Page 51 of Deathtoll
As Murph pulled away from the curb ten minutes later, he said, “I see what you meant. They’re pretty nice.”
Bing flashed a told-you-so look. “Most people would get angry if they thought you were asking them questions in relation to a murder. Especially someone in a leadership position like Bill Garvey. Men who are used to being the boss don’t like being questioned, as a rule. Technically, in his congregation, the pastor is a stand-in for God. But Bill and Amanda never lord their positions over anyone. They walk the talk.”
“Are you going to talk to the nephew or whatever he is?”
Bing nodded.
“Can I come with you?”
“No.”
“Why did you agree to me coming along to see the pastor and his wife?”
“You know where they live. If I said no, you would have come without me.”
There were probably ways to find the nephew too, Murph thought, and said nothing.
Chapter Eighteen
Kate
Since Kate was being followed Monday morning on her way to work, she couldn’t admire the profusion of colorful chrysanthemums in the front yards as usual. The yellows, whites, and maroons formed a visual delight that was the favorite part of her morning drive, but instead of reminding herself to enjoy their beauty, she glanced at her rearview mirror for the dozenth time in the past few minutes.
There.The tan Nissan two cars behind her took the right turn too.
The low sun reflected off the car’s windshield, so no matter how hard Kate squinted, she couldn’t make out the driver, just the general shape of a man. The gluten-free toast she’d had for breakfast suddenly felt like a hard lump in her stomach. The man’s size was about right for Ian McCall.
Today was going to be a good day, she decided. Today, she was going to make progress.
“Okay, Ian. Let’s talk.” She stepped on the brake, let the oncoming traffic pass, then pulled into the gas station on the other side of the road, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as she waited for Ian to make the same move.
The white pickup that had been behind her wanted the gas station too, but had to wait for another handful of cars coming from the opposite direction before making the left-hand turn, the Nissan stuck for the moment. Kate still couldn’t see the driver because now the damn sign that advertised oil changes blocked him from her sight.
She reached for her phone, but then, on second thought, she dropped her hand. What would she say to Captain Bing? She didn’t even know for sure that it was Ian behind the wheel.
Her nerves buzzed, but she wasn’t really scared. She’d talked Ian down before. If he was upset, she could talk him down again.
Then the white pickup finally made its turn and pulled up by the nearest free pump.
The Nissan drove straight on, oncoming traffic obscuring all but a few flashes of the driver. Short hair, dark coat.
Could have been Ian.
Could be he’d followed her, wanting to talk to her, but then changed his mind. Nerves. He could be upset, distracted enough so he’d never even seen her pull into the gas station.
Kate waited five minutes on the off chance he turned around. Then she waited another five. “Come on, Ian.” And she would have waited five more if that wouldn’t have made her late for work.
When she walked into her office half an hour later, she was still thinking about what she could have done differently with the man. She moved on autopilot as she hung her coat and turned on her laptop, set up the coffee machine, inserting a pod of breakfast blend just as Murph popped his head in.
He checked out her bruises, which had finally faded enough so she didn’t need concealer. “Everything okay this morning?”
“Good enough. And it’ll be twice as good once I get my second cup of coffee. How is the grant application going?”
“Sent in.”
He wore the blue shirt she’d given him last Christmas, the neon lights in the hallway backlighting him and emphasizing his shoulders. The ends of his short hair were damp from his morning shower. He smelled like the olive-oil-and-chamomile soap she’d bought for their apartment.
She missed him.
