by Dan Padavona
Yet the girl’s troubles had just begun. Stricken by guilt over the accident, Scout’s father blamed himself. He distanced himself from his family, forcing Scout’s mother, Naomi, to start a new life with Scout in Wolf Lake. The teenager’s classmates were uncomfortable approaching the new girl in the wheelchair. Scout found purpose in online sleuthing forums, where she solved crimes with fellow teenagers.
“Comfortable?” LeVar asked as he sat her in the front seat of his car.
“Perfecto.”
“You sure?”
“I’m not a fragile piece of glass. Stop worrying.”
But LeVar worried. He’d wanted to do this for a long time, and he couldn’t bear the thought of injuring Scout. Today, he was researching a case for Wolf Lake Consulting. No big deal, just an infidelity case. But this was Scout’s first time solving a case in person, instead of researching on her computer. The excitement on the girl’s face suggested they were about to solve a national mystery or catch a murderer.
He reached for the seatbelt, but she’d already pulled it across her shoulder and clipped it below her waist. LeVar ran a hand through his hair. She appeared snug in the seatbelt. Her legs dangled off the seat with her feet resting on the floor.
“Really, LeVar. You did great. Snug as a bug, see?”
She tugged the shoulder strap. He checked the slack.
“You sure everything feels all right?”
“Well, there’s one issue.”
“What’s that?”
“Ever since you sat me down, I can’t feel my legs.”
His brow creased in worry before he caught the joke. Leave it to Scout to laugh over her paralysis.
“You’re a regular Rodney Dangerfield,” he said.
“I’m surprised you know who Rodney Dangerfield is. I’m the one who schools you on seventies and eighties pop culture.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I’ve seen Caddyshack, Scout. And Back to School, if you must know.”
“Impressive.”
He gave the seatbelt one last tug for posterity. Over the last week, he’d searched the internet for a swivel seat, a device that would make it easier for him to lift Scout out of the car. He didn’t figure he’d need it, given how little she weighed. LeVar shook a finger at her.
“We need to load calories into you. Pizza, burgers, or a big ole steak. Are you dieting?”
“Are you saying I’m in good shape, LeVar?” She batted her eyes. “You know just what to say to a girl.”
LeVar cleared his throat.
“Watch your legs. I’m closing the door now.”
“I’m watching them. Is something supposed to happen?”
He sighed.
“Why did I agree to this?”
LeVar closed the door and slung the dreadlocks over his shoulder. He rounded the Chrysler and slid into the seat. Scout switched the Bluetooth to a hip-hop mix she’d created. He nodded in approval as he turned the ignition.
They took the lake road into the village of Wolf Lake, passing the shops and eateries. Ruth Sims swept the sidewalk outside the Broken Yolk Cafe. When LeVar honked the horn, Ruth raised her head and waved. LeVar still worked a few hours per week at the cafe between summer coursework and his job at Wolf Lake Consulting. Last year, Ruth’s business almost collapsed before Scout’s mother offered ideas for attracting a younger crowd. Now Ruth barely kept up with demand. Customers poured through the doors as the Chrysler drifted past.
Wolf Lake Consulting stood to the left. Chelsey’s Honda Civic sat in the parking lot beside Raven Hopkins’s Nissan Rogue. LeVar’s sister worked as an investigator with Chelsey inside the converted home. An old Boogie Down Productions track played over the stereo. As LeVar drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to keep beat with the song, his gaze drifted to Scout in the passenger seat. She fixed her eyes on her phone, a giant smile curling the girl’s lips.
“What’s so interesting?”
“Remember when I told you I sent a message to that FBI profiler?”
“Scarlett Bell?”
“Yeah, she wrote back.”
“No kidding? What did she say?”
“She thinks it’s cool I want to learn more about profiling serial killers, and she says she’ll answer any questions I have. We might even do a Zoom call someday.”
“That’s awesome.”
