“She talked about Harpers Ferry and a conversation we had there—about politics and work,” Meg put in quickly. She hoped Killer wouldn’t bark. “We really think Lara knew something Congressman Walker didn’t tell us. She’s been bothered for weeks. I could tell because of the things she said when we talked. Of course, I was distracted—the academy,” she added ruefully, “and Lara said she’d explain more when we saw each other again.”
“We’re keeping an eye on Congressman Walker,” Jackson assured them. “Still, it’s hard to imagine that he could be responsible for these murders. I always thought he was one of the good guys. Now, I’m feeling skeptical. But Lara might’ve been referring strictly to Walker’s politics. It’s one thing to be a compromised politician. It’s another to rip three women apart. Meg, honestly, with the way the victimology here is panning out, I just can’t see Lara being taken by the same man. But...I don’t know. We have to do our best to catch this person before anyone else is killed—whether or not it’s the same person who took Lara. Keep in touch.”
“Will do,” Matt promised, ending the call.
Meg held the dog in silence. Matt glanced at her, barely taking his eyes from the road.
“It’s about two and half hours to Harpers Ferry,” Matt said. “You okay till we get there?”
“Fine. And then some,” Meg replied, worrying about the dog.
“Your family still there?”
“We own a house, but my parents are down on Hutchinson Island in Florida now. They got tired of shoveling snow.”
“Ah, so we can stay free instead of using taxpayers’ money?”
Meg shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it’s rented.”
“So we need a place that takes dogs.”
She hardly dared to breathe.
“I have to think about it for a few minutes,” she said. “There are a bunch of lovely little bed-and-breakfasts, as well as chain hotels off the highway.”
“There’s no shortage of places—and you don’t have to think about it at all. Angela will have taken care of it from the office,” he said, “I just thought I’d give you a bit of a hard time.”
“About the dog, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
She didn’t respond one way or the other.
“You have a lot of friends in Harpers Ferry?” he asked after a while.
“It’s my home.”
“People know you—and know you went through the academy?”
“Yes. A lot of friends work at the national park or the concessions around it.”
“So we can’t pretend to be your run-of-the-mill tourists,” Matt said.
“Did we need to?”
“No, we’ll rely on honesty.”
“Meaning?”
“We’ll just tell the basic truth. Say we’re looking for Lara. And hopefully, she’d be able to get word to us if a friend is hiding her. And since you know lots of people here,” he added, “if we need a dog-sitter for an hour or two, we should be all right.”
“With the windows down, he can wait in the car while we’re busy. I have a feeling that he’s a really good little dog.”
“Of course you do,” Matt said.
She wanted to smack him for being a smart-ass.
She wanted to smack herself, too. Great entry into the Krewe.
They continued in silence for a while and then Meg asked, “You haven’t been with the Krewe that long, right? Six months?”
He nodded. “A bit longer than that. I’ve been out on cases in Pennsylvania and Maryland so far. We also have a new office in New York City, and I spent time there last year. Jackson set that up.”
“He’s great. And you two get along well.”
“We’re both Native American,” he said, grinning.
“No, you’re not!”
He laughed. “I am. I’m actually one of thousands of people who trace their ancestry back to Pocahontas. I’m a mix of many nationalities now, while Jackson is half–Native American. But it’s a lot of fun to trace your heritage all the way back to someone as noteworthy as Pocahontas.”
“Nice. I can’t really trace my family history very far at all.”
“If you’re really interested, there are internet sites that can help.”
“I know that one grandparent came from Nova Scotia, one from California, one from North Carolina—and one from Harpers Ferry. That’s it,” Meg said. “What I was always more concerned with was...why? Why certain people? Does it have something to do with background?”
“You mean, why you see the dead?” he asked.
She was quiet for a minute. “Yes.”
“I guess some people just do. Some feel a greater...sensitivity, for lack of another word, to what you might call the nonmaterial world, while others are so skeptical they’ll never experience that feeling of a departed loved one being near. I recognize that I have this ability. And,” he added, “for me, it’s been a good thing. What about you?”
“Sure, I always loved it when people thought I needed therapy.”
He laughed at that. Maybe he wasn’t so bad—he was straightforward and didn’t stand on ceremony, or pretense.
“When was your first time?” she asked him.
He glanced at her, and she was surprised by the amusement in his eyes. “My first time doing what? That could be taken as a very personal question.”