Page 47 of Always Murder

But there was no answer again.

“You can’t walk.I’ll give you a ride home.”

Nothing.

“Keme, come on.It’s freezing.”

I inched up from my seat in time to see Keme’s silhouette shrinking toward the end of the block.His back was to us, and he was shaking his head.Millie, with the grainy porch light still sifting down onto her, stared after him.And then she went inside.

Somehow, I managed to unbend my spine.I got upright in my seat and reached for the Pilot’s keys.I couldn’t drive right up and offer Keme a ride; he’d immediately suspect something.But I could loop around, wait for him to come out on a bigger street, and happen to drive by…

Yeah, I thought.That’ll work.

Honestly, it probably wasn’t ahugedeal.Keme would be able to get back to Hemlock House.He had his own ways of getting around Hastings Rock that he’d never shared with me—I wanted to think he owned a bike, but I had the terrifying suspicion that hitchhiking was more likely.Either way, the reality was that unless Keme called or texted for a ride, there wasn’t much I could do.If I showed up unexpectedly, he’d probably indulge in every hitchhiker’s favorite pastime: killing the driver and hiding the body.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt if I stayed in the area, in case he needed something—and so I could make sure he got home safely.

Before I could start the Pilot, though, the front door to Millie’s house opened again, and Millie emerged.She glanced left and right and then hurried toward the street.

I watched her and tried to figure out what I was seeing: her head was down, her shoulders turned in, and she was carrying a plastic bag close to her side.The word that came to mind wasfurtive.The second word that came to mind wassneakery.

And Millie wasn’t a sneak.I mean, it was almost biologically impossible for Millie to be a sneak.(Imagine a spy who did all his work through a megaphone.) Millie was transparent to a fault, as a matter of fact.

So, what was she doing?

My first thought was that she was going after Keme.But if so, she wouldn’t look so…suspicious, would she?Where else could she be going?If Millie were a different type of person, I could see her going to a bar after a fight with her boyfriend.Or to a girlfriend’s house.Or maybe a late-night, uh, rump call.(Is that the polite term for a booty call?) But Milliewasn’tthat kind of person.Millie was a Last Pick, which meant I knew all her friends, and I had the sneaking suspicion she wasn’t going to visit Indira so they could drink wine and give each other mani-pedis while they watched…I want to sayClueless?(That’s my new ship, by the way: Mindira.)

Millie’s Mazda3 started up.The headlights came on.And she pulled away from the curb.

I sent up a silent prayer for forgiveness from all earnestly good and patient deputy-boyfriends everywhere, and then I started the Pilot and went after her.

Chapter 15

Millie drove north, toward the commercial side of Hastings Rock.Cute, well-tended homes gave way to single-story brick warehouses and office buildings.This part of town wasn’t run-down, exactly, but under the dusty sheen of the security lights, it did look old.We passed a low, flat-roofed building with a sign that said Daugherty Asphalt Maintenance.Then a fence with a sign that said Hastings Rock Heavy Equipment, and a gravel lot where backhoes and bulldozers and other big, dangerous-looking machines were parked.(I imagined a young Bobby had probably owned little yellow-plastic toys of the same equipment; there was something intrinsically appealing about construction work to Bobby Mai, I was fairly sure.) Lance E.Anderson’s Heating and Sheet Metal had a wood-shingle bonnet roof and plank siding, and it looked like you could have dropped it into the background of a spaghetti western without raising any eyebrows.I even spotted Newsum Decorative Rock (owned by Brad Newsum).There was, as you can probably guess, alotof decorative rock stored in the lot.

If Millie noticed I was following her, she didn’t give any sign of it.I stayed back as much as I dared, but the reality was that Hastings Rock was a small town, and this wasn’t a busy section of it, so we were the only two cars on the road.At this point, there wasn’t much I could do about it—either Millie knew I was tailing her, or she didn’t, and all I could do was see what happened.

What happened was: Millie turned in to a self-storage facility.

A chain-link fence with a barrier-arm gate surrounded the facility, but they looked nominal more than anything serious—I didn’t see any razor wire or gun turrets or bloodthirsty Dobermans.Behind the fence, cinderblock buildings had been painted white, with orange roll-up doors.A few security lights were positioned around the facility, but I guessed that these, like the fence and the gate, were mostly for show—they were spaced too far apart, and they left deep shadows.Identical signs had been posted on each of the cinderblock structures: THIS PROPERTY IS UNDER 24-HOUR SURVEILLANCE.I had my doubts about that too.When Millie’s headlights swept across the lot, they picked out a crumpled paper cup, winter-brown weeds, and a dumpster with a sofa’s hind end sticking out of it.

I could not—for the life of me—think of why Millie would have a reason to come to a place like this.

She drove straight up to the gate and punched in a code.The gate’s little wooden arm went up, and Millie drove on.She didn’t hesitate.She didn’t show any sign of uncertainty.I stuck to the road and slowed the Pilot so I could watch her through the fence.Millie drove to the end of the facility and turned down the far aisle.

As soon as her car was out of sight, I parked, jumped out of the SUV, and sprinted after her on foot.Damp cold met me, but I barely noticed; I was too focused on trying to make as little noise as possible, which is harder than it sounds when you’re in a full-on sprint.

I raced around the gate and toward the far side of the facility.The sound of the Mazda’s engine died, and then the distant glow of the headlights snapped off.The only illumination now came from the security lights, and they left long pools of shadow to wade through.Over the sound of my running, I strained to catch the rattle of a roll-up door.But either I was too loud, or Millie hadn’t opened her storage unit yet.

When I came around the corner, I got my first look at the final aisle of storage units.I registered Millie’s Mazda3 parked next to the fence.And then my attention fixed on the row of orange doors.One of them was halfway open.

Millie crouched beneath it.Weak yellow light came from inside the storage unit, painting her face in profile.Her jaw sagged, and then she brought her hands up, holding them in the air as though she didn’t know what to do.

“Millie?”I called.

She didn’t look over.She just kept staring at whatever was in front of her inside the storage unit.

I broke into a run.

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