“Good morning,” she said, kissing me hello. “You’re up early. Why do you insist on reading those things online? The paper’s right out in the hall. All you have to do is open the door, pick up the paper, and take off the rubber band.”
“I seem to remember you prefer finding your newspapers in pristine condition,” I replied. “I’m only thinking of you.”
“Thanks,” she said.
When it comes to lying, I’m getting better all the time.
Mel collected her papers. Then she went over to the window seat, wrapped a throw around her shoulders, and settled down in one corner to read the headlines and await the end of the coffee-brewing cycle. On a clear day someone sitting in the window seat can see Mount Rainier to the south and east and the Olympics to the north and west, with a vast display of water and/or city in between. This was March. The only thing visible was rain—lots of it.
“Did you get the flowers?” she asked.
The puzzled look on my face must have been answer enough.
“For Beverly’s funeral,” she reminded me. “You were going to order more, right?”
“Right,” I said. “But Ballard Blossom isn’t open right now. It’s too early. I’ll have to call later.”
“And then you should probably drag home some groceries. The kids will be here at least part of the time.”
“What kind of groceries?” I asked.
“You know. The usual. Sodas, cereal, milk, bread, peanut butter, animal crackers.”
“Where the hell do they keep animal crackers these days?”
“Same place they always have, but when you get to the store, ask,” she said patiently. “Someone there will be able to tell you.”
Mel left for work a little past seven. I went back to surfing the net, where I was still trying to track down principals in God’s Word when Ross Connors called me at home a little after eight.
“Sorry to hear about your grandmother,” he said. “Harry told me you weren’t coming in.”
Since he had called on my home number and not on my cell, I had already figured that out. “Thanks,” I said. “But I’m still working. It would be a hell of a lot easier on me if I could talk to Mel about this Tompkins situation. I don’t like sneaking around on her. It feels like cheating.”
“Indulge me,” he said. “I’m not ready to start connecting the dots yet. What have you found out on LaShawn so far?”
“According to Detective Jackson at Seattle PD, it could be nothing more or less than an old-fashioned love triangle with both LaShawn and Pastor Mark from King Street Mission going after the same girl.”
“Who also happens to be missing at the moment,” Ross supplied.
In other words, I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. So why did he need me?
Ross answered the question without my asking it. “Find her,” he said. “There is nothing that would make me happier than to know LaShawn Tompkins is dead because he fell in love with the wrong girl.”
This was not a throwaway comment. There was an urgency in Ross’s voice that I recognized. Something was going on—something Ross was not yet prepared to divulge—and LaShawn Tompkins’s murder, inconsequential as it might seem in the big scheme of things, was somehow the tip of that iceberg.
“You know,” I said, “it might be easier to fix this problem if I knew what the hell was really going on.”
“Just find the girl,” Ross said. “Find Elaine Manning. Maybe this is nothing more than what Kendall Jackson says it is, a love story gone awry, and maybe I’m just over the hill, full of crap, and pushing panic buttons for no reason. That’s what I’m hoping.”
I knew for certain that Ross Connors was anything but over the hill and full of crap, so I kept my mouth shut. When he hung up, he left me with the sure knowledge that I’d better hit the road and do what I’d been ordered to do—find Elaine Manning. And the first place to look was King Street Mission.
For years Ross Connors has been a big-time political player in the state of Washington. That means he comes complete with lots of connections—political, financial, and otherwise. The fact that God’s Word wasn’t up-front about who all was involved made it seem likely to me that we were dealing with some pretty heavy hitters. Otherwise why would Ross be worried—or personally involved?
So I closed the computer, showered, dressed, and headed out for the King Street Mission. It’s not the kind of place you stumble into by accident. The only way to get there is on purpose—because that’s where you mean to go.