LeVar had completed a criminal profiling course at the community college during the spring semester. Scout hadn’t stopped talking about profiling since. She’d spent the last two years solving crimes in internet forums. Though Scout’s condition prevented her from chasing after criminals like an action movie hero, there was no reason she couldn’t excel as a profiler. Given Scout’s intelligence and work ethic, LeVar pictured the girl working for the FBI after college. But that was a long way into the future. Today, she’d start in the minor leagues and help LeVar catch a cheating spouse.
Across the seat, Scout beamed.
“Scarlett Bell caught something like fourteen serial killers over the last decade. She’s the FBI’s top agent.”
“Well, maybe you’ll meet her someday.”
“Or work with her. That’s my dream.” Rich greens and a kaleidoscope of flowers flew past the car as they drove into the village suburbs. The smile faded from her lips as she stared out the window. “It’s probably a dumb idea. How am I supposed to catch a killer with these?”
Scout gestured at her legs.
“You’ll catch him with your noggin,” he said, tapping his forehead. “Just like you caught Jeremy Hyde last year. Scout, you can accomplish anything you set your mind to.”
She glanced at LeVar.
“So who are we going after today?”
“A woman named Halle Clem visited the office yesterday. She’s convinced her husband, Andy, is cheating on her with his secretary.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a loan manager at a bank in Wolf Lake.”
“Hmm, he sounds guilty already. How will we catch him?”
“First, we’ll drive to the bank and wait for Clem to leave for lunch.” LeVar’s eyes flicked to the dashboard clock. “Which should be ten minutes from now. Then we’ll follow him.”
“And if his voluptuous secretary shows up?”
“Who said she is voluptuous?” LeVar shook his head. “Never mind. If we catch them together, we’ll use this.”
LeVar patted the black camera bag on the seat between them. Canon was emblazoned across the top.
“You mean we’ll take pictures.”
“That’s right. This is a high-end DSLR Canon with a 200-millimeter zoom. That allows us to maintain distance. We’ll record him from across the street, and he’ll be none the wiser. If Andy gets frisky with the secretary, we’ll have proof in pictures.”
“Then we’ll sell them on the internet. Lots of money in porn these days.”
LeVar snickered.
“Will you be serious for a second? I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime here.”
“Say, you’re not even twenty yet. I thought you couldn’t get your private investigation license until you turned twenty-five.”
LeVar winked.
“Hey, we’re not breaking any laws. Just taking pictures on a beautiful spring day.”
Scout laughed.
“That’s our story, and we’re sticking to it.” She tilted her head. “But someday, I want to catch a real bad guy.”
“Ease up, Jodie Foster. Your time will come.”
6
Deputy Veronica Aguilar watched Thomas and Lambert through the tops of her eyes. While they worked on a potential murder case, she hunched over her desk with reams of paperwork spread in front of her. She wanted to join them in the field and catch the monster who’d left a woman’s hand inside the church. Until the shrink cleared her, she was stuck on desk work with no high-speed chases in her future.
Standing a shade over five feet in her shoes, Aguilar rippled with muscle she’d carved from
hard work in the gym. Full body squats, deadlifts, overhead presses. No sissy bicep curls with pink dumbbells. She ate right, favoring a protein shake loaded with spinach, matcha tea, and frozen fruit over a burger from the local grill. But what good did staying in shape do her when the county forced her to slave over boring desk work?
Last month, she’d shot a man in the line of duty. Worse yet, the man was a police officer. Officer Avery Neal with the Wells Ferry Police murdered attorney Megan Massey and her client after they built a corruption case against him. Aguilar, Lambert, and State Trooper Fitzgerald blocked Neal from escaping the county before the officer opened fire. Aguilar’s bullet ended the fight. Neal died before the ambulance arrived.
