Visions (Cainsville #2)(67)

“I hope so,” Gabriel said, and started the car.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN


We didn’t visit the Conway family. Though Ciara’s body had been found, I still couldn’t visit them in good conscience. I also knew what it meant to lose a loved one. When my dad died, I realized for the first time the cruelty of funeral customs that expect the family to meet and greet people mere hours after a death. Yes, I know, it’s supposed to provide support. But I hadn’t wanted support. I’d wanted to curl up in my bed and grieve. Gabriel didn’t understand but agreed to wait until after Ciara’s funeral.

Instead, we visited two friends and a teacher whom I’d found in my online research. That was all we could fit into an afternoon, and we were lucky to find many potential sources at home and willing to speak to us.

All we heard were variations on a story. Ciara was a good girl. Ciara was a troubled girl. Good but troubled—that was her epitaph. We asked if she’d expressed concerns about anyone following her, stalking her, contacting her. Nope. She was there, struggling through life. And then she wasn’t.

By the time we finished the interviews, it was past seven. Gabriel was driving me home when he noticed the time and said, “I should have got you dinner.”

Gabriel might not seem to take much interest in feeding himself, but God forbid I missed a meal. I was curled up in the passenger seat, half drowsing to the strains of Handel. I bit back a yawn. “I’d invite you over, but the only thing I have is dry cereal and bread. And I think the bread is sprouting a lovely shade of periwinkle.”

“I’ll take you out, then.”

“That wasn’t a hint.”

“I know, but . . .” He pulled out his wallet and thumbed through the wad of bills from James. “It was a profitable day.”

I laughed and shook my head. He glanced over, as if making sure I was really okay with him fleecing my former fiancé. I was. James fell for it and could afford it.

“Dinner it is, then,” he said. “I believe we’re past the point of pulling off the highway, so you’ll have to settle for the diner.”

“The food’s good. The service is iffy, but that new girl isn’t on tonight, so it should be fine.”

—

By the time we got there, the dinner crowd had cleared out and the place was more than half empty. That may explain why we seemed to provide the main source of entertainment. Ida, Veronica, and the other elders sat there, beaming and whispering until I felt like the wallflower who showed up for prom with the star quarterback.

“Next time?” I whispered. “You’re getting dry cereal and toast. I’ll scrape off the mold.”

He glanced around. “It does inhibit conversation, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm.”

Patrick stopped by the table, slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder.

“Calling it a night?” I said.

“I am.” He leaned over and lowered his voice. “Keep talking to me. Smile. Nod. Look happy.”

“Why?”

“The old folks think I’ve done something right for a change. I see no point in disillusioning them. Just look like you’re pleased to see me. You, too, Gabriel.”

“What do we get for it?” I asked.

“My gratitude, which is valuable beyond reckoning.”

I snorted. Gabriel smiled and sipped his coffee.

Patrick turned to him. “How are you doing, Gabriel?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“Very well?” An enigmatic smile. “I’m glad to hear it.” He straightened. “All right, kids. Enjoy your meal and ignore the old folks.” He started to leave, then turned. “Did I hear that the body of Ms. Conway disappeared in transit the other day?”

“It did,” I said.

He pursed his lips. “Won’t that impede the investigation?”

Gabriel shrugged. “It’ll mean no autopsy, but there’s still a coroner’s report and crime scene analysis. They have what they require to proceed.”

“Ah, right. Interesting.” He seemed to look at the elders as he hefted his bag again. “Interesting.”

He smiled over his shoulder and left.

—

Gabriel followed me home after dinner. That was understandable, given that he’d parked out front. Except he didn’t stop at his car when we got there.

“I want to show you something,” he said. “A personal project that will improve your research skills.”

“Do I get paid for it?” I asked as I followed him up the steps.

“Did you catch the personal part? I’m assisting you with something I believe you’ll be interested in, and you’ll receive the benefit of my experience in lieu of cash.”

“I’d rather have the cash.”

When we entered the apartment, TC went nuts, as if he hadn’t seen me in days. I gave him a pat then bumped him off the kitchen table and set up my laptop.

“Okay, so what are we doing?” I asked.

“A public records search.”

“You really know how to show a girl a fun night, don’t you?”

He lowered himself into the other chair. “Records searches are one of the most necessary skills for a researcher. Also, one of the most tedious. Which is why I’m passing my knowledge on to you.”