Locust Lane(3)

Tomi was closing a deal on what looked a half-carat solitaire, so that left Britt up. The little dummy thought they were customers, so she came at them with that shitshow she called charm. But her smile vanished the moment the woman explained herself. She turned and pointed to Danielle.

Here we go, she thought. Again. Eden had called last night, just after midnight, but Danielle missed it. She’d gone to bed early, turning her ringer off because of a recent spate of Scam Likely calls. So she didn’t see that her daughter had called until she woke this morning. She hadn’t left a message. Danielle tried to call back but there was no answer. Which meant she’d been unable to forestall whatever nonsense was about to be laid at her feet.

Danielle had no issues with the tax people and her daughter had no money, so maybe they were social services. Although they tended not to come in pairs. The snakes who served summonses and warrants tended to work alone as well. And then she saw the gold shields and that feeling of annoyance shifted to something deeper.

It was the woman who spoke.

“Danielle Perry?”

Her voice was surprisingly kind. In most situations you could say it was soothing. Just not in this one.

“What has she done now?”

“My name is Dorothy Gates. I’m a detective with the state police. This is Detective Procopio from Emerson.”

Gates looked around. Another couple had just been buzzed in. The showroom wasn’t that big. It was getting crowded.

“Is there somewhere we could talk?”

The fear was starting to come harder. Eden had been in trouble, God only knew, but it had never required two detectives and privacy to explain.

“Ms. Perry?”

There was the storage room, but that was just a walk-in safe with no seating. Which left the manager’s office. Steve wouldn’t be happy having cops in there.

“I’m not…”

And then, on cue, he appeared, Steve Slater himself, with his chest hair and loafers. His eyes were locked on the cops; his frown was so profound it looked like he was in the early stages of a stroke. He said nothing as he approached, as if already following his lawyer’s advice.

“These are Detectives Gates and Procopio,” Danielle, good at names, explained. “Could we use your office for a minute?”

“My office,” he repeated flatly.

Among the many things in Steve Slater’s office that he wouldn’t want the detectives to see was a gleaming Colt 1911 tucked in a holster he’d affixed to the well of his desk, an instrument of mayhem that may or may not be licensed with the Commonwealth. On the rare occasions he buzzed in suspicious characters, he had a charming habit of stuffing the pistol into the front of his action slacks.

“Yes, I would appreciate that,” Gates said.

Which put Slater on the spot. A refusal would get the cops wondering.

“Certainly,” he said, sounding like someone had superglued his molars together.

He unlocked the door with the key at the end of his elastic chain and held it open for them.

“Do you know how long this will take?” he asked as they passed by.

Gates turned and smiled sweetly, her face just inches away from his.

“We’ll take just as long we need.”

If honey were corrosive, that was her voice. The security door shut heavily behind them. There were two chairs facing his desk. Gates, immediately and fully in charge, motioned to one of them.

“Ms. Perry, I’d like you to take a seat.”

That’s when Danielle knew it was the worst kind of bad. She’d been asked to take a seat once before. Her grandmother after the heart attack.

“I’d prefer to stay standing,” she said, as if remaining on her feet could ward off what was coming.

“Please,” Gates said, her voice absolute in its kindness.

And so she sat. Gates took the other chair, perching right on its edge, ready to get back to her feet at a moment’s notice. Procopio remained standing, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His eyes had not left Danielle since Britt had pointed her out. They betrayed no emotion. It was as if she was a test he was studying for.

“Ms. Perry,” Gates said. “There’s really no good way to say this. I’m afraid Eden is dead.”

Danielle held the woman’s eye for a moment, just to be sure, then looked around for something to focus on beside that unbearable sympathy. Her gaze landed on a photo of Slater and his daughters in front of a muscle car. She looked back at the detective.

“I’m so sorry,” Gates said.

Danielle wondered why she wasn’t crying and carrying on. She knew it was happening somewhere inside her but it hadn’t arrived yet.

“What happened?”

“Again, this is hard news, but we believe she was murdered.”

“How?”

“It appears she suffered a blow to the head.”

“Where was she?”

“At a house in Emerson. Do you know…”

“Wait, were Bill and Betsy…”

“They were out of town.”

“You’re sure it’s her?”

“Her driver’s license was at the scene. We’ve spoken with the homeowners. Danielle, it’s her.”

“Was she…”

“We’re looking at that.”