“Estate?” I blurt out through a laugh. “He was broke as fuck. I’m shocked he could afford enough meth to overdose.” I let out another laugh, but everyone’s suddenly looking grim.
Even Kai’s just staring at the table, eyes wide.
Shit.
The four of us sit there, tension crackling like static electricity.
Then Thatcher slaps his palms on the table, making me jump.
“Well, I won’t keep you. Just wanted to check in, offer my condolences.” He starts to slide out of the booth. “You folks have a good Thanksgiving.”
Bastian stands with him. “I should be getting back to my office as well.”
My heart sinks. He’s leaving already?
“So, what are your plans, Deputy?” Bastian says, his voice casual.
Thatcher pauses, frowning briefly. “My plans?”
The two men stare at each other like they can both see past the mask the other wears. Thatcher’s polite smile, Bastian’s haughty blankness.
“For Thanksgiving,” Bastian says.
“Oh,” Thatcher says through a laugh. “No, no plans.”
Bastian smiles warmly, if a little stiffly. “If you’re still in town, maybe you’d like to have a drink with me down at The Hollow Point.”
“That’s…very generous of you, Professor.” Thatcher glances back at me and Kai. Either he’s a terrific actor, or the surprised glint in his eye is genuine. “And, uh, yes. As it so happens, I will be around for a couple of days.”
Bastian tilts his head. “Is that a yes?”
Kai’s hand tightens painfully on mine, and it takes all my effort not to look at him.
What is Bastian doing?
Thatcher is either uncomfortable or flustered, I can’t tell. “Uh…sure. Why not.”
“Excellent. Shall we say eight?”
“Eight works for me.”
They shake hands. Thatcher tips his hat to me and Kai, then walks away, his boots echoing on the cafeteria floor.
Bastian doesn’t sit back down. He gathers his coffee cup and what’s left of his sandwich, his movements precise, controlled.
“What the hell was that?” Kai whispers, his voice tight.
Bastian glances down at him. At us.
“You said you were busy,” he murmurs.
“So we’re not—“ I drop my voice, glancing around to make sure no one’s in earshot “—coming over tonight?”
“No.” Bastian takes out his phone, frowning as he stares at the screen. “I’ll pick you up after Thanksgiving. You can spend the weekend.”
I widen my eyes at him, tilting my head. When he sees my expression, Bastian adds a reluctant, “He’s circling us, and I need to know why.” He smirks at us. “Don’t worry. I’ll bepolite.”
Then he’s gone, striding across the cafeteria without looking back.
