City of the Lost (Casey Duncan #1)(69)

“Dare I invite you in for coffee?”

“Depends. Are you asking to be polite?”

“No.”

“Then yeah, I’ll take coffee. And don’t ever ask to be polite, because then I’ll say yes and you’ll be stuck with me, and it’ll just be …”

“Awkward?”

“For you. Nothing’s awkward for me.”

I smile. “Well, then, speaking of awkward, I’d be able to see those lights a lot better from my balcony, but that would mean inviting you up to my room.”

“Through your room. It’s not the same thing.”

“True. Is that a yes?”

“It is.”


We sit on my deck. Literally on my deck, because while I offer to bring up a chair, he refuses and grabs extra blankets from under my bed, which I didn’t know were there. We sit on blankets with more wrapped around us. Or wrapped around me. He seems fine with just the coffee to keep him warm. We sit and we talk, and I watch the northern lights dance, and it doesn’t matter how horrible my day became, this is as damned near perfect an ending as I can imagine. The wolves even start up, as if to prove to me that as good as things get, they can always be better.

Eventually the talking stops, and we just sit and watch and listen, and the next thing I know, I’m waking at dawn with the blankets pulled up to my neck and an extra one draped over me. The deck is empty except for my gun, now lying just out of reach. I smile, take it, and head inside to get ready for work.


There’s an angry mob outside the station. Well, actually, three somewhat-annoyed citizens, but Dalton still intercepts me and takes me in through the back.

“They’re pissed off about Hastings,” he says. “They want a statement, whatever that is.”

“It’s where the police explain the situation, usually to the press.”

“We don’t have press.”

“True, but you really should explain—”

“To three people?” He snorts. “I’ll be doing it all day. Like one of those damned cuckoo clocks.”

“We’ve had two murders in a week. The more you ignore that, the more rumours are going to fly, and soon we really will have an angry—”

“I’m not ignoring them. I’m waiting until there are more so I don’t have to keep explaining. The more times I say it, the more it’ll sound like there’s a serious problem.”

“Um …”

His look darkens. “Fine, there is a serious problem. But they don’t need to know that.”

I open the door and call out, “We’ll be giving a statement at nine. Please make sure everyone knows, because we’re obviously very busy investigating this tragedy, and we can’t keep explaining.”

Dalton appears behind me. “She means that. You don’t want to spread the word? Fine. But I’ll tell everyone in town that you three know, and I might offer the opinion that it was awfully suspicious, you coming by, looking for information and not wanting to share it with others.”

They’re gone before he can close the door.

I sigh. “That’s not how it’s usually done.”

“Welcome to Rockton, detective.”


Back inside the station, I ask Dalton whether Val should join us, and add, “But I understand if you’d rather she didn’t interfere.”

He makes a noise at that. It’s like a snort, but it’s also akin to a laugh. Then he shakes his head and walks to the fireplace.

“Is that a no?” I ask.

Another shake of his head, and I think that’s my answer until he says, “I’m not the least bit worried that Val will interfere, because that would require her to actually show up. You want to walk over and invite her? Go ahead … if you need the exercise.” He lights the fire and puts the kettle over it. “Exercise in futility, too. But go on. Coffee will be ready when you get back.” He checks his watch. “Five minutes there, five minutes back. Ten seconds for her to tell you no.”

Val lives on the edge of town opposite mine. As Dalton said, it’s a five-minute fast walk from the station, and given how freaking cold it is these past few mornings, fast is the only way I move.

Her house is identical to mine. I climb the porch and knock, and here’s where Dalton’s schedule goes off track, because it takes me two full minutes of knocking—and then calling “Val?”—before she opens the door. I think I must have gotten her out of bed, but she’s fully dressed, her hair brushed, a writing pad in hand.

“I know Eric updated you on the situation yesterday,” I say. “We’re making a public statement this morning.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and I begin to wonder if she even heard me. Then she says, “Is that necessary?”

“I believe it is, to keep people calm and informed.”

“All right. If you think that’s best, I trust your judgment.”

“I’d like you to be there.”

Her brows knit. “What for?”

“You’re the spokesperson for the council. Your presence will reassure people.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Detective Butler.”

“I do.”

“Unfortunately, that isn’t your call to make.”