Forty-eight minutes later, standing under a night sky pinholed by starlight, Milo and I were ready when a red Kia headed south on Butler and sped toward us.
I’d just finished telling Robin I’d be late. She said, “No prob, I’ll keep working.”
Milo had just finished texting Petra to work on scheduling a meeting.
The Kia pulled to the curb and stopped. The passenger window lowered on Tori Burkholder’s lovely, tense face.
Milo said, “Here’s a parking pass, ladies. Pull in right over there, we’ll wait.”
“Yes, sir.”
A few moments later, two identically sized women dressed in snug black tops, black tights, and black flats crossed the street and came toward us. Tori Burkholder’s hair was still long and blond, Bethany McGonigal’s long and black. They walked in step with each other, precise as drum majorettes.
Milo muttered, “Is there a machine somewhere that turns them out?”
He met them halfway, guided them over, said, “I’m Milo Sturgis, this is Alex Delaware.”
Nods, downcast eyes, barely audiblehi’s.
“Thanks for coming, ladies.”
More nods.
Inside, he said, “Elevator or stairs?”
Bethany McGonigal, red-eyed and tear-streaked, touched her Apple Watch and studied the mini-screen. “I’ve done my steps.”
“Me, too.”
Chapter
9
The elevator ride was silent, both women pressed together in a corner, still avoiding eye contact.
Milo led the way to the medium-sized interview room he’d set up twenty minutes ago. Small table in the middle, two chairs facing two others. Bottled water and napkins on the tabletop.
Fifteen minutes ago, he’d sniffed the air, left, and returned with a can of citrus air freshener that he used liberally.
Stress-sweat had given way to orange blossoms. For the most part.
“Smell okay to you?”
I said, “Put it down to atmosphere.”
He laughed. “Any psych data on that? Which smells get people to tell the truth?”
“Forget it.”
He laughed again and looked at the water bottles. “I could get snacks from one of the machines but probably not, huh? The body-conscious generation and all that.”
Gazing up at the ceiling, he frowned. Acoustical tiles alternated with fluorescent panels. “Wish it was softer.”
“Why the special treatment?” I said.
“Because…hell, I don’t know why…been thinking of Marissa. Barely making it but trying so hard, she gets snuffed out and dumped like garbage. For all I know, these two are gonna be prone to the same mistakes…or maybe I’m just getting protective in my old age.”
I thought:You were born protective.
