City of the Lost: Part Six

by Kelley Armstrong

  "Planning to."

  I get the button open on his jeans and I'm pulling down the zipper when, "Detective Butler?" It's my next interview.

  Dalton whips my bedside book and knocks my bedroom door shut. I chuckle.

  "Casey?" the voice calls from downstairs. "Are you okay?"

  "God-fucking-damn--"

  I cut Dalton's curse short with a kiss. I start to roll off him, and he tries to grab me back, but I whisper, "Dawson City. One private room. Eight uninterrupted hours," as footsteps sound on the stairs.

  "Casey?"

  "Just a sec!" I call.

  Dalton grabs me and tugs me back onto him. "He'll wait five minutes."

  "Kinda want more than five minutes, sheriff."

  He gives an abashed, "Yeah, sorry. Fuck."

  He rolls off the bed, gives me a quick smack of a kiss, and then grabs his shirt and walks out, still pulling it on, to the sputtered apologies of whoever is in the hall. I wince and shake my head. Apparently we aren't keeping this a secret from anyone.

  I put my bra and shirt on, then call, "Come in," and start my morning of interviews.

  Eight

  I have three interviews scheduled and two additional people show up, not with anything significant to add, but trying to be helpful, and I don't want to discourage that. When Dalton brings lunch, I'm talking to someone who recalls seeing Mick the night of his death. She spotted him walking toward the woodshed. Yeah, like I said, not useful, but I listen and thank her for her time as Dalton waits impatiently outside the door.

  We go downstairs and dine on the back deck. I'm telling Dalton a story about the chase of a seventy-year-old wannabe graffiti artist when Isabel walks around my house.

  "Ah," she says. "That's what that sound was. Eric laughing. I do believe I've never heard it before."

  Dalton shoots her the finger.

  She walks over and eyes us, sitting hip to hip, Dalton's hand on my knee.

  "Well, well," she says. "The rumours are true, then. Interesting."

  "You want something?" he says.

  "Good afternoon to you, too, sheriff. No, I don't want anything from you. I came to speak to Casey about her investigation."

  I tense, and Dalton gets to his feet.

  "Down, boy," she says. "I'm not here to harass your detective." She lifts a folder she