I stiffened. “Was that a gunshot?”
He kept silent.
“Aiden?”
“I promised not to lie to you, remember?” His voice came through muffled again, and I swear I heard another gunshot. “We’re not doing anything illegal.”
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.” He clicked off.
Why was Aiden shooting guns somewhere? Not that shooting was unheard of in Idaho. But still. Why the secrets? Was he up working with Rich Pucci again? I had to figure that guy out as well as the tattoo. Maybe Aiden knew what the tattoo stood for. Interesting.
Well, I had some free time, so it was time for answers. I grabbed my purse and keys before heading out to the garage and starting my Fiat. The drive away from Tamarack Lake toward Timber City was peaceful and sunny in the afternoon light, and I found myself relaxing a little even though I was on the hunt. I headed toward town and then turned to the west, driving down the quiet residential street and by Kelsey Walker’s apartment building. Since it was still before five, I didn’t expect to see her, and the place was dark.
There was a small park at the end of the street, and I maneuvered my car into a parking spot away from the road and partially hidden behind a sweeping birch tree. Then I sat and waited. A few green leaves from the tree fell onto my hood.
I called and chatted with my mom and both grandmas, enjoying their outrage at Jolene O’Sullivan. If they had concerns about me, they didn’t show it. The support was overwhelming. Then I called both of my sisters, who were working and couldn’t talk for long. I called Lacey in the big city and reported that I’d spent lunchtime with her brother and that she should come home to work. Of course, I had to leave her a message.
My stomach growled around six. Darn it. Why hadn’t I brought food on the stakeout? Pursing my lips, I dialed another number.
“Hi, Anna. What’s up?” Clark Bunne asked.
“Well, I’m on a stakeout, and it’s for your client, so I wondered if you wanted to join me and talk about the case,” I said, watching a few kids skateboard down the street. “Maybe you could bring dinner?”
His sigh was a little much. “You know we’re on opposite sides of this, or at the very least, you’re a witness?”
“Yeah, but I’m on leave, and I have a theory,” I said. “You’re a charming guy, and I think you might be able to get somewhere with Kelsey Walker when I haven’t. What do you say?”
“Fine, but I’m only bringing you dinner so you can give me a better heads up about your Uncle Sean and what I can expect tomorrow during the qualifying round. Tell me where you are.”
I gave him directions and disengaged the call as Kelsey drove toward me and parked at the curb in front of her apartment. She hopped out with her jacket over her arm, grabbing her purse and a bottle of water before shutting the door. A couple of minutes later, her older sister parked behind her. Krissy drove a silver BMW. Interesting. I hadn’t realized that fairly new morticians made that much money. Of course, her family did own the funeral home and mortuary.
Krissy carried bags of takeout food that looked like tacos, and my stomach growled some more. She walked into the apartment without knocking.
My sisters did the same thing.
About twenty minutes later, Clark parked his old Chevy behind me and hustled up to my door, handing over a bag before taking his seat.
“I love Fred’s Thai,” I said, digging in right away.
Clark handed over two sodas, and I put one in my cup holder. “This is weird. Does the prosecuting attorney’s office do stakeouts?”
“Yeah. We do whatever we need to do in order to get justice within the law.” I munched happily on noodles out of the carton. It was our office motto and had been for as long as anybody remembered. “You guys don’t watch clients or witnesses?”
“Not usually.” Clark reached into the bag and drew out some type of chicken dish. “What are we watching for?”
“I’m not sure.” Man, Fred had added extra spice this time. My stomach protested, but I kept eating anyway. It was delicious. “If nothing happens, I think you should go visit and ask some questions.” I ran him through everything I knew as well as the description of the mysterious tattoo. “What do you think?”
“I’m not sure. Did you do a google search of the letters?” he asked.
“Sure. Lots of businesses and a movie or two, but nothing that would make sense as a tattoo on any of these people.”
He took a drink of his diet soda. Interesting. The guy didn’t have an ounce of extra fat on him and he drank diet. “I can try to talk to them, but they don’t sound all that welcoming.”
Motorcycle pipes ripped through the peaceful evening.
“Here we go,” I said, sitting up straighter.
