Page 62 of Road Queens
“Wait, I haven’t heard this,” Sidney declared. “Beane, since you’re sort of local, you gotta know that, around Prescott, ‘the river’ means two. So where exactly was the body?”
“The confluence of the Big Muddy and Saint Croix, five hundred yards from the bridge,” Amanda replied.
Sidney smirked, and Amanda could almost read her mind:My, my, look who has all the fucking deets from Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Beane.
“Right, the river. And I was your first suspect because ...”
“You lost the coin toss?” Sidney guessed, and got a poke for her trouble.
“Because the killer might be a local, and witnesses saw someone on a motorcycle speeding from the scene,” Beane replied.
Cass smiled. “See? Vindicated. I don’t have access to my dad’s guns, and I don’t have a bike anymore. Everyone knows that.”
The words were reassuring, and Cassandra’s body language even more so. She wasn’t fidgeting or avoiding eye contact or fiddling with her scar. Clear eyed and calm was her default, and due to her dreadful upbringing, she was a master of de-escalation—all of which had madeher such a valuable foil and friend. Calm wasn’t Amanda’s default, and it sure as shit wasn’t Sidney’s.
“The dead guy was a coward to the end,” Sidney said. “Killed his wives—”
Oh, hell, I keep forgetting about thefirstMrs.Frank. Sidney’s right; the system blows.
“—changed his name, snuck back into town ... pathetic. I’m not advocating murder, but it’s not like Jonny Frank’s gonna be missed. No matter what name they bury him under.”
Amanda turned to Beane. “Which reminds me ...”
Beane sighed.
“... here’s proof that peoplecanchange their names. Not just murder victims. You understand this is a process that anyone can undertake, right? Even dead guys?”
“You might want to drop that,” Cassandra said, kindly enough.
“I willneverdrop that.”Irritating him and pounding points into the ground is how I keep control.
Wait, what?
Amanda turned on her heel and marched into Sonny Manners’s shop, assuming Cass and Sidney would follow and not caring if Beane did.
Sonny had been sitting behind the cash register, but when he saw them, all six feet of him came off the stool in half a tic. (One of the reasons Jeff Manners was such a shit? A lifetime of resentment of being the runt of an extraordinarily tall litter.) His shoulder-length dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and he was sporting his usual midsummer tan. Sonny Manners was a bronze god in the summertime and white in winter. Belly-of-a-frog white.
“Hi, uh, Cass. Sidney. ’Manda. And ... er ...”
Cassandra stepped up (figuratively). “This is Detective but not really Sean Beane. We haven’t gotten around to hiring him yet, but ... y’know. He’s here anyway.”
Sonny blinked, then let it go. “’Kay. Say, I heard from Kirsten Neumann the other day. She said to say hi, ’Manda, and you should call her if you want to go out, maybe talk about getting back together.”
“Thanks, but no.” They’d only gone out a handful of times, which came to an end once Amanda realized the sole impetus behind their relationship was Kirsten’s determination to bring a date to her cousin’s wedding. Amanda hadn’t signed on to be a placeholder, so dumped her accordingly, then had to listen to all the reasons Kirsten thoughtshewas the selfish user. “Nice of you to pass on the message, though.”
“Her?” Sean asked. “Oh.”
“I’m bisexual. Problem?”
“Nope.”
“All right, then.”
Sonny cleared his throat. “Anyways, I know why you’re here.”
Amanda doubted that very much. “Anyway, singular.” Pause. “You do?”
“Sure. C’mon back.”
