with her necklace, twisting it between her fingers, doing everything possible to avoid looking directly at him.
He realized she was nervous and didn’t know what to say. Neither did he. It had been a long time since he had been on his own, dancing the delicate dance with the opposite sex. He tried to remember what it was like, but he had been with Cindy for so long that he couldn’t remember anything that sounded clever. The last time he had dated was in high school, and he assumed that nothing he had said then would sound clever now.
Finally, the dealer coughed and gestured at the cards.
“Do you play?” Stride asked.
Andrea shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Do you prefer the slots?”
“Well, to be honest, I’ve never gambled,” Andrea admitted. She turned and very briefly met his eyes. “Sometimes I’d come here or go to Black Bear with Robin, but I always watched him. I never played myself. This is my first real visit.”
Stride saw the dealer sigh.
“Why did you come?” Stride asked.
Andrea nodded her head in the direction of the nearest row of slots. Stride turned and saw two women, pretending to play but obviously more interested in observing them at the blackjack table. The women were whispering and smiling. He recognized one as another teacher from the high school.
“My cheering section,” Andrea explained. “They told me that it was Friday night, and as an eligible divorcée, I needed to strut my stuff in public. And I guess this is about as close as Duluth gets to a hot nightspot if you’re over thirty.”
“Well, I’m glad they did,” Stride said.
“Yeah,” Andrea said. “Yeah, I guess I am, too.”
“Do you want to play?” Stride asked. “I’d be happy to help you lose some of your money.”
Andrea shook her head. “The noise is giving me a headache.”
“Would you like to go somewhere?” Stride asked. “I know a place by the water that serves the best margaritas in town.”
“What about your partner?”
Stride smiled. “Mags can take a cab.”
Stride glanced at his watch. It was almost one-thirty in the morning. They drove down into Canal Park; the parking lots of the bars and restaurants were still jammed with cars. He steered onto the street that led across the canal bridge.
“I don’t recall any good bars on the Point,” she said.
Stride glanced at her, embarrassed. “Well, actually, I’m the one who makes the best margaritas,” he said. “And my place is on the water.”
“Oh,” Andrea said. He sensed her sudden hesitation.
“I’m sorry, I guess I should have explained. Look, I don’t have any intentions here. You said you hated noise, and my porch is quiet, except for the waves. But we can go somewhere else.”
Andrea glanced out the window. “No, it’s okay. I’m with a cop, right? If you get fresh, I can always call—well, you.” She laughed, comfortable again.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. But those margaritas better be good.”
He reached his house a few blocks after the bridge and pulled into the strip of sand that counted as a driveway. When they got out, the street was still and dark. Andrea studied Stride’s tiny house and the jumble of skeletal bushes out front with a puzzled smile.
“I can’t believe you live on the Point,” she said.
“I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Why?”
“It’s so rough out here. The storms must be brutal.”
“They are,” he admitted.
“You must get buried in snow.”
“Sometimes the drifts go up to the roof.”
“Doesn’t it scare you? I think I’d feel like the lake was going to swallow me up.”
He leaned across the roof of the car and stared at her thoughtfully. “I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes I think the storms are my favorite part. They’re the reason I’m here.”
“I don’t understand,” Andrea said, confused. She shivered as a gust of wind blew past them.
“Let’s go inside.”
He put an arm around her to warm her as they walked toward the door. She let her body drift against his, and it felt good. He could feel her shoulder through the sleeve of her leather coat and feel her hair brush against his face. He let go long enough to fumble for his key. Andrea wrapped her arms around herself.
He let them inside. The hallway was dark and warm. He heard the ticking of the grandfather clock. They lingered silently together after Stride closed the door. He realized now that Andrea was wearing perfume, something soft, like rosewater. It was strange to catch the aroma of a different woman’s perfume inside his house.
“What did you mean about the storms, Jon?”
Stride took her coat and hung it inside the closet. In her skimpy outfit, she was obviously still cold. He hung his own coat up and closed the closet door. He rested his back against it. Andrea was watching him, although they were both barely more than shadows in the hallway.
“It’s like time hangs there suspended,” Stride said finally. “Like I can get sucked inside the storm and see anything or anyone. There are times, I swear, I’ve heard my father. Once I thought I could see him.”
“Your father?”
“He worked on one of the ore ships. He was washed off the deck in a December storm when I was fourteen.”
Andrea shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”
Stride nodded quietly. “You still look cold.”
“I guess this was a stupid outfit, huh?”
“It’s beautiful,” Stride said. He felt an urge to take her in his arms and kiss her, but he resisted.
“That’s sweet. But yes, I’m cold.”
“You want a sweatshirt and jeans to put on? I’m afraid that’s the height of fashion in this house.”
“Oh, I’ll be okay. It’s warm inside.”
Stride smiled. “But I was going to suggest we sit on the porch.”
“The porch?”
“It’s enclosed, and I’ve got a cou
ple good space heaters.”
“I’m going to freeze my ass off, Jon,” Andrea said.
“That would be a shame, because it’s a very cute ass.”
Even in the darkness, he felt her blush.
They walked into the kitchen. Both of them blinked as Stride turned on the light. He realized to his dismay that the last three weeks of the investigation had left his house in chaos, particularly the sink, which was stacked with dishes. The dinette hadn’t been cleared in at least two days. In addition to dirty glasses and plates crusted over with the remains of spaghetti, stacks of research notes littered the table.
“Nice,” Andrea said, smiling.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about this. I’m not used to having my house visitor-friendly. Except for Maggie, who doesn’t care. She lords it over me. I guess I should have thought of this before I asked you over here.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“The porch is clean, I promise. Let me grab you a blanket. You can warm your toes by the space heater, curl up under the blanket, and I’ll get you plenty drunk with the strongest margarita you’ve ever had.”
“Deal,” Andrea said.
When the pitcher of margaritas was half empty, they barely noticed the cold anymore.
Andrea lay propped in a wicker chaise, her stocking feet poking out from under a multicolored Spanish blanket. A space heater glowed in front of the chaise, warming her toes. The blanket bunched at her waist. Above it, she wore only her silk blouse. From time to time, she rubbed the gooseflesh on her bare forearms. For the first hour, she had kept the blanket tucked under her chin, but eventually she let it slip down.
She held a bowl glass in her hand. Every minute or two, she extended her tongue to lick a trace of salt from the rim, then took a swallow of the green drink. Despite the dim light, Stride could see her do this, and something about the glimpse of her tongue on the glass was very arousing. He watched her from his own chaise a few inches away.
The porch was nearly dark. A faint glow from the house lights behind them cast shadows. Where the frost had not crept onto the glass, they could see through the tall windows to the inky darkness of the lake, illuminated only by a handful of stars and a half moon giving off a pale glow. For long minutes, they lay next to each other. It was late, but they were wide awake, keenly attuned to the sounds around them: the crash of waves, the hum of the space heater, the in and out of their breathing. Their conversation came in fits and spurts between stretches of silence.
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