Despite all the feelers that Silvio put out, along with a hefty reward from yours truly for information about Deirdre’s whereabouts, we got exactly nowhere trying to track her down. It was like she had vanished into thin air. She was simply gone, with no trail to follow. I didn’t hear so much as a whisper about where she—or her body—might be.
The only bright spot was that things didn’t go nearly as badly for Finn as they could have. Stuart Mosley was plenty pissed that someone had tried to rob his bank, but Bria managed to spin the story that Finn had been taken hostage and had bravely fought off the thieves until help arrived. Mallory Parker also put in a good word for Finn, since she was all buddy-buddy with Mosley and an esteemed bank client herself. But most important, Mosley didn’t want anyone to know just how close Deirdre and Santos had come to grabbing everything in the vault. So he blamed it all on a gas leak and subsequent explosion, hired a crew from Vaughn Construction, made everyone from the construction workers to the cops sign confidentiality agreements, and got them to clean up the mess.
Still, the more time passed and the more things got back to normal, the more worried I became. I didn’t particularly care if someone had gotten to the Ice elemental before me. I just wanted to know with absolute certainty that Deirdre was dead and rotting, not lurking in some dark corner of Ashland waiting to strike back at me—or, worse, Finn.
“You’re . . . cranky,” Silvio said as I slammed some dirty dishes into one of the sinks. “I don’t think that I’ve ever seen you cranky before.”
I gave the vampire a dark glare, but he merely quirked his eyebrows in a chiding response and went back to his tablet.
It was Tuesday, three days after the bank robbery, and just after seven at the Pork Pit. It was a slow night, given the cold and increasing flakes of snow outside, and I was getting ready to close up. I’d told Silvio that he could go home an hour ago, but he’d insisted on staying, just in case someone called in with a tip about Deirdre. But no one had, and no one was going to. Deirdre was a ghost, until she either decided to lash out at us again or someone uncovered her body in a shallow grave. I was hoping for the latter, although I didn’t know anyone who wanted her dead as much as I did.
Still, my worry over Deirdre was nothing compared with my worry over Finn.
Despite everything he was dealing with at the bank, Finn had still come to the Pork Pit every day for lunch, just like he had with Deirdre. He seemed to have aged a decade over the last few days. Everything about him was dull, flat, and lifeless, and he had lost the vibrancy and cheer that made him, well, Finn. It was as though Deirdre had reached inside him and scooped out his essence, his heart, leaving nothing behind but a brittle, hollow shell.
Making him a Tin Man, just like Fletcher had been.
Finn didn’t laugh or smile or joke, and he barely picked at his food, even though I made all his favorites, including triple chocolate milkshakes. More than once, I looked at Finn to find him with his fork in his hand, staring over at the corner booth where he and Deirdre had sat so many times, a blank look on his face. Mama Dee had really done a number on him, and I had no idea how to help him.
My troubled thoughts made me slam some more dishes into the sink, and I glared at the bowls and plates for making so much noise.
“You know,” Silvio said, “I think that maybe I’ll go on home for the evening.”
I sighed. “Sorry I’m being such a bear right now.”
He shrugged. “It happens, even to the best of us. You shouldn’t worry so much. Ms. Shaw will turn up sooner or later, and you’ll deal with her when she does.”
“Thank you, Silvio.”
He nodded at me. I smiled and nodded back.
Silvio packed up his gear and left. I shut and locked the front door behind him, then turned the sign over to Closed. The rest of the waitstaff had already left, and I thought about heading home for the night. But I had some leftover food from a take-out order that hadn’t gotten picked up—hot dogs with all the fixings, another one of Finn’s favorites—so I pulled out my phone and texted him.
Want to come over to the Pit, have some food, and talk?