Page 55 of Hold Your Breath
“Still,” Rob said, looking unconvinced, “leave the investigating to those of us with the tools to do it. You’re a nice woman. I’d hate for you to get caught up with some not-so-nice people because you’re trying to do the right thing. Okay?”
Although she nodded, she wasn’t convinced. Visiting the VA clinic and scribbling on a whiteboard seemed pretty harmless. But she figured it was the sheriff’s job to protect people like her.
“Thanks, Rob,” she said.
“No problem.” He pushed the door open and glanced back at her one last time. “Think about what I said?”
“Of course.” She’d think about it. She probably wouldn’t follow his advice, but she’d definitely think about it.
* * *
It had started snowing by the time Callum arrived at The Coffee Spot, heavy flakes clinging to his hat even after he knocked it against his leg before stepping inside the shop. The recent warm-up had been too pleasant and too early to last, since snow usually continued to fall well into May.
“How’s the driving?” she asked, pouring decaf into his mug.
He sat sideways on the end counter stool and propped his back against the wall. “Somewhere between not-that-bad and shitty.”
Making a face, Lou peered through the front windows into the almost-night. “It’s just going to get worse as it freezes. You should head home now instead of waiting for me. No reason for both of us to play slip-n-slide on the highway later.”
Instead of responding, he just gave herthe look. “Where’s my scone?”
“Fine.” She held up her hands in anI-give-upgesture. “When we’re both hanging out in the ditch later, I get to say ‘I told you so.’”
“Scone?”
“Coming. Jeez.” Pulling the covered scone out of its hiding spot behind the counter, she popped it into the microwave. “You remind me of British royalty when you demand your scone with that haughty expression.”
“Why were you keeping it back there?”
“You would not believe what I had to do to save this scone for you,” she said, placing it in front of him. “There was an accident that closed the interstate east of Rosehill this afternoon, so everyone got detoured through here. They’d been sitting in traffic forhoursbefore they got to Simpson, so I had carload after carload of cranky, hungry skiers in here for about two hours straight. They ate everything.” She gestured at the empty pastry case like a game-show hostess. “Exhibit A. About twenty minutes after the mad rush started, I realized there was one—one!—cranberry white chocolate scone left. Luckily, the person ordering at the time was one of those unsweetened-green-tea types who would never, ever eat all the carbs and processed sugar contained in that scone.” She nodded toward the tiny piece remaining in Callum’s hand. “However, there was a hungry-looking snowboarder behind her, and his eye was already fixed on your scone. Being the quick thinker that I am, I pointed out the window and yelled, ‘Moose!’ When everyone in the shop stampeded to press their noses against the windows, I tucked your scone under the counter where snowboarder boy couldn’t get his grubby little mitts on it.”
Having finished the last bite of his hard-earned scone, Callum was leaning against the wall, smiling. “What’d they do when they didn’t see a moose?”
“You know how people are. Someone got a glimpse of Roger Thornton’s dog running around the back of his house and yelled, ‘I see it! I see the moose!’ and then everyone else claimed they saw it, too. It was half a Bigfoot hunt and half ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes.’”
“Isn’t Roger’s dog a beagle? How could that be mistaken for a moose?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? What matters is that you got your scone, and a bunch of city people get to tell their friends they saw a moose while they were in the mountains. It’s a win-win.”
He sipped his coffee while watching her, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a crooked smile.
“What?” she asked.
“Things are not boring when you’re around,” he said, placing his mug on the counter and carefully lining it up with his now-empty plate.
“Thanks?” She grabbed his plate, ruining whatever perfect symmetry he’d just achieved, and added it to the dishpan of dirty dishes. “I’d actually kill for some boring moments right about now. Between HDG, my stalker, potentially murderous motorcycle clubs, militias with poorly thought-out names, and visits from the sheriff, I think I’m due for a few minutes of monotony.”
“Visits from the sheriff?” As always, Callum picked the pertinent fact out of her rant. “Did he have anything interesting to say?”
“Yes and no,” she said slowly, picking apart the earlier conversation in her mind. “I didn’t get any new information about HDG. He found out that Lawrence had blabbed about finding that evidence, so I think he wanted reassurance that the loose lips ended with me. I said it was in the vault, although I didn’t mention you’d visited the vault before I locked it tight.” There was some unintended innuendo to her words, but she refused to fixate on it.
“Was that all?” The smirk was gone. Callum’s expression was all stoic focus now.
“He gently warned me away from investigating HDG on my own.”
“How so?”
“He said he didn’t want me getting mixed up with the MC, or anyone who would chop off a dead guy’s head. I told him my investigation was pretty innocuous so far—although I didn’t mention the ‘so far’ part.”
