“Sure.” I was relieved she hadn’t pressed the Ryder thing. We had plenty enough circumstantial evidence to question him, to detain him, right now.
But I was determined to get the truth out of him without having to throw him in jail.
And yes, I could admit my personal feelings were in the way.
That wasn’t going to be a problem.
I made it to the north side of town in a couple minutes. It was raining again, not too hard, but hard enough for Granny Wolfe, who was standing just outside the gas station and mini-mart doors, to have a bright rainbow-striped umbrella hat on her head.
Day, meet worse.
Myra pulled up right after I did and we both started over to the matriarch of the werewolf pack.
Unlike Rossi, Granny actually looked old. She was that sort of weathered in-between age that could be anywhere from seventy to ninety-nine, her long, heavy hair a shattering of silver and jet black with a streak of white that curved up from over her left eyebrow. Her face was square, her jaw strong, but it was her eyes behind her big-framed glasses that drew all the attention. So large and such a pale hazel that they were faded yellow.
Granny had on bright pink capris, and an eye-watering yellow vest with explosions of orange flowers over a long-sleeved red shirt. Sneakers and white socks finished off the outfit.
I was pretty sure fashion wanted her brought in on assault charges.
“And there they are,” she said in a voice that was strong and cigar-rich. “Two of our town’s sisters. I thought I’d find you out here today.”
“At the gas station?”
“Oh yah, oh yah,” she said. “And scene of murder. That too.”
Werewolves had big noses. All the better to put them in your business, my dear.
Not that I’d ever say that to her.
“Do you know anything about the murder?” Myra asked.
“Well, now. I know there is one less unliving living amongst us. Rossi’s get.”
“It was Sven,” I said. The rain tapped gently on her bright umbrella bonnet while Myra and I moved under the edge of the roof line to stay out of the drips.
“Don’t I know that.”
“I guess you do,” I said. “Do you know anything else about it?”
“I know there weren’t any of mine involved.” Here she paused and her glasses slid down her nose as she gave us both a stern look over them. “We had nothing to do with our...delicate neighbors.”
Delicate was not a word I’d use to describe vampires, but then, I wasn’t a werewolf.
“You’ve just been standing outside the gas station waiting for us to show up at the scene?” Myra asked.
Granny chuckled. “No. Not like that. I was lunching at the Blue Owl and Piper over there says Apoca-blo is in rare form. No way I want to miss a show. That boy just cracks me up.” She laughed, showing long, strong teeth. “So I come on over, think I’ll get a smoke and a show. Then I hear you coming down the road, and thought we could have a chit-chat.”
Just then Apocalypse Pablo strolled out of the mini-mart.
Pablo was shorter than me, skinny, tan, and the most cheerful doomsday believer in the world. Idaho-born and bred, he had neatly combed dark brown hair and teeth that were slightly too narrow behind his wide lips.
“Well, hi there, Delaney, Myra, Ms. Wolfe. How nice to see you all. You ready for the end of the world? We have a terrific sale on squeegees today. If you haven’t stocked up, now’s your chance.”
“Think there’ll be a big run on squeegees after the apocalypse?” Granny Wolfe’s eyes glittered.
“There sure might be. Lots of people just aren’t thinking ahead. You know a squeegee is a multi-tool—it’s so darn useful! Just because it’s the end of the world doesn’t mean it can’t be a tidy world.”
Granny hooted, enjoying that answer. “As you say, sonny. Just as you say. We like our disasters clean, don’t doubt.” She dug in the pocket of her baggy capris and fished out a cherry cigar.