Though she realized Neal was a criminal and had given her no choice, she harbored guilt. The firefight marked the first time she’d aimed her weapon at a person, let alone taken a life. Her hands clenched as she remembered the booming gunshots, the bullets whistling over her head while they sought refuge behind a cruiser. It seemed so easy in the movies. Shoot the bad guy. Be the hero. Dirty Harry never cried himself to sleep after he blew away the villain.
“Anything on the severed hand?” Thomas asked, setting another folder on her desk.
Great, more papers to file.
“County sent the hand to the lab for processing. We won’t hear anything for days, possibly weeks.”
The sheriff grunted and started away.
“Hey, Thomas . . . Sheriff.”
“What’s up, Aguilar?”
She swept the papers into a neat stack and raked her fingers through her hair.
“I was thinking. Things are going well with Dr. Mandal.”
“Terrific. I knew you’d like her.”
Thomas visited Mandal every week.
“There’s really nothing for me to do here. I finished every case file you gave me. Maybe it’s time I left the office for a bit. I could patrol the village and ensure no shenanigans are going on.”
The sheriff’s mouth quirked into a half-smile.
“You know the rules, Aguilar. It’s not up to me. Until Dr. Mandal clears you to return to duty—”
“She’s taking forever. I can’t keep doing this,” Aguilar said, gesturing at the folders. “I’m not helpful. Heck, I’m not even a public servant. No offense to Maggie,” Aguilar said, lowering her voice and tilting her head at the administrative assistant’s desk at the end of the hall. “But I’m not accomplishing anything she can’t do. I’m losing my mind.”
“This too shall pass. Please be patient.”
When Thomas stuffed his keys into his pocket, Aguilar stood from her chair with panic fluttering through her chest.
“Where are you going now?”
“Lambert and I are canvassing the neighborhood near the church.”
“Take me with you. What harm is there if I interview people? I won’t have my weapon with me.”
Thomas set his hands on her desk.
“That would break the county’s rules. Except for emergencies, you’re not allowed in the field until the county clears you.”
“This sucks.”
“Believe me, I don’t like this anymore than you do. But therapy is for your own good. I’m living proof it works. When you’re ready, Dr. Mandal will tell you.”
Lambert strolled out of his office and adjusted the hat on his head. Aguilar scowled. To make matters worse, Lambert and Thomas bumped fists.
“Ready to roll?” Lambert asked.
“I’m ready.” As they walked down the hall, Thomas glanced over his shoulder. “We won’t be long.”
Aguilar blew the hair off her forehead and pounded her fist against the desk. This was going to be a long day.
7
With Scout riding shotgun in the Chrysler, LeVar trailed Andy Clem from Wolf Lake Bank and Trust to a cheesy-looking hotel called the Pink Flamingo. They’d seen no sign of the secretary Halle Clem claimed her husband was having an affair with. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t already inside a room.
Clem sat inside his Volvo for five minutes before he glanced around the parking lot and strode toward the building. He kept his head down and his sunglasses on, and he stared over his shoulder, as though he sensed eyes on him. LeVar doubted Clem had spotted them. He parked his car near an outlet mall across the street where dozens of cars surrounded the Chrysler, and the sun glared across the windshield, making it impossible for anyone to see inside.
LeVar fired off two dozen pictures with the zoom lens fixed on Clem, who wandered back and forth on the walkway outside the garish hotel. A staircase rose to a second flight of rooms. In the grass, a pink flamingo sculpture welcomed guests. Beside the hotel, a gas station convenience store bustled with activity. Signage in the windows announced a lunch special on sausage sandwiches. LeVar would have preferred eating out of a garbage can to taking a chance on a gas station sausage.
“What’s he doing?” Scout asked.
“No idea. Could be he’s waiting for his date.”
Just then, Clem glanced down at his phone, gave the parking lot another glance, and hurried to room nine.
“Someone sent him a text.”
“It’s action time.”
LeVar zoomed in on the door, eager to capture whoever answered. He let out a frustrated groan when the door opened a crack, revealing only a thin line of shadow before Clem slipped inside.
