Melinda whirled on Flint, tears filling her eyes and running down her cheeks. “It’s your fault, not mine! If you hadn’t spent the night fucking that fat wolf bitch, there wouldn’t have been anyone there to overhear me!”
Rory drew in a furious breath as she stormed off, but Flint held up his hand. “Let it go, Rory. You did what was needed, by removing her from the operation. I kind of blame myself, here.”
“How?” Rory glared after Melinda’s retreating figure. “It’s not your fault she’s obsessed with you. I’ve never seen you lead her on.”
“I know, it’s just…I just feel badly. I owe her my life.”
“She’s been playing that card for far too long. Yes, she saved your life; she’s an Enforcer, and that’s her job. You’d have done the same for her, or for anyone on your team. In fact, you have saved people’s lives. Do you follow them around acting like they owe you?”
Flint winced. Rory’s words were true, but harsh. “I guess not,” he admitted. “I better head back to my office and get back to work.”
Chapter Nine
Coral arrived at work to find phone messages from Adrian’s mother and Megan’s mother, and she immediately felt guilty that she was brooding about her own problems. Yes, she was infatuated with a bear shifter who was leading some kind of mysterious double life and lying to her, but these two women had missing family members. Her problems were petty and puny in comparison.
She returned their calls to let them know she hadn’t come up with anything new yet, but she was still investigating.
Then she turned to shoot Frederick, who had just slunk in from an assignment, the glare of death.
He held up his hands in protest. “Come on, Coral, I took Bettina out to coffee once. I thought I liked her, but then Melinda – wow. She’s incredible, isn’t she? Can you believe someone who looks like her actually likes me?”
“Are you really that stupid?” Coral snapped.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He looked hurt.
“You’ll figure it out. And don’t talk to me unless its work related. I’m officially pissed off at you.” She swiveled her chair around, deliberately turning her back on him.
Bettina sat at the front desk, occasionally flashing hurt looks back in Frederick’s direction. Coral sighed. Frederick was too besotted to realize that Melinda had just used him in an attempt to get to Flint.
She ignored three text messages from Flint that morning as she typed up notices for the weekly “Around Town” column.
When she was done, she decided to do some more investigating.
Someone had already searched Adrian’s house, according to his mother, but maybe she could find something that they hadn’t.
Adrian had rented a tiny little bungalow set on the back of the property of a man named Elmer Kray, on the outskirts of town, about twenty minutes drive from the newspaper. Kray lived in a dilapidated clapboard A-line house with missing shingles and peeling gray paint.
Coral knocked on his door. He was an older man, in his seventies, wearing stained dungarees and a faded white tank top. Feeling mildly guilty for lying, she told him she was considering renting the property.
Kray shrugged, not seeming particularly interested. “It ain’t locked. Take a look around,” he said. “If you like it, it’s vacant. Sure is a lot of interest in that place.”
Coral perked up. “Really? From who?” she said.
“Oh, a tiger shifter came by asking about it, and before that, some humans. They all wanted to look at it.”
“Oh,” she said brightly. “Well, I’ll let you know what I think.” Her heart sank, however. Whoever had been there had likely searched the place thoroughly; what were the odds that she’d find anything? Well, she was already there; she might as well do some snooping.
“If you want it, three hunnert a month,” he said, and walked back inside.
She nodded, and walked back to through the yard, past pecking chickens and a rusty hand pump, to the bungalow.
An air conditioning unit sagged from the window, and the steps creaked under her feet as she walked up. The bungalow had definitely seen better days. The windows were grimed over with dust, and a crack ran jaggedly up one pane.
She opened the door and walked in. The bungalow smelled musty, and was furnished with old, mismatched furniture. She opened the cupboards in the kitchen, and shrieked when a mouse scampered out.
It leaped on to the counter, where it glared at it her with beady little eyes.
“Oh, please,” she scowled. “I’m a wolf. I can take you.”
With a squeak of disgust, it scampered behind a toaster.
She pulled out drawers, bracing herself in case more live animals leaped out, but there were none. The drawers were empty of animals or clues. She opened the refrigerator. Nothing.
She went into the bedroom and looked under the bed and then went through the drawers, quickly. She looked in the closet. In the bathroom medicine cabinet.
Nothing.