Oh my God, that’s so adorable.Then I replayed the words in my mind. “I didn’t meannothingbetween us. I mean—”
He pressed a finger to my lips. “I know what you meant. And I suppose I can show you the bathroom. I’m not certain I trust you, though.”
“I’m an honest guy.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
Before I had a chance to interrogate him on that one, he headed back into the fire hall, and I followed.
Since I really did have to piss, that took a few moments as I gathered my thoughts. What did I know versus what was actually conjecture? I just wasn’t certain.
Finn was there to escort me out. As I got into my SUV, he held my door open for a moment. “What are you doing, Ulysses? What do you know that I don’t?”
I offered a cocky grin. “Sorry, if you want me to answer your questions, you need to buy me dinner first.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m off shift in twelve hours. How about breakfast at Fifties?”
“Sounds delicious.” I gently brushed my hand against his—both to move it out of the way and because I really needed the skin-on-skin contact.
He didn’t smile as I closed the door…but he didn’t scowl either. So I took that as a win.
Since dinnertime was near, I swung by Wendy’s drive-through for a burger and poutine. At home, I set up my laptop on the dining room table. Then I pulled out my notebook and started writing on index cards—one for every notable incident. One for every person who I’d spoken to. Finally, one for every location I’d investigated.
A shit ton of cards and not a single cohesive thought.
I dug my fork into the fries—smothered in gravy and melted cheese curds—and tried to piece things together in my mind. Either I was looking at several separate incidents or they were somehow collectively linked. Neither explanation made sense. Mission City didn’t—at least by all appearances—seem to be a hotbed of criminal minds. So, did that rule out everything being unrelated? That one person, or persons, was responsible for everything? Or did that mean there happened to be multiple people involved in multiple crimes.
And what were the crimes?
Finished with the poutine, I moved on to the cheeseburger.
If a pattern existed, I simply wasn’t seeing it. Nothing was coming into sharper focus and, the longer I looked at this, the less sense it made.
I picked up the phone and hit speed dial. I needed fresh eyes on this stuff, and no eyes were fresher than Spring’s.
“Hello Boss. How’s it going?”
“Hey, Dixon. You have a moment?”
“Sure. Just a sec.”
Muffled voices.
I winced.
Spring came back on. “Okay, what’s up?”
“It can keep until tomorrow. You’ve got other stuff—”
“I have a sister who had a bad day at work. She’ll survive.”
I frowned. “The psychologist, vet, dog trainer, ranch manager, or bookstore clerk?”
She burst out laughing. “Oh my God. You remember?”
“I do try. Your sisters are…infamous.”
“They’re something.” She chuckled. “Zephyra. She had a cat die today who shouldn’t have, and she’s super upset about it.”
