Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)(104)

She walked towards the hum of conversation in the kitchen, and stopped in the door, gathering her nerve. Eventually, they fell silent.

“What have you got there?” Con gestured at the Post-It note.

She swallowed. “It’s a lead.”

Connor looked blank. “Huh?”

“The janitor at the Colfax. I teach sax to his nephew. I, um, asked him if he knew who was on the janitorial staff of the Colfax the summer Kev died. He asked around. Two of the men died that summer, weirdly enough. This guy,” she held out the paper, “is still alive. In Garnett.”

Connor took the scrap of paper, frowning at it.

“Bolivar told me that when he took the job, some people told him the place was cursed,” Cindy said. “I thought maybe that curse might have to do with what happened to Kev.”

Connor propped the scrap of paper up against the syrup. “I’ll be damned. What made you think of doing that?”

This was it. Into the valley of death rode Cynthia. She plopped her butt in the chair, breathed deep, and clenched her belly. “I, uh, thought of it yesterday, after I went to see Porky. He told me his housekeeper—”

Smash. Miles dropped the glass French press coffeepot. It cracked into several pieces, spattering scalding coffee all over the tiled floor.

“You did what?” Miles hissed.

“Who’s Porky?” Connor’s gaze flicked rapidly between them.

“Professor Beck,” Cindy supplied, in a small voice. She bit her lip, wrapped her hands around her belly, and braced herself.

Miles crouched in the deafening silence, gathering up shards of glass. He kicked open the kitchen screen door, went out into the yard. Nudged the lid of the metal garbage can open with his knee.

He lifted the chunks of glass high and hurled them with all his strength into the bottom of the empty can. Crash.

Cindy squeaked, digging her teeth into her lip almost till she broke the skin. Oh, boy. This was bad. And it was about to get worse.

Miles stomped back into the kitchen. He leaned over her, making her cringe back. “It’s a good thing I didn’t f*ck you last night,” he said. “Or I would be that much more angry than I am right now.”

There was a shocked silence. Connor and Erin exchanged shocked, wide-eyed glances. Cindy pressed her trembling lips together.

Connor turned his glare on Miles. “What the hell were you thinking, telling your business to her?” he demanded.

“He didn’t,” Cindy whispered. “He wouldn’t. I overheard him, talking to you on the phone. I thought…I knew old Porky…so I went and asked him about Kevin. And the Midnight Project.”

“Oh, Christ.” Miles stormed out. The door to the study slammed.

Connor covered his eyes with his hand. “Sweet, holy Jesus. I cannot believe it. I just cannot believe it.”

Erin clutched her cup, staring into her coffee as if she were afraid to speak. She wouldn’t meet Cindy’s eyes. No moral support there.

No support anywhere. And no one to blame but herself. As usual.

“Do you want to tell me just what the f*ck you thought you were doing?” Connor’s voice slashed across her rattled nerves, making her jump. “Were you, what, bored, Cin? Amusing yourself?”

“No,” she said. “I just…I know Porky. He’s a slimeball lech whose brain melts whenever he sees a pair of tits, so I just thought—”

“Thought? You?” Connor’s laughter was cruelly sarcastic. “You are aware, just for starters, that going alone to the houses of lecherous slimeball men and attempting to use your tits to influence them is a really excellent way to get sexually assaulted?”

“Oh, but I didn’t think that Porky would ever…the guy is really essentially harmless, so I thought—”

“Harmless? Yeah? And the mysterious visitor to your mother’s house this morning? Does that strike you as harmless?”

Cindy’s insides froze solid. “No way,” she whispered. “That can’t possibly have anything to do with—”

“Beck had access to your mother’s address through the school records. What did you tell him? How did you present yourself?”

“I—I just said, um, that I wanted to write a book about Kev,” she faltered. “I said that I’d found one of his old notebooks.”

“Notebook?” Connor clapped his scarred hand over his face. “She told him she had his notebook. No shit they came after her. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Um…evidently not,” she squeaked.

He dropped his hand. His glare made her cower back in her chair. “You’ve put yourself on a hit list. You just made our lives that much more complicated. What’s this all about, Cindy? Do you need more attention? Did you think we needed more of a challenge?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

Connor slammed his scarred hand down onto the table, making the dishes rattle and bump. “Sure. Aren’t you always?”

“Connor? Cool it,” Erin said. “Back off.”

“Don’t even try to defend—”

“I’m not defending anyone.” Erin’s voice was sharp. “But I will not tolerate one of your temper tantrums, either.”