Page 149 of What She Saw
I studied his profile and, finding no hesitation, said, “Good.”
“How about you lie low and let the cops see what they can find? It might not be just you anymore.”
A baby. That was an unsettling thought. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Are you going to help me?” It was a half challenge, half joke.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Grant, you don’t know me. I’m not built to do forever. I can promise you, my brand of seeing the world grows very thin with people.”
“I’m more patient than you think.”
“I don’t want you to tolerate me. I decided a long time ago, I’m okay with how I’m wired.”
Frustration furrowed the lines on his brow. “I’m not asking you to change.”
“But you’ll want me to at some point. You’ll see that I can’t live a normal life.”
“Normal is overrated.”
In the distance, a siren blared. “That was fast.”
He shoved out a frustrated sigh. “Sometimes we get lucky.”
“Maybe.”
As the rain fell on his truck, the light from the flames at the top of the mountain faded.
Blue-and-white lights bounced off the tree leaves as a cop car raced through the rain and up the hill. Grant waited for the fire trucks to pass, then shifted into first gear and followed them.
Sheriff Paxton rose out of the car. He was draped in a rain slicker. His boots smashed into the soft earth as he made his way to Grant’s driver’s-side window. Not like the sheriff to make these night calls. Grant rolled down the window.
“What the hell?” Paxton asked.
“It’s a long story,” I said. “You were up here fast.”
“I was driving home when I saw the flames.” He glanced past Grant to me. “Doesn’t surprise me to see you.”
“I didn’t set the fire, if that’s what you think,” I said.
“Maybe not. But you have a knack for pissing off people who would love to see you burn.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Sloane
Saturday, August 23, 2025, 9:30 a.m.
Baiting a hook was easy. But reeling in a fish required finesse and skill.
I sat in the Depot booth. Cody slept on the floor beside me, unaware of the buzz of conversations and rattle of plates around him. I caught Callie’s attention. She was already filling a soda glass for me and a water bowl for Cody.
Cody lifted his head, lapped up water, and went back to sleep.
Grant was working his connections in the medical examiner’s office. Brian Fletcher’s autopsy was this morning. The consensus was suicide, but if I were going to kill someone, I’d make it look like it was a self-inflicted wound. I thought about Taggart, who’d had a new lead and was “the last man who would kill himself.” My thoughts also drifted to Mayor Briggs. Another self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Three men associated with the Mountain Music Festival. And all shot dead.
