A blip in the road tapped my head against the glass. I opened my eyes. We were trolling down Carstairs Avenue.
Ahead of us, the newspaper delivery van rolled from business to business distributing a daily dose of information. While many small towns had lost their newspaper completely, or had at least had their daily subscription scaled back to biweekly, Three Harbors maintained a healthy circulation.
Perhaps part of the reason was that the owner of the Three Harbors Herald also owned the Lakeside Hotel, a thriving business that could fund the dying one. Perched on the shores of Lake Superior, the place had recently been filled to capacity with tourists in town for the annual Falling Leaves Festival.
Three Harbors had prospered on tourism. Summer vacations, autumn leaf viewing, winter snowmobiling and cross-country skiing, as well as various hunting seasons ensured that the town didn’t struggle often. Even when the economy tanked, we remained busy. Folks that would have gone to Europe, or the Caymans, or some other expensive place, would instead remain closer to home.
Spring was our only down season, and in northern Wisconsin spring was mostly a myth. If it did make an appearance, people often blinked and missed it completely. I could probably make a bundle on Tshirts that read: SPRING IN WISCONSIN? JUST LIKE WINTER EVERYWHERE ELSE.
“Will you be able to catch some sleep this morning?” Joe asked.
“I think I can.” No messages on my voice mail yet. Almost a miracle. Still … there was something I was supposed to do today. What was it?
“Jeremy,” I muttered.
“I’m Joe,” my brother said, enunciating his name, drawing out the “oooo.”
“Very funny. A professor from the university is supposed to come in today and take a peek at the crime scene.”
“Why is that bad?”
“You didn’t see the crime scene.”
“Can I?”
“No!” I glanced at him, and he stuck out his tongue. “Why would you want to?”
Joe slid the truck to a stop at the curb in front of my building. “I’m a seventeen-year-old boy,” he said, as if that answered the question. And it kind of did, along with raising another one.
“You know anyone who’s got an unhealthy interest in Satan?”
“Is there a way to have a healthy interest in Satan?”
He made a good point. “I meant are there any kids at school that seem overly weird?”
“Define overly.”
I rubbed my forehead. I was too damn tired for this. “What do they call kids who look very Ozzy these days?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
The only reason I did was because my college roommate had been obsessed with the reality show The Osbornes.
“Dyed black hair, black eye makeup, piercings, black clothes.”
“Emo,” he said. “They call it ‘emo’ now, and that’s half the kids in school in some way or another.”
“Really?” Sheesh, I was old.
Joe shrugged. I wasn’t sure if that meant he was telling the truth or pulling my leg. Did it matter?
“If you hear anything about Satan, witches, covens, black magic, sacrificial whatever, you’ll let me know, right?”
“Really?” he echoed. “Sheesh. People are sick.”
“You have no idea.” I got out of the car. I started to slam the door and had another thought. “You know Joaquin?”
Joe blinked.
“Joaquin Ramos?”
“You think there’s more than one Joaquin in school? Of course I know him. Why?”
“Could you … I don’t know … Ask him over or something?”
“You want me to plan a playdate with the new guy?”
“That a problem?”
“He’s a sophomore.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m a senior.”
I lifted my eyebrows and waited.
“It’s kind of strange for me to do that. Borderline creepy. He’s a kid.”
“You’re not?”
“Not the same way he is.”
“He doesn’t have any friends,” I said.
“He can’t have mine,” my brother muttered, but at my narrowed glare, he continued. “Tell him to join a club, try out for a sport, something. That’s how you meet people and make friends. Not by sitting alone or working for you.”
“People might be picking on him.”
Joe frowned. That he didn’t like. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Which meant Jamie would too. I shut the door. Joe did a U-turn and headed back the way we’d come.
Thank goodness no one stood outside the clinic with a pet in his or her arms. I might not hold office hours today, but that didn’t mean people listened. Emergencies happened. However, a client’s idea of what constituted an emergency—a cough—and mine—copious blood flow—were very different.