Page 154 of Hidden Nature

Her lips moved into a pout. “I was really looking forward to that.”

“I imagine so,” Sloan murmured. “You met him at different motels.”

“Yeah. Like I told the regular cops, we’d pick the motel for the next Wednesday, then Artie would get there and check in. He’d text me when he had it all set, with the room number. I’d already be on the way because he never wanted anyplace too close to home. I’d go to the room, we’d have some fun.”

“You’d always leave first?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you notice a white van in the parking lot on any of the Wednesdays?”

“Sure didn’t.”

“Did Dr. Rigsby ever mention seeing one, or tell you he thought he was being followed or watched?”

“Well, he worried about the wife sometimes. Not that she’d follow him or anything, but that she’d just sense something. Whenever he worried about it, I’d just distract him. It’s not hard.”

She shook back her hair, laughed. “Men are easy to distract.”

“Did any of your other dates know about him?”

She pursed her lips, tilted her head.

“No. I don’t see how. When you date solidly married men like Artie, they can’t worry too much about what you’re doing with someone else, can they? And when it’s done, it’s done. I usually let them call it off because it’s easier. Then, no harm, no foul, and move on to the next.

“I mean a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta.”

After the interview, Sloan had to sit in the truck for a few minutes to level off.

But whatever she thought of Maci Lovette—and the woman was cannier than she let on—she couldn’t see any duplicity. She doubted if the woman would have seen a white van if one had pulled up in front of her.

Too self-absorbed.

So she’d go home with nothing. But nothing was something. She agreed fully with the lead investigators. Neither woman had any part in the abduction.

She’d write it out, mull it over. Maybe pick up her crocheting, turn something on TV she didn’t have to pay attention to, and give it more thought.

Then in between, she’d put something together for dinner.

A hell of a way to spend Friday night, she supposed, but it suited her.

As she approached Heron’s Rest, she decided to grab some takeout and save herself the chore of making something herself.

Pleased with the idea, she detoured and pulled into the small lot behind Ricardo’s. Then, amused, parked beside Nash’s truck just as he got out of it.

Inside, Tic jumped from back to front and back again.

“Take-out or dine-in?” she asked.

“I’m on dog duty. Take-out. You?”

“The same. Want to join forces?”

“Maybe. What do you want?”

“I was thinking about the chicken parm, then I’d have leftovers for tomorrow. But I’m flexible.”

“I’ve noticed,” he said, and made her laugh. “You take the dog, I’ll get the food. I just need to stop at home on the way and get some dog food.”

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