Page 100 of Murder By the Millions
“They’re due in less than an hour.” Tegan consulted her watch. “Fifty-two minutes, to be exact.”
“Do they have snacks?” I asked.
“She said they don’t need any, but of course, they’ll be hungry. Got any on hand?”
“Actually, I made some lemon bars for you to taste test. I’ll bring them in, and I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
“We got rid of the machine, remember?”
I smiled. “I cater, did you forget? I have an urn and ground coffee in the van. You have tea. Let’s get cracking. I’ll handle the food prep.”
At ten minutes to the hour, the door opened, and a forty-something man who appeared ready to blaze a trail from here to Oregon strode into the shop. He was broad-shouldered, with ruddy skin, shaggy gray hair, and salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. His Pendleton shirt hung unbuttoned over a blue T-shirt and jeans.
“Hi. Welcome. I’m Allie.”
Tegan was arranging chairs in the reading nook area.
“Name’s Ott.” His voice was gruff yet friendly.
“How may I help you?”
He scrubbed the back of his neck. “Not sure, but my buddy said I should come to town and speak to someone who works here.”
“Are you looking for a specific book?”
He glanced around, as if surprised to find himself in a bookshop. “Uh, no, ma’am.”
“Allie,” I corrected.
“Yeah, see, my buddy is Zorro Vega. You know him?”
Honestly? Zorro’s last name was Vega? I tamped down a smile. The literary Zorro’s real name was Diego de la Vega. “Yes, I met him.”
“Yeah, he asked if I was camping around Linville Caverns Monday night. I was, and, see, he asked if I saw anybody else. I did. I can’t say I saw the guy’s face, but I spied someone exploring with a flashlight.” He grinned. An attractive dimple cut his right cheek. “He was cupping his hand over the flashlight, as if he didn’t want anyone to notice him, so it was dim. By then the caverns were closed.”
My heart began pounding against my rib cage. Had he seen Patrick? “Go on, Mr. Ott.”
“Yeah, well, see, he was walking sort of sneaky like, but he wasn’t being too quiet. In fact, he was whistling a tune. Soft and low. I recognized it because it’s one of my favorites. “When I Come Around.”
“By Green Day?”
“You know it?” He whistled a bar.
“I do.” It was the song Patrick was singing in the video I’d landed on when I’d done the deep dive.
“I figured the guy must be looking for bats. I’m a bat guy. Do you like bats?”
“I can’t say I do.”
“They’re cool. Did you know bats can naturally produce multi-harmonic tones that can be heard up to a hundred meters away? They don’t attack whistlers. I figured that was why the guy was tootling.” He spread his rough and chapped hands. “Anyways, that’s the reason I came in to see you. Zorro asked me to do him a solid and share what I knew about his friend. If it was his friend.”
“About what time was this, do you remember?”
“Close to eleven. I’d finished dinner. Hot dogs over an open fire. My favorite.”
In view of the distance between the caverns and Bramblewood, Patrick couldn’t have made it back in time to kill Jason. If the killer wasn’t him and it wasn’t Reika, maybe Finette was right—Iggie was the killer.
Ott jutted a thumb. “Hey, is that James Patterson’s latest?”
