Page 16 of Nasty
I was worried about that for sure, but I was more worried about the fact that our ‘friend’ Carver had decided to hire someone else to complete the job. Another paid killer was on his way to find Sera. Another trained professional, who wouldn’t think twice about shooting Sera the moment he had her in his sights.
“Kinda blustery out there this morning, huh?”
My head snapped up. The woman sitting at the other end of the counter was smiling at me in that small town, friendly way that usually meant she wanted to engage in conversation. I cursed silently, flashing her another smile of my own.
“Yeah, it’s a little wild. Nothing I’m not used to, though.”
The woman turned her coffee mug around, so she could pick it up by the handle with her other hand. “You staying at The Orroton?”
She knew I wasn’t a local. Places like this, the local police knew everyone and all of their personal business inside out. “Yeah. My wife and I are traveling to see her mom in Kansas City. We’re gonna be hitting the road in a couple of hours.”
“Kansas City’s a long old stretch. I’m not surprised you wanted to squeeze in a run. My back and my legs ache something chronic when I drive for more than an hour at a time.”
“Yeah.” I gave her a bland laugh. “Me, too.”
The double doors that presumably led into the kitchen swung open, then, and a small, pixie-like woman with a mass of brown curls appeared, stuffing a notepad into the front pocket of her black apron. She looked startled when she caught sight of me. Startled, and then a little flustered. “Oh. I’m sorry, sir. Damn bell on the door fell off last week. I didn’t hear you come in. Is there something I can get for you?”
“Just a couple of coffees, please,” I told her. “And some croissants if you have them.”
“Sorry. Best I can do is toast and preserves. Don’t get much call for croissants, I’m afraid.”
“Sure, that’ll be great, thanks. To go.” My head was doing somersaults. There was every chance someone was on their way to Sera’s apartment in Seattle, hunting for her. They wouldn’t find her there, but that was neither here nor there. I was good at finding people. Really fucking good at it. Credit card charges, a cell phone, emails—there were plenty of resources available to someone equipped with a little determination when they wanted to track someone down. And it was unlikely Carver would have hired someone who didn’t have a clue how to locate their target.
The waitress—Sally, the cop had called her—put in the order for the toast and coffee, then poured the drinks, placing them on the counter in front of me. She rung me up, I paid, and then I stood there, waiting for the toast, considering just bailing on the food and rushing back to the hotel. Sera’s phone needed to go. I needed to make sure she didn’t tell anyone where we were. I needed to cut up her fucking bankcards. We needed to get somewhere safe and fucking fast.
Sally eyed me like she was thinking about talking to me, but I saw the moment she decided against it. I’d spent years honing my leave-me-the-fuck-alone face, and I’d donned it the second I’d taken my change from her and stuffed it into my pocket. She went and stood by the cops, propping herself up next to a glass cabinet that showcased a number of stale, dry looking dishes of food. “So, they identified that body?” she said in a brazen tone. She’d intended for me to hear, probably so I’d get pulled into conversation without her having to approach me directly. It was human nature. People were nosy as fuck. If they heard a dead body being discussed, they naturally wanted to know the details.
I remained glued to the spot, facing straight ahead, though. One of the male cops tutted under his breath, tapping a finger against the counter. “You know we can’t tell you anything, Sal.”
“She shouldn’t even know about that. You been running your mouth, Tyrone?” the guy next to him chided.
“No bickering over breakfast,” the blonde said. “Itold Sally. She only knows what the morning papers are going to be reporting by now anyway, so no harm done.”
“Come on, Moira,” Sally pleaded. “Just tell me. Was it Anderson? No one’s seen him for days. His car was towed from outside the fire station yesterday, and when have you ever known that man to leave that car of his somewhere he can’t see it?”
I felt more eyes on me, but still I did nothing. Didn’t move an inch. Didn’t show the slightest bit of interest in what they were talking about.
“If you must know, then yes. ItwasAnderson,” the woman, Moira, replied.
“That nut job’s been causing problems since he showed up here in two thousand and six,” Tyrone mused. “Ain’t no wonder he ended up dead in a hole in the ground.”
“But why was he over in Centralia? He never even drove by there if he could avoid it. Said thosemethane gaseswere giving everyone brain tumors.” Sally said ‘methane gases’ like someone else might have said UFO, as if she didn’t believe methane really existed.
“Who knows?” I watched Moira set her coffee mug down on the counter and slide it toward Sally in my peripherals. “Fill that up, would you, sweetheart? Today’s gonna be a long ass day.”
Sally picked up the coffee mug, but she didn’t budge from her spot next to the glass cabinet. “Have you found any evidence down there? Any weapons or such? Hairs, or boot prints, or anything? I’ve been watching CSI: Miami a lot recently. It’s amazing what you can figure out with the smallest little thing.”
“Only a couple of fingerprints,” Moira said. “Sent ‘em off to the crime lab in Bethlehem this morning. We don’t have access to the database out here, but apparently those Bethlehem guys have found at least one match. The files are waiting for us back at the station.”
Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
They were talking about the same body Sera and I had discovered, that much was blatantly obvious. I’d been down in that hole. I’d touched this Anderson guy’s body, whoever he was, and I’d also touched the desk. I was normally so careful about cleaning up after myself, but Sera had been distraught yesterday. It had been hot and airless, and I wanted to get the fuck out of there. I hadn’t wiped down a fucking thing. My fingerprints were in plenty of police databases. If the cops had a file waiting for them back at the station, there was every chance it would bemyfile. And my photo would be plastered all over the fucking thing. These bastards would take one look at it and be hurtling out of the door, coming straight to The Orroton to find me.
Fuck.
Fuck!
How the hell had they even discovered the body?
