“Yep,” I agreed, sliding my arms into her down jacket. “She definitely is. Now, let’s go see if the right truck is burning.”
Chapter 19
Whoever had torched it had used enough accelerant that the truck burned bright, even with the snow pummeling it into submission. Pierce, Violet, and I stood across the road, the wind and Lilac Lake at our backs, watching the fire. The truck had been dumped at a pullover spot nestled against the forest. Thick, black smoke spiraled high into the wafting flakes.
“That’s the truck,” I said, squinting to see bullet holes in the driver’s side door. “I aimed too low.” Although I was glad I hadn’t killed anybody. Even so, that meant the guy was still out there.
Violet tucked her hands into the borrowed coat, which was at least two sizes too big for her. “Whose truck?”
“Dunno,” I said, watching the uniformed police officers cordon off the area. “It was on Nineteenth Street the other night. Since you live close to there, have you seen it before?”
“No.” She watched the front tire blow and then hiss steam. “I’ve never seen it before. It looks like it was a nice truck.”
Yeah, I figured that would’ve been a long shot.
She sneezed.
“Bless you,” I said, reaching for the keys in my pocket. The lake breeze was starting to numb my face. “Let’s get out of here. Pierce, let me know if you find anything in the truck when it’s done burning.”
Pierce, hands in pockets, nodded. “Gut feeling, your client is in trouble. If you don’t know that just from being shot at, you need to dig deeper into his story. You’re missing something.” With that, he turned and walked across the gravel-topped icy road to speak with a uniformed officer.
Oh, he was definitely trying to tell me something. I made a mental note to track down Bernie again, sliding into the car and starting the heat immediately. “Let’s get you home.”
Violet lived three blocks away from Nineteenth Street, and these apartment complexes were even more run-down if that was possible. I soon drove up to a three-story building with curb parking only. The top level had been painted a gray that was now peeling to a dingy white color, and the bottom a dark green that was more of a weary beige. Concrete stairs and black iron railings showed the only way to the upper apartments. The walkway, entrance, and roof hadn’t been shoveled all winter if I had to guess.
“Thanks for the ride.” Violet hopped out, removed my coat from her thin body, and put it on the seat. “I’ll call your office.”
Um, no. I opened my door and stepped down, sliding instantly and catching myself on the door frame. “I’ll walk you in.”
She shut her door and shook her head. “That’s okay. I don’t want to wake up my great-aunt.”
I pretended I didn’t hear her and clomped around the front of the Rogue, one hand on the hot hood. Reaching her, I smiled. “Shall we kick our way?” Without waiting for her to argue, I kicked a path across the snow with my boots, sending cold flakes up inside my pant legs. Darn it.
She followed me, her steps slow.
“Which apartment?” I asked, looking up at the stairs.
“Second floor.” Now she sounded more like a surly teenager.
I could work with that. The railing shook in my hand, and I tried not to lean too heavily on it, but the stairs were iced over. It was a miracle nobody had broken their neck falling down the angled cement. From a couple of dents in the wall, I guessed maybe somebody had. Landing on the second floor, there was one door to the right, toward the street, and another to the left, which revealed an empty lot that had garbage poking up through the snow. “Right or left?”
She brushed by me to the right, fumbling for her key in her pocket. Her face was red from the cold and her nose swollen. The door clicked open, and she moved inside, turning instantly. “So, um, thanks for the ride.”
A dog yipped and bounded down the stairs from above, clumps of ice in his fur. Blood dotted the way from an injury on his paw.
She ducked down. “Oh, Bowser. What did you do?” Her voice crooning, she moved aside and pulled him in. “He’s cold.”
I reached out and tugged free a couple of notices that had been taped to the door. Notices to vacate—one yellow and one red. My instincts were humming, and a light sorrow was trying to fill me, but I remained calm and soothing. “I’d like to see your aunt.”
Violet looked over her shoulder into the apartment. “She’s not here, I guess.”
Bowser whined.
Right. I had once been a teenager—not too long ago. “I’ll wait.” I stepped into her, and predictably, she stepped back. She was a sweet girl, and I’d figured she would.
The apartment was clean but threadbare. The only furniture in the room was a ripped floral sofa with a worn knitted afghan and a coffee table with more dents than an unmarked soup can. Chipped blue laminate made up the counters, and there was one cracked plate in the sink. The smell of smoke and possibly mold wafted through the room.
And it was freezing. Not just cold, but icicle cold. A blanket covered the only window, but ice curled over the bottom of it.
