Banishing the Dark (Arcadia Bell #4)(16)

Definitely better.

I ticked off a list of what I saw on Main Street. “Souvenirs, camping supplies, rafting supplies, camping and rafting supplies . . . a skeevy-looking medical clinic—oh, look. They care for people and animals. That’s charming. And weird. You and your cat can get rabies shots together. Like a couple’s massage for bestiality fans.”

Lon quietly snorted. “This whole community’s a little kooky. I took Jupe camping out here when he was younger.”

“Lordy. I can’t imagine Jupe camping.”

“I think his exact words were ‘Sleeping on the ground is God’s way of saying he hates you.’ We haven’t been back.” He smiled to himself for a moment but didn’t elaborate. “The state park entrance is a mile or so away. In the summer, this whole place is packed with tourists.”

“How? There’s not even a grocery store.”

“There is . . . somewhere. Let’s ride around and see what we can see.”

Which was exactly nothing. Twisty mountain roads led to dead ends and a handful of houses, most of them tucked away in the woods. We spent a half hour combing the area for any sign of a PI and found jack-diddly-squat.

“Maybe we should call the number listed on his website,” I finally said.

“Not from our phones. I don’t want him tracing us.”

“Then we have two choices. That motel or the gas station off the highway.”

Lon drove back to the gas station. No one was filling up, and a single beater was parked at the side of the convenience store. We made our way inside, past shelves of beef jerky and Funyuns, and over to the lone employee, who sat on a stool behind the checkout counter. A secondary room filled with camping supplies was beyond an open doorway. I’d never been camping, but I had a feeling Jupe and I would agree on the subject.

The gas-station employee, a teenager with greasy hair, looked up from his magazine. His eyes flicked from Lon’s face to my face to my breasts. Lovely. “Can I help you?”

“You have a pay phone?” Lon asked. He sounded pretty irritated. It almost made me think he might be pissed that the boy was ogling me. See? Decent, stand-up guy—just like I said.

“By the restrooms.” The boy lifted his chin, pointing us there with minimal effort.

I pasted on a smile. If greasy-headed delinquent here was interested in the modest amount of goods I had up top, he shouldn’t be hard to manipulate. “You wouldn’t happen to know where we could find Robert Wildeye’s office, would you?”

“Who?”

“A private investigator,” Lon filled in. “Here in Golden Peak.”

“PI?” The boy’s face twisted up. He clearly thought we were idiots. “You sure you got the right town?”

“Positive.” Lon was clearly wishing he could take a belt to the kid’s ass, but he needed to pull back on the grumble.

“We just don’t know the street address,” I added. “Sure it doesn’t ring a bell?”

“Uh, I doubt there’s much cause for any business like that here in the winter,” the boy said. “We got a lot of rich people with summer homes. They come up from L.A. in June. Maybe he’s one of those.” He shrugged.

“No one named Wildeye at all? Not even a retired cop or anything?”

“Sorry. Never heard it. I spend the summers with my mom in Sacramento, so I’m not the best person to ask.”

“Anyone else who might be able to help us out?” I said. “Town gossip or something?”

“You might ask around at the Redwood Diner. A waitress there, June, knows everyone in town. She’s lived here, like, forever.”

Well, that was something, at least, and I was damn sure starving. But the diners I’d seen were all closed. “When does it open?”

“Five a.m.”

Crap. “Is there anything open right now?”

“Sierra Woodland. That’s the motel on Main, between downtown and the park. If you want nightlife, you came to the wrong place, believe me.”

“Not even a dive bar?” Lon asked.

“Are you kidding? You can’t even buy beer,” he said, gesturing to the refrigerated cases at the side of the shop. “Only thing here is a feral cat colony and a bunch of hippies who like to backpack and paint pictures of the waterfall.”

I hear ya, kid. Godspeed getting yourself to a bigger town, where you can use that apathetic attitude to charm someone just as depressed and misunderstood.

We thanked him and headed to the restrooms. Lon volunteered to call. I kept an eye on the kid to make sure he wasn’t listening in on us. But there was no need; he couldn’t have given less of a shit. Soon after inserting a few coins, Lon hung up and reported that all he got was a voice-mail greeting. “It said he was currently in the office and taking cases,” Lon reported. “But otherwise just directed the caller to leave a name and number and said he’d return the call within twenty-four hours.”

I groaned. I really didn’t want to spend an entire night here. “It’s only ten. We have seven hours before the diner opens. What do we do now? Can’t drive back home. We’d just have to turn around and come right back. Maybe this whole thing was a lousy idea.”

His eyes sparkled with something close to humor. “Patience, witch.”