Page 29 of Things We Hide from the Light
Technically that part wasn’t a lie. Exactly.
She pinned me with a curious look. I was usually much better at spinning an appropriate tale. That whole Nash in the shower thing must have really thrown me. Note to self: Avoid men who make you stupid.
“In that case, you could try a county assessment database. Most have GIS maps of properties, their records, and their tax assessments. I can give you the links.”
Twenty minutes later,I did my best to tiptoe past Drag Queen Story Hour with my stack of unsexy murder novels, one book on conquering self-destructive tendencies, and colorful sticky notes with the names of three county property databases.
I made it out the door and into the hall when a familiar voice stopped me. “Investigator Lina Solavita.”
I froze, then slowly pivoted on my boot heels.
A ghost from the past smirked at me as the door to the police station closed behind him. He’d grown a mustache since I’d last seen him and added ten or so pounds, but it looked good on him.
“Marshal Nolan Graham. What are you doing—” I didn’t need to finish the question. There was only one local case that would require a U.S. marshal’s presence.
“Caught a case.” He plucked the novel off the top of my stack and peeked under the sticky notes at the cover. “You won’t like this one.”
“One weekend five or so years ago and you think you know my taste in books?”
He flashed me a grin. “What can I say? You’re memorable.”
Nolan was a cocky pain in the ass. But he was good at his job, not a misogynistic idiot, and if memory served, he was also a great dancer.
“Wish I could say the same. Nice mustache, by the way,” I teased.
He smoothed his finger and thumb over it. “Wanna take it for a spin later?”
“Still an incurable ass, I see.”
“It’s called confidence. And it’s built on years of experience with satisfied women.”
I grinned. “You’re the worst.”
“Yeah. I know. What the hell are you doing here? Somebody steal theMona Lisa?”
“I’m in town visiting friends. Catching up on my reading.” I held up the stack of books.
His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit. You don’t take vacations. What’s Pritzger Insurance after in this place?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on. Entertain me. I’m basically sitting on some Podunk chief of police waiting for a dipshit to try to finish the job.”
“You think Duncan Hugo is going to try again? Do you have intel on that?”
“Well, aren’t we well informed?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s a small town. We’re all well informed.”
“Then you don’t need me to connect the dots.”
“Come on. Hugo was taking a run at some list to impress Daddy, but he blew it. Last I heard, he was in the wind. He’s got no reason to come back and finish the job.”
“Unless Chief Amnesia suddenly remembers the shooting. All we’ve got is the word of a batshit, pain-in-the-ass, evil twin ex-girlfriend locked up in prison. And the testimony of a twelve-year-old. None of the physical evidence would hold up. Stolen car. Unregistered gun. No prints.”
Duncan Hugo had teamed up with Naomi’s twin sister, Tina, to lie, cheat, and steal their way through northern Virginia before he’d made the ghastly mistake of shooting Nash.
“What about the dashcam footage?” I pressed.
