Devin waved to them and then slipped into the passenger seat of Rocky’s car. They’d gone a mile or two before she spoke. “You really go right for the jugular, don’t you?”
He turned to look at her briefly before returning his attention to the road. “I don’t actually see it that way. I see it as giving someone a chance to explain their actions before starting the whole pain-in-the-butt interrogation process.”
“Interesting—and yet, with my friends, you’re willing to take long walks and schmooze forever without getting to the point.”
He glanced her way again. She was smiling—not attacking him. She was truly curious.
“Well, we all have our reasons,” he said. “Most of the time we have physical evidence to work with. This case...”
“Apparently, what you did was right. You got your answer—and you got everyone to admit they feel the same as you about your friend Melissa’s death.”
“At least I can track down the truth about Vince’s athame,” he said. He looked over at her again and realized that he wanted to pretend they were driving home from a date, that they had met and liked each other and had been out tonight for the sheer pleasure of being together.
Instead, I met you over a dead body, he thought.
It hadn’t taken him more than a few minutes earlier to appreciate the fact that she cleaned up nice, as the saying went. She was always stunning, but tonight she’d worn a blue halter dress with some kind of a wrap. The color emphasized the blue of her eyes, and the silky fabric clung to the curved length of her body. And her natural warmth had won everyone over. Whenever someone had complimented her books she had been modest and gracious, explaining that her aunt’s stories had enthralled her back when she was a lonely child.
“So was he telling the truth?” Devin asked, breaking into his thoughts. “Vince said he can tell when people are lying. Do you have some kind of radar for that, too?”
He laughed. “Yes, there are certain physical manifestations that go with lying,” he told her. “But those who know them can hide them. I don’t think Vince would have lied, though. He knows that even if I don’t verify his story myself, one of the Krewe will.”
She turned to look out the window. “It’s strange. I knew some people talked about Auntie Mina, but I never realized just how...well, how ignorant and vicious they could be.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” he said quietly. “The world is filled with wonderful people. But there are also a lot of people who are ruled by their bone-deep prejudices, and some of them think the laws of this country deserve lip service and nothing more.”
When they reached her house, he walked with her to the door, as always. And though Auntie Mina was there—watching reruns of Murder She Wrote―Rocky went through the place and checked things out, anyway.
Thoroughly.
Twice.
Because he didn’t want to leave.
He’d finished his sweep of the house—not wanting to offend Mina, he’d told her that he’d wanted to make sure no one had tampered with the doors or windows from the outside—when his eyes lit on the pentagram Devin had purchased from Beth’s store.
“Mind if I borrow this?” he asked her.
She looked at him with a slightly ironic smile. “You think a retired schoolteacher who works as a medium and creates jewelry might be a serial killer?”
“No need to get defensive,” he said. “Although we all get defensive sometimes, don’t we? No, I don’t really see Gayle as a murderer. But if we can trace the medallions, at least we’ll have something concrete to work with.”
“But when she first started making them, they were sold in dozens of venues,” Devin said.
“We follow leads,” he told her. “That’s what we do. Some of them go somewhere, some don’t. If this turns out to be a lead, we’ll follow it.”
Devin lowered her head for a moment. “Of course, feel free to take it.”
“Thank you. I’ll get it back to you,” he promised.
He really couldn’t stay any longer.
When he finally bade Mina good-night and headed to the door, Devin followed to lock it behind him. “Tomorrow...well, I know you’re busy with the case, but...”
“Yes?” he urged her.
“Did you mean it earlier when you talked about checking out Perley’s theory on Gallows Hill?” she asked.
“Of course. I’m not the only one working the murders, you know—it really is a task force.”
Hell, yes, I meant it, he thought. Anything to be with you.
The thought of feeling that strongly about someone was disturbing. But he couldn’t forget the fear that had raced through him like wildfire when he’d arrived earlier that evening and seen her door standing open.
When he’d rushed into the woods, following the shrieking cry of the raven carried on the wind.
“And,” he added a little too harshly, “no running into the woods by night. I don’t care if you see our Puritan ghost and she asks you out to tea. No leaving the house like that.”