TWENTY-ONE
I want to talk to Val. I’m on my way there, alone, Dalton having taken Storm to the station. People are heading home after work, which makes it Rockton’s rush hour. I avoid the main street. I’m halfway to my goal when I catch a glimpse of motion between two buildings, and I spin.
It’s a woman. Middle-aged. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Unremarkable in every way. The sort of person who fades into a crowd. And, in this case, one person I wish would fade into it.
“Don’t shoot!” Jen says, hands going up. “Little quick on the trigger, aren’t you, Detective?”
My hand hasn’t even dipped toward my gun. “Do you want something, Jen?”
“Just to tell you you’re a bitch.”
I sigh and resume walking. “Second verse, same as the first. Any particular reason today? Or are you just reminding me that I haven’t changed your opinion?”
“You don’t give a shit about changing my opinion.” She stops in front of me. “You pretend that you’re on our side—the women of this town. But you’re no different than all the big-shot bitches down south, ready to stomp us first chance you get. Do you actually honestly think Nicki put herself in that hole?”
I go still. “Who told you—”
“I was taking her a care package and spotted your rottweiler boyfriend on the front porch. So I went around back and stepped inside.”
“How much did you overhear?”
“Enough.”
“You’re right—questioning her story is a shitty thing to do, which means I had cause. So, tell me, why did I do it?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“Then maybe you should ask, instead of leaping to the conclusion that I’m evil. You really are a broken record, Jen. You need to find new tracks to play.”
“She doesn’t know any,” says a voice behind us.
I don’t need to turn to say, “Hello, Mathias.”
He joins us, meeting Jen’s scowl with a mocking bow. “Jennifer, it is always a pleasure. May I say you look radiant this evening.”
“Fuck off, old man.”
He turns to me. “You wonder why Jennifer cannot find new tracks to play? She knows none. Learned behavior. A lifetime of being bullied has turned her into one. It happens, sadly.”
“What?” she squawks. “You crazy old man.”
“You were significantly larger when you arrived, Jennifer, and you carry yourself in a way that suggested you have always been a big girl. Your hair looked like you cut it yourself. And your clothing? You did not shop in thrift stores because it was trendy, did you, Jennifer?”
“You—”
“Crazy old man? Casey is right. You really must find new tracks. I could teach you fresh insults. I know many. I might also suggest therapy, but the only person here who could help with that is Isabel, and you burned that bridge spectacularly. You could not even whore properly.”
I bristle, but he cuts me off with, “Yes, yes, that was uncalled for. Run along, Jennifer. You have taken up enough of Casey’s time. She is very important, you know. Even I like talking to her. She is a special young woman.”
Jen scowls at me and stomps off.
“That was a little heavy-handed, don’t you think?” I say, switching to French.
“Jennifer is always heavy-handed.”
“I mean your parting shot.”
He smiles. “Oh, I couldn’t resist. Did you ever see The Brady Bunch?”
“Before my time.”
“Naturally. Well, there were three girls, and the middle one thought her older sister got everything—all the attention, all the praise, all the advantages. Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. That’s Jennifer. Casey, Casey, Casey. The cry of the chronically dissatisfied. Our Jen has always been an equal-opportunity misanthrope, but in you, she’s found something special. You must remind her of someone she hated as a child.”
“Great.”
“Or it’s a secret crush.”
“Let’s stick with memories of hatred past.”
I glance toward the road, and he waves for me to continue and falls in at my side, saying, “So you suspect Our Lady of Captivity may have put herself in that hole? Colluded with someone, that is. To actually place herself in a hole without food and water for a year is impossible.” He takes a few more steps. “Unless … did you say there was a rope?”
“At the top, yes.”
“Which she could have thrown up there when she heard you coming.”
“Uh, no. Impossible and stupid.”
“I accept impossible. There is no such thing as too stupid. Still, to go to such physical lengths to fake an abduction would require remarkable willpower and a truly perverse psychological profile. Dare I ask what her motivation might be?”
When I don’t answer, he notices the direction I’m heading and says, “You’re going to ask Isabel? No, my dear, that won’t help. Isabel counseled those who had temporarily lost their way. I studied those who’d voluntarily left the path and saw no reason to return.”