“Was that the secretary who answered?”
“If it was, she stayed behind the door. Gotta hand it to them. They’re careful.”
“What do we do now?”
“We wait until they show their faces. They can’t stay in there forever. Do me a solid and record the time Clem entered the room.”
Scout scribbled the time and set the notepad on the dashboard. LeVar tapped a hand against his thigh. The curtain covering the window jostled as someone pulled the cord tight.
“So I guess there’s a lot of sitting around and waiting,” Scout said, brushing her hair back.
“Are you bored?”
“Not at all. I wonder how long they’ll be.”
LeVar was certain Scout’s mother had given her daughter the birds and bees talk years ago. Still, he felt uncomfortable estimating how much time it would take for Andy and his date to finish their business. He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed. Scout sipped Pepsi through a straw.
“Do you want chips?”
“Please.”
LeVar handed Scout the bag of kettle chips. Between them, they split a submarine sandwich. The inside of the car reeked of onion, vinegar, and oil.
“Now we wait,” LeVar said, setting the camera inside the bag so he didn’t spill sandwich fixings on the equipment. “I can’t imagine they’ll spend all afternoon in the room. They need to keep up appearances at the bank.”
He crunched on a chip and squinted at the locked hotel room door. As he turned the music on again, Scout glared at an SUV parked two spaces away. A man in black sunglasses sat in the driver’s seat.
“Who are you staring at?”
“That guy in the SUV. Is it just me, or has he been canvassing the gas station for the last ten minutes?”
LeVar shrugged.
“He’s probably eating lunch like us.”
“Where’s his food?”
LeVar sat up in his seat and angled his head around Scout. The man hadn’t budged. LeVar imagined the SUV’s interior was steaming with the windows up and the noonday sun blasting down on the parking lot. He worried the man had passed out before he coughed into his hand and returned his gaze to the gas station.
“Don’t bother the guy. And don’t let him know you’re watching.”
Scout kept her head pointed straight ahead, angling her eyes toward the SUV.
“You know what would be funny?” LeVar asked. “What if he’s another investigator, and the secretary’s husband hired him to follow her to the hotel?”
“He’s not canvassing the hotel. He’s monitoring the gas station.”
“M
aybe he works there, and he’s enjoying his break across the road.”
Scout shifted her upper body toward LeVar.
“I’ll tell you what I think. He’s about to rob the place.”
LeVar laughed.
“How can you tell?”
“He parked his vehicle in a crowded lot so nobody would notice, and he’s across the road, out of view of the security cameras.”
“Or,” LeVar said, twisting around to face Scout. “He finished shopping at the mall, and he’s wasting time before he returns to work. We should let him be.”
Scout shook her head.
“What about the black sunglasses?”
LeVar gave Scout an exasperated glance and gestured at the sky.
“I could go for black sunglasses right about now. If he’s a robber, shouldn’t he use binoculars? Something like these.”
LeVar reached below the seat and removed his binoculars. After focusing on the window outside room nine, he handed them to Scout. To his horror, she swung the binoculars toward the SUV.
“Don’t do that!”
“Why?”
“It’s rude. Let the poor guy enjoy his lunch hour.”
The SUV backed out of its parking space. A moment later, the man navigated the vehicle down a crowded row and turned out of the parking lot. Scout bit her lip.
“I hope he didn’t see me.”
“He didn’t,” LeVar confirmed. The man never peeled his vision off the convenience store until he drove away. “But my point stands. It’s bad manners to stare.”
“Yeah, my mom taught me not to stare when I was like . . . two, I guess.”
“Anyhow, when you’re on a surveillance mission, you need to be subtle. Act like you aren’t paying attention and monitor them out of the corner of your eye. Pointing binoculars out of the window is like screaming into a bullhorn.”
Scout handed the binoculars back.
“Sorry I blew our cover.”