“No one barged anywhere.”
“Stop arguing with me,” Lassiter said. He hadn’t let go of my arm yet. He had eight inches and a hundred pounds on me, not to mention the legal authority to throw me in a cell for the rest of the day. I had to concede the moment to him. I spread my hands in surrender and he released his grip on me. “Now, why are you here?”
I rubbed my arm. I could feel a hand-shaped bruise forming already. “Veronica Cruz didn’t come home last night.”
“I’m aware.”
“I’m worried that whoever buried Mallory Evans and Colleen Grantham in the woods is the reason why,” I said, “and I believe that person is Kenny Brayfield.”
He laughed at me like I’d just told the world’s worst joke.
Not caring if he liked what I had to say, I ticked off the reasons for my theory. “The woods backs up to the Brayfield property. He used to date Mallory. He was friends with Sarah’s boyfriend. He works with Colleen’s father—”
“Belmont’s a small town,” he said. “Everyone is connected to everyone else.”
“And Kenny lied when I asked him about Mallory the other day, he was unaccounted for last night when Veronica went missing, and they were awfully quick to call you just now when I started asking questions about it—”
He took another step toward me. “The Brayfield family is entitled to police protection from nosy outsiders, just like anyone else in this town.”
I shook my head. The man had a singular way of responding to exactly the wrong thing. “Not just any police protection, though,” I said. “You. Did he call you directly so you could rush over?”
“Listen to me,” he said, waving a hand as if to silence me. He was back to just wanting me to leave. “I know you probably think you’re helping, but we don’t want or need your help here. We’ll figure out where she went, we will leverage all of our resources to solve Colleen’s murder, and we will deal with the other dozens of small police matters that pop up each week in Belmont, and we’ll do all of that without your involvement. This connection you’re clutching at just doesn’t exist.”
“You’re not even listening,” I said.
“Go back to the city,” Lassiter finished. “You don’t belong here.”
I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t a matter of belonging, but maybe it was. And in that case, I was glad I didn’t belong in Belmont. I went around him and got into the car. If I was right, there’d be some way to prove it. Finding out the truth about what happened to Sarah Cook and her parents and the other women might be impossible after so much time, but I’d just seen Veronica yesterday. I might not have a paying client who expected answers from me anymore. But after what I’d stirred up down here, I needed to get those answers all the same.
*
Insomnia was a cozy little space with navy-blue walls, yellow area rugs over a scuffed wooden floor, and eclectic-chic mismatched furniture. I could see why Veronica, what with her experimental outfits, probably liked it here. Metric’s “Poster of a Girl” was playing over the speakers at a volume that seemed a little loud for the suburbs and the hour—eleven in the morning now—but the smattering of patrons didn’t seem to mind. While I stood at the counter waiting for someone to notice me, I looked at the baked goods in the glass case: lots of muffins and cupcakes, some with a little card in front identifying them as vegan. I had to resist the urge to lean on the case with my head in my arms. It was the right height.
“If you’re on the fence, definitely get the chocolate chip.” The barista emerged from the back room, wiping her hands on her apron. She had a shock of greenish-blue hair and a tattoo of swirling lines on her chest peeking out from behind her uniform apron. “They’re made in-house every day. Well, all of them are. But that one’s the best.”
“Not today,” I said. Though my greasy breakfast sandwich had been abandoned when Shelby had called, I didn’t think I could eat. “Could I just have a peppermint tea?”
“Absolutely.”
She turned away, pouring hot water into a chipped mug.
“Hey,” I said, “is Aaron working today?”
“Yeah, but he’s doing an interview right now. He’s the manager on duty.”
“Were you working last night?”
The barista turned around and looked at me curiously. “I was.”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and navigated to the picture of Veronica. “Do you remember seeing this girl?”
She squinted at the screen. “She comes in here all the time,” she said, “but I don’t know if she came last night. There were a ton of people, mostly, you know, girls like that. Aaron’s band has a bit of a following.”
“So I gathered.” I was hoping she just had a bad memory, that Veronica had been here, had spent all night talking to Aaron in his car somewhere. That there was still going to be an easy resolution. “She didn’t come home last night, and I’m trying to find her.”
The barista dropped a tea bag into the mug and pushed it across the counter toward me. “Shit.” Then, “Wait, are you her mom?”
“No, no,” I said quickly. “God, no.” I was more accustomed to being mistaken for a cop than for someone’s mother. “Friend of her family. What about him, did you happen to see him?” I showed her the picture I’d taken of Kenny.
The barista laughed. “Is he wearing a bathrobe?”
I needed a better photo of him. “He wouldn’t have been wearing the robe last night.”
“No, I’ve never seen him before.”
A short line had formed behind me, so I stepped aside. “When Aaron’s interview is over, can you tell him I’d like to talk to him for a second?”