“Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
It was the second time in as many days that she’d been completely ignored by a witness.
And he was having a good time rubbing it in.
“You weren’t using it?”
He unlocked the car and they both climbed in. “If by mojo you mean boyish charm then yes, I was.”
“You annoy the hell out of me.”
He started up the car. “It’s the mojo.”
“No,” she corrected, “it’s frickin’ you.”
He flashed her a grin. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed.”
Puppies were cute. So were little girls in ruffles and bows. Not skull-crushing, bad-guy busting detectives with nicknames like Mad Dog. Still, it took everything she had not to laugh.
She changed the subject. “Was he telling the truth? About Gomez?”
“Yeah, he was.”
She heard something in his voice she didn’t like. “It’s time to move on, Hollywood. She’s alive and well.”
“Looking over her shoulder, he said.”
“We all do sometimes. Right?”
“Right.” He glanced at her and smiled. “Letting go. Moving on.”
Why did she have the feeling he was totally scamming her?
Probably because he was.
Chapter Sixteen
Tuesday, July 9
2:40 P.M.
The young woman sitting across from him looked anxious. She alternated between clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap and rubbing her palms on her shorts.
Zach looked her in the eyes. Pretty girl. Early twenties. Judging by her backpack, she was a student. He smiled reassuringly. “How can I help you, Ms. Camden?”
“It’s my roommate,” she began. “Gwen. I don’t know where she is and I . . . I think something bad’s happened to her.”
“She’s missing?”
“Yes. At least I . . . I think so.”
“You think so? Why?”
“This is going to sound silly.”
“Try me.”
“She didn’t eat her birthday cake.”
Birthday cake? Zach glanced across the squad room at J.B. If the man was punking him, he’d be watching, waiting for the Gotcha! moment. Instead, J.B. seemed oblivious, intently studying his computer monitor.
He returned his gaze to Nora Camden’s. “Okay, Nora, that needs an explanation.”
“I know.” She twisted her fingers together. “But it’s not just the cake. That’s only . . . it’s what I keep coming back to. Because Gwen’s such a chocoholic. It’s just so—” She stopped, eyes welling with tears. “—out of character for her.”
“I get that,” he said softly. “Why don’t you start at the beginning. It’ll make more sense to both of us. I promise.”
She nodded, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then began. “It was her birthday this weekend. Saturday. But my brother was getting married in Napoleonville, so I couldn’t stay for it. I felt bad leaving . . . not only ‘cause it was her birthday, but she and her boyfriend had just broken up.
“She promised she would be okay. Some friends were taking her to the Quarter Saturday. I figured she’d sleep all day Sunday and I’d be home Monday.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“And did you, get home yesterday?”
She nodded. “In the afternoon. She wasn’t there, but I didn’t think anything of it. I figured she was at school.”
“School?”
“UNO.”
“She’s an art major. She’s always out there working. In the studio.”
“Gotcha.”
“I woke up this morning and she hadn’t come home. That’s when I sort of freaked out.”
From the corners of his eyes, he saw Micki enter the squad room. He waved her over.
“Nora, this is my partner, Detective Dare. Nora’s in today about her roommate.”
“Nice to meet you,” Mick said and pulled up a chair.
“You said you freaked out, but only sort of. Why was that?”
“I thought maybe she’d gotten back with her boyfriend or crashed with a friend.”
“She wouldn’t have called you?”
She shook her head. “We don’t get into each other’s business that much. But then . . .” Tears filled her eyes again. “I started to notice things.”
Micki took over. “What kind of things?”
“For one, her birthday cake. She hadn’t even touched it. I got it for her on Friday. Her favorite: double chocolate. She was going to save it for Saturday. Have a piece for breakfast.”
“Anything weird or out of place when you got home? Anything that would indicate a struggle?”
“If anything it looked . . . too clean.” As if suddenly chilled, she rubbed her arms. “Just the way I left it. Gwen’s messy.”
“Let’s talk about the boyfriend. The breakup—who did the breaking?”
“He did.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Creep and loser. Why she was so crazy about him, I don’t have a clue.”
“He a student?”
“Uh-uh. Bartender. At Cayenne’s.” She paused. “I found out they ran into him Saturday night.”
“Found out. How?”
“I called our friends, looking for her.”