Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(52)

“She’s okay now? You’re glad you went?”

“Sí. Sí.” He edged away.

“I could talk to Annie, ask if you could bring your sister to live with you.”

He froze.

“You know how kind she is. She would probably say yes.” Kellen’s mind leaped ahead. “School would be very different for her, and you’d have to cut back on your hours, but—”

“Look, I just got back. I have to go to my cottage. I have, um, things I…”

She caught his arm. “Temo, before you unpack and do some wash, I have to ask—did you see Lloyd Magnuson put that corpse into his car?”

Temo looked at Kellen’s hand, then into her face. “I loaded it into that policeman’s toy car.”

“Toy car?”

“He had a toy car, a Smart car. It looks like one of our golf carts, only smaller. I put the plastic box in the back.”

“Then he headed toward Virtue Falls?”

Temo pointed north.

“He didn’t get there. The body never got taken to the coroner. No one has seen Lloyd Magnuson.”

Temo stood with his mouth half-open. Then, “He wrecked his toy car?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. No one has found him, wrecked or otherwise. Maybe whoever killed that girl went after him.”

“I bet they find him wrecked somewhere.” Temo sounded oddly certain.

“Why? Did he say anything that sounded off?”

Temo scratched his cheek. “He was very cheerful for someone who was driving a toy hearse.”

“That’s weird.” She looked in Temo’s bag. “You’re going to eat all that tonight? Did you not eat the whole time you were gone?”

“Not much eating. It was a fast trip. Tonight, Adrian…he came over. You know him. Always hungry. I’ll see you tomorrow. You don’t have to worry. I’ll work.” Temo fled.

“I know you will,” Kellen called after him. She didn’t know if she was looking for trouble or whether Temo was acting weird. Maybe he was having a party and hadn’t invited her. That would be so embarrassing. But not surprising, either. Since they had both left the service, the things that had bound them had vanished. They were both Americans, both retired from the Army, yet they were separated by position, race and language. Only friendship held them together, a friendship she treasured. Had she been mistaken in his affections? Did he not support her as she supported him? That would break her heart.

She poked through the freezer, collected a small square aluminum casserole marked “Dungeness crab mac and cheese.” In the refrigerator, she found a bag of prepared green salad and a small container of salad dressing. She loaded them into one of the insulated tote bags, checked to see that her holster was in place and her tactical flashlight close at hand, left through the kitchen door and ran, avoiding the lighted paths, all the way to Nils Brooks’s cottage.

She knocked, and when he opened the door, she said, “The way I figure it, these killings are the jurisdiction of the FBI. So why is the MFAA investigating them?”





23

Nils opened the door wide and stepped aside. “The FBI claims they haven’t got a clue what’s going on with these mutilation killings.”

She walked in, wiped her feet on the welcome mat, shrugged off her coat, walked through his living room and into his kitchen. “So you do work with the FBI?”

“In cases of domestic crime, which this is.”

She set the oven to three hundred and fifty degrees and placed the mac and cheese on the middle rack. “But you don’t believe what they’re telling you.”

“I don’t believe they’re going to share information with the MFAA. To them, the MFAA is like the upstart child who babbles about its pretty antiques while the world is falling into anarchy.”

“Not even when Jessica was brutally killed at her desk?”

“The FBI is investigating her death, even though she worked for the CIA.” Kellen thought she could hear Nils’s teeth grinding. “But the investigating office is run by a dick who’s pissed that we’ve got a plan to shut down the smuggling depots and he didn’t get invited in as the lead. Why would he? He doesn’t know jack shit about art or artifacts or anything but brute force.”

“O-kay.” Bad blood there. “Mara Philippi says she talked to an old boyfriend at the FBI.”

“She’s pretty. Maybe she’ll get someone to pay attention.” He sounded intensely bitter.

Kellen reached into his cupboard, brought out a serving bowl, emptied the bag of salad into it. She washed her hands, then tossed the greens with her hands. She caught a peculiar expression on his face. “I know where everything is. All the kitchens are arranged the same.”

“I have never seen anyone actually use their hands like salad tongs.”

“Think about it. Someone in the kitchen used their hands to cut up the lettuce, celery, radishes…”

“Wearing sanitary gloves, one hopes!” Still he looked pained.

She thought about that photo of the affluent Brooks family. She suspected they had a home that included a staff and their own cook, and the idea of anyone actually touching food with their fingers would be an anathema to him. That both amused her and helped convince her of the authenticity of his personal history. “I promise I’ll use utensils when I add the dressing.”