Page 51 of Swerve
“So we’re both of the vigilante mindset, I guess,” he says.
“I don’t know that I want the label, but I do know that the world doesn’t always work as it should. I do know that if I have the opportunity to punish whoever took my sister from me, I won’t take it lightly.”
He glances at her, sees the set of her jaw and realizes she might be even tougher than he’s given her credit for.
Their exit comes up off the Capital Beltway, and he lets off the gas, rolling to a stop at the light, then pulling out behind the traffic. “We’re almost there. Not sure it’s a good idea for you to get out.”
“I’d rather go with you than wait in the Jeep.”
“Okay, but let me do the talking. I don’t want to set off any unnecessary alarm bells.”
“You’re in charge,” she says. “My lips are sealed.”
He glances at her, notices the smile, and then comes the unsummoned thought that they are indeed nice lips.
Emory
“A man is known by the company he keeps.”
—Aesop
THE STORE IS one of those hip retailers that feels more like a club than a clothing establishment.
I step through the door just behind Detective Helmer, noting several twenty-somethings assessing strategically hung blue jeans with enough rips in the legs to justify someone throwing them away instead of buying them. How many conversations have Mia and I had on the wisdom of paying ridiculous prices for clothing that has been deliberately destroyed?
“Emory, you’re such a square,” Mia had declared the last time I’d given in to buying her a pair.
A beautiful, young woman with straight, waist-length, blonde hair greets us from behind the register. The name tag on the left side of her blouse says Madison. “Is there something I can help you with?” she asks with a smile.
We walk to the register, and I notice the return smile Detective Helmer directs her way. And then I realize it’s deliberate because Madison is already melting before our eyes. By the time he pulls out his phone and shows her a close-up picture of the hat we’re looking to identify, she’s completely committed to answering his question.
“We do carry the brand,” she says, engaging in direct eye contact with him. “It’s very popular. We can barely keep it in stock.”
“Do you remember this exact hat?” he asks, leaning his right hip against the counter.
“Sure,” she says. “We’ve reordered it a few times because it sold out. Haven’t been able to get another shipment though.”
“Do you remember selling it to anyone?”
“Yeah,” Madison says. “A few guys.”
“Do you think you could describe them to me?”
She leans back a bit, lets her gaze drift to me and then back to him again. “What’s this about?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.
“We’re investigating a missing girl.”
“Are you a cop?”
“Not at the moment,” he says evenly.
“What then?”
He gives her a long look, as if weighing the necessity of being truthful with her. “I’m working for the family of the missing girl.”
“Is this your assistant?” Madison asks with a small, borderline flirtatious smile.
“The missing girl is my sister,” I say, taking a bit of satisfaction in watching her sarcasm collapse like a balloon denied helium.
