Dead Heat (Alpha & Omega #4)(66)

She looked at Anna. “Are you a werewolf, dear?”

“Yes,” said Anna. She didn’t mind, but the unexpectedness of the question caught her off guard.

“Mom,” said Dr. Vaughn. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what, dear?” she asked.

Darin chuckled. “I love you, Mary Lu. And I need to recruit you for the PD. Our confession rates would go way the hell up.”

“Do you know this werewolf’s full name?” Anna asked. “He saw the fae and he wasn’t a five-year-old kid. Maybe he can help us if we can find him.”

“Archibald Vaughn, dear.”

“I’m thinking you’ll have an easier time finding Archibald Vaughn than I will,” said Leslie.

“Probably,” Anna agreed. “Do you want me to start making calls?”

“Let’s check out the rest of these first,” she said after a moment’s thought. “We scored big on the first one, maybe there will be a second.”

“Okay.” Anna picked out another file and read off the address. She called the phone number of the witness before she waded through the four-page report. No answer. She checked the paperwork and found no other phone number. She skimmed the report. This one was a clean printout on white paper.

“You’ve got to hear this,” Anna said. She tried to keep her voice businesslike as she quoted the witness report for Leslie. “It was a unicorn and two small dragons, no bigger than a poodle. Not the little ones. Well, not really the medium-sized ones, either. But you, know, a big poodle. Standard. The unicorn was bigger. More like a black lab, maybe. Or a big German shepherd.”

“Why did we pick this one out?” Leslie asked.

Anna kept reading—this time to herself. “Oh. Here it is. She has been looking for fairies ever since she saw the green man living in her garden a couple of years ago. He never leaves and no one else can see him. Except for the dog who jogs past every day with his owner. The dog barks at him every time he passes our witness’s garden.”

“All right,” said Leslie. “You try that number again and if he’s not home—”

“She,” said Anna. “Kathryn Jamison, age sixty-four.” There was another report behind the first—it had another witness’s name on it. She reported that her dog barked every day as they passed Jamison’s garden. She didn’t say anything about the unicorn and dragons.

“We can at least get a look at her garden the same way the jogging lady’s dog does, right?”

They were spared the indignity of skulking around Ms. Jamison’s garden fence. The second time Anna tried the number, the lady answered on the first ring.

“Call me Katie,” she said, her voice slurring just a bit. “Kathryn was my grandmother. You want to come talk to me about a police report I made about the unicorn and dragons?” She laughed, her voice low and husky, a sexy laugh for a sixty-four-year-old woman. “It’s been a long time since I had to worry about a unicorn, right?” She laughed again. “But those dragons might burn something down and that would be a shame, don’t you think? That’s why I thought I should report them. Sure. Come on over.”

Ms. Jamison, “call me Katie,” lived in Gilbert, another Phoenix suburb, about fifteen minutes south and east of Dr. Vaughn’s house. Leslie pulled into the spotless, half-round driveway and parked. There were two fountains in front of the house, and the whole impression given was a combination of beauty and money, both flaunted with equal abandon.

Anna looked back at the road left and right and saw no sidewalks for jogging. The house, huge as it was, was set between two other houses that varied in architecture if not in stucco color.

“How’d a jogger see into the yard at all?” Anna asked. “Where would a jogger run?”

“Maybe the jogger knows the unicorn and the dragons,” murmured Leslie. “And flew over the stone wall and looked into the garden with her dog.” She put on a practiced smile and headed for the door.

“I’ll get you, my pretty,” murmured Anna in her best wicked-witch voice. “And your little dog, too.”

Ms. Jamison was tall and had muscle under her tanned and well-cared-for skin. Her chestnut hair was cut short and expensively. She looked closer to forty than sixty. Some of that might be surgical, but not all of it. She wasn’t stunning, but she was memorable.

She was also wearing a holey pair of jeans with dirt on the knees and a very ratty old ASU football jersey. She smelled like alcohol, for which she apologized.

“I was out gardening and drinking when you called,” she told them. “And now I’m a little drunk. I don’t usually overindulge, but my divorce from husband number three just came through. My sister told me he was just after my money, and she was right.”

She sighed. “I knew she was right. But he was thirty. He could keep up with me. Men my age…” She shook her head. “But, as I told her, that’s what a prenup is for. I guess he believed that if I thought he loved me, I’d be stupid in other ways, too. Caught him red … well, red-assed if the truth be known, and I have the photos to prove it. So he went and took nothing with him except for the liposuction on his stomach and two years of luxury living. I’d have paid a gigolo more for his services. But I’d have probably gotten better services.” She looked pensive.