Serious Moonlight(34)

Depressing? Daniel was the most cheerful person I’d ever met.

“How about some Ziggy Stardust? It’s a perfect album.”

He pressed his phone screen and put the car in gear. The speakers shook out fuzzy, guitar-driven cinematic music that sounded as if it started on the ground and rose up into the night sky.

It rattled around in my rib cage as he sped his car down the dark street, all the way through Belltown and up into Queen Anne, the most elevated neighborhood in Seattle, whose affluent streets were loaded with big, old Victorian houses and big, old leafy trees.

He pulled the car over near a curb and parked. Apart from the occasional passing vehicle and distant siren, it was quiet up here. Nothing but sleepy homes on one side of the street and a well-known public space sitting on a hill over the city.

Kerry Park.

The park itself was smaller than small—just a couple of narrow stretches of grass divided by a nondescript urban sculpture and bordered by a handful of benches. But as we approached a short retaining wall, I realized why people said it boasted the best view in the entire city.

A classic view.

I could see Seattle’s city lights from the beach in our backyard on Bainbridge Island, but this was the skyline you saw in photos and postcards. Jagged tops of skyscrapers jutting up from the black basin. A hint of the Olympic Mountains in the distance behind them. And in the middle of it all, the iconic flying-saucer-topped Space Needle, symbol of Seattle.

“Look at that,” Daniel said, not bothering to hide the awe in his voice. “Isn’t it fucking amazing?”

“It certainly is,” I murmured. At night, from here, downtown looked as if it were wrapped in Christmas lights—white and rose gold, twinkling and shimmering against the black bay water.

He turned around and surveyed the park. At the far end, a professional photographer had set up a camera on a tripod and was preparing to take pictures of the skyline. Another couple ambled down the sidewalk.

“Should be easy enough to spot a pudgy asshole with two bulldogs,” Daniel said, sliding onto a slatted wood bench seat built into the wall. “Wish I’d brought some coffee.”

“Coffee?” I said, glancing at his bouncing leg as I sat on the bench next to him. He whistled softly and gestured to his other side. It took me a moment to realize he was trying to get me to sit on his “good” side, so he could hear better. We swapped places, and I said, “I thought you were already intensely caffeinated.”

“Well, now, sure. But what if we’re here for hours?”

“Dawn’s not that far away. If he shows up when the record-store guy said he should.”

“True.” He rested an elbow on the wall as he craned his neck to look out over the city. Then he said, “Hmm. Need a way to pass the time.”

I glanced at his face.

His eyes flicked to mine. “Not that.”

“I wasn’t implying anything,” I argued as my pulse went a little haywire.

“Good, because I don’t think most detectives do that on stakeouts. Maybe Nick and Nora.”

“Well, they’re an exception,” I said, chuckling nervously.

“I was thinking more in terms of a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“How about,” he said, mouth curling up at the corners, “we play a little Truth or Lie?”





“I crave truth. And I lie.”

—Detective Rob Ryan, In the Woods (2007)





12




* * *



I lifted a brow at Daniel. “I think you mean dare? Truth or Dare.”

Back when I was living over the diner with Mom and Mona, when I was going to public school, I used to play Truth or Dare with kids on the playground at recess. It almost always involved someone trying to climb branches of an overgrown tree that bent over the schoolyard fence.

“Nope. Truth or Lie,” he insisted. “This is how we play. We each get three turns. On your turn, you ask me a question. Something that you want to know about me. And I can either answer truthfully . . . or I can lie. You decide if you believe me, or you can challenge my answer. Like, I might ask you what your favorite song is.”

“Okay.”

“What’s your favorite song?”

“Right now?”

“Right now, Birdie.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has a favorite song. Mine is ‘Under Pressure’ by Bowie and Freddie Mercury. Or is it? Do you think I’m telling the truth?”

“Yes?”

“You’re right. I am. Point to you. That’s how you play.”

“I don’t get it. How do you win?”

“Knowledge is winning, Birdie,” he said with a grin. “Just ask me a question. It must be something you genuinely want to know. And my answer has to be completely fabricated or all truth. No middle ground, no avoiding answering. After I give you my answer, you decide if I’m lying.”

“Like cross-examination?”

“Just like that. I should have called this game Interrogate Me. That’s more appealing for lady detectives such as yourself.”

“Hold on. Did you make this game up just now?”

“Is that your official question? You only get three. Don’t waste them.”