“How can you consider the fact that I wasn’t followed by a suspicious military vet in an Expedition a bummer?”
“Because the incident with Nick added just the right level of intrigue to the proceedings.” When he’d told her about his run-in with Nick, Britt had responded with avid interest. “You have to remember how very sleepy things usually are around here.”
“I don’t think you’re going to be able to depend on Nick to liven things up. The plate on his SUV belongs to a rental car, which fits the traveler story he gave the police chief. I’m starting to think he was telling the truth.”
“But what if he wasn’t?” She raised a pistachio and an eyebrow.
He opened his mouth, and she lobbed the nut to him. He made a clean catch.
“Did you look through the profiles I sent you of the Nick Dunlaps on Facebook and Twitter?” she asked.
He, Britt, and Nora had all spent time looking for Nick Dunlap online over the past few days. Britt had volunteered to comb through the social media sites. She’d compiled links to all the Nicks she’d found that might be their guy and emailed the list to Zander. He’d studied the pictures associated with each one. “None of them were him.”
“Shoot. Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I had big plans. If you’d been able to find him on Facebook, for example, then I was going to hunt for Facebook friends of Nick’s named Tom R.”
“Genius. And yet. None of them was him.” They’d all drawn a blank with Nick, even Nora.
Britt chewed thoughtfully. “What do you think about asking Kurt Shaw to contact the rental car company that owns the Expedition? They’d have all kinds of information on Nick.”
“I already asked Kurt about the rental car company’s records. He’s unable to request personal information without cause. Americans tend to dislike it when people trample on their privacy.”
“Bummer.” She tossed another nut into the air. Again, he caught it in his mouth.
He watched her shuck a few more pistachios. She’d painted her square fingernails black since he’d last seen her.
“Where were you supposed to be traveling this week on your Grand Tour?” she asked.
“China.”
“I hear China’s overrated.”
“Likely.”
“Not very many people live there, and it’s not very large, after all.”
“And the history there doesn’t date back very far.”
“Not far at all.”
“It’s better for me to be here running into dead ends as I try to research my uncle’s life.”
Britt’s small, white-haired grandmother, Margaret Burke, entered the kitchen clothed in an old-lady suit and a mink coat Britt and her sisters had nicknamed “Old Musty.” She always wore pearl earrings and her hair in a bun. Her bone structure was perfect, her sense of optimism less so.
“Would you like some pistachios, Mrs. Burke?” he asked politely.
“Goodness, no. They get stuck between my teeth.” She zeroed in on him. “Nora and John and I missed you at Easter services this morning.”
“I went to church with Carolyn,” Zander said. “She wanted to attend the early service before driving to Seattle to spend the day with her daughters.”
“You went to thePresbyterianchurch?” Margaret asked, as shocked as if he’d just announced that he’d visited the Kremlin.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I went to a service at Victory Fellowship,” Britt said, interceding on his behalf like a soldier bravely drawing enemy fire.
