Dalton shakes it off and says, "The problem is the fact that accusing her of voluntarily living in that hole is preposterous. Especially without a motive. So you're wondering why the council gave it to you."
"You don't actually need a detective, do you?"
"Sure, I do, because my answer is 'because they're assholes.' I'm gonna guess you need more."
"I do. It's like they expect we'll be so freaked out by this that we'll jump on any other explanation, however flimsy."
"Or they're jumping on it."
"Why? Is it just because terrible crimes are terribly inconvenient? Like trying to cover up a murder in a fancy hotel?"
"Maybe."
"It bugs me."
"I know."
I'm about to say more when he tenses again, his eyes narrowing. This time, I ask, "What do you see?"
He takes another slow look around. Then he makes a face. "Nothing. Just jumpy."
"Are you sure?"
Another scan. "Mostly."
I take out my gun. "If you think there's someone out there, we should investigate."
He looks from me to Storm and then back at the forest.
"We're not going to tromp in there with a gun and a puppy when it's just me being rattled," he says. "We should head back. It's almost dark, and we didn't bring a flashlight."
He looks at my gun as I put it away. "Good to see you're okay with pulling that. Proves you're capable of progress. Just very slowly."
I flip him the finger. He tugs the glove from my pocket and holds it out. "Wouldn't want that to get frostbite."
I shake my head and put on one glove, my other hand going into his. As we leave, I cast one last glance around the forest as he's tugging Storm onto the path.
I don't see anyone. Don't hear anyone. Don't even sense anyone. But if Dalton did? Someone's there, watching us. I know it.
TWENTY-ONE
I want to talk to Val. I'm on my way there, alone, Dalton having taken Storm to the station. People are heading home after work, which makes it Rockton's rush hour. I avoid the main street. I'm halfway to my goal when I catch a glimpse of motion between two buildings, and I spin.
It's a woman. Middle-aged. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Unremarkable in every way. The sort of person who fades into a crowd. And, in this case, one person I wish would fade into it.
"Don't shoot!" Jen says, hands going up. "Little quick on the trigger, aren't you, Detective?"
My hand hasn't even dipped towa
rd my gun. "Do you want something, Jen?"
"Just to tell you you're a bitch."
I sigh and resume walking. "Second verse, same as the first. Any particular reason today? Or are you just reminding me that I haven't changed your opinion?"
"You don't give a shit about changing my opinion." She stops in front of me. "You pretend that you're on our side--the women of this town. But you're no different than all the big-shot bitches down south, ready to stomp us first chance you get. Do you actually honestly think Nicki put herself in that hole?"
I go still. "Who told you--"