Waking the Witch
Page 33

“You’re okay with this?”
“I offered, didn’t I? Just be careful. Driving without a license ... I hate to sound like a cop, but you could get in a lot of trouble.”
I stopped the car. “You’re right. You should—”
“No, I was just saying to take it easy.” When I hesitated, he waved me on. “Go. You’re slowing me down.”
I reached into my pocket and held up a card. My driver’s license.
“I thought you said—”
“Implied, never said.”
He laughed and waved me on again. I drove a quarter mile, then circled back and came up beside him again.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” I said.
“Uh, yeah. I’m serious about the apology, too. I was a jerk.”
“You’re a cop. You’re supposed to be a jerk.”
“I don’t think that’s in the code.”
“Read the fine print. It’s there.” I parked and got out. “I’m not leaving you to walk my bike two miles.”
We argued for a minute. Then he gave me my bike and started walking ... south, away from his car.
“they!” I called. “Where—?”
He flagged down an approaching pickup. The old guy stopped, which probably had something to do with the badge Michael was waving. He explained that we needed a lift. The guy assumed it was police business and grumbled, but didn’t argue. Michael and I loaded the bike into the back, then he waved me to his car.
“I’ll go with him.” He held up a hand against my protest. “I’m protecting the old guy, not you. Pretty girl in the passenger seat, he might not be able to help himself, and I don’t think he wants to spend the rest of the day in the hospital.” He walked to the truck. “See you in town.”
NOT SURPRISINGLY, THE garage didn’t carry my tires. There wasn’t even a mechanic on duty, just a kid fresh out of high school who “knew a lot about cars.” He liked my bike, though. Liked Michael’s car even better, and declared that he was definitely moving to Portland or Seattle next year, as if life in a big city came with keys to a sweet ride.
He called two other garages trying to get me a tire. Neither had one, but they recommended a bike shop in Vancouver. He called and they had one in stock and would hold it for me until they closed at seven.
“I’ll give you a lift,” Michael said as we drove off, leaving my bike behind the shop.
“You really are sorry, aren’t you? No. We both have a case to work and you’ve already spent most of the day on a wild-goose chase.”
“You can’t investigate without wheels, Savannah, and the nearest car rental is in Vancouver. I checked when mine was acting up.”
“All right then. Pick me up at my motel at five-thirty. We’ll grab the tire, then I’ll take you out. I promise to feed you only dinner—no more false leads.” I glanced out the window. “Oh, can you drop me off here? I’ve got some legwork to do.”
He parked on Main Street. “So, are you going to tell me what happened with the bike?”
“Tire blew.”
“I saw that. If there was an ongoing problem with it, though, you would have noticed. And if you’d run over something, you would have stopped.”
I told him what happened. When he finished cursing out Cody, I said, “I could be wrong. Maybe I did just run over a nail or something.”
“And he just happened to drive past slowly to admire the scenery?”
“I’m trying not to be paranoid.”
“I’d say you have a right to be. You—” He noticed the hardware store clerk staring at us through the store window.
“We look like we’re on a stakeout,” I said. “We’re making the townies nervous.”
He opened the door. We got out and stood on the sidewalk.
“You need to be careful, Savannah.”
“Um, no, I need to teach this control-freak scumbag that he can’t mess with me.”
Michael’s mouth opened, then closed.
“What?” I said.
“I’m just asking you not to egg him on. You did the right thing today, not confronting him.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
He leaned against his car. “Okay, I’ve overstepped, obviously. I should mind my own business. Let you goad him into another strike.”
“What better way to catch him if he’s the killer?”
“You’re right.” His gaze frosted over, and his words were sharp. “Go right ahead. See if he’ll go after you again. Make sure he does some damage, too—it’s far more convincing if we have hospital records. Better yet, morgue records.”
“I’m not stupid—”
“No, but maybe you are just a little bit reckless.”
I shook my head.
“What?” he said.
“You sound like a guy I know.”
“Well, he’s a smart guy, then, and maybe you should listen. Cody Radu could have killed you out there. I’m not saying to back down. Stand firm, just don’t goad him.”
Adam would tell me the same thing—he was always the last person to stop me from standing up for myself, but the first to tear a strip off me when I got reckless.
“All right,” I said. “I should ease off him for awhile anyway. I’m not getting anywhere.”
“I’ve got my own appointment with him tomorrow morning. I’ll give him a shake. See if anything comes loose. Maybe some of those pearly whites, if we’re lucky.”
I hesitated. The problem with my job is that the two priorities-solving the case and uncovering any supernatural involvement—sometimes clashed. I wanted to find Claire’s killer. Yet I needed to keep Michael from finding any supernatural angles. I weighed the threat potential of what I was about to say and decided to go for it.
“I have a lead that might link Claire and Cody,” I offered.
“What?”
“Legit this time. I won’t play you anymore. I don’t want to tip him off until I have details, but there’s a good chance he had a conversation with Claire the day before she died. Also, he’s definitely up to something illegal.” I told him about the conversation I’d overheard with his lawyer friend. “A delivery. That’s all I know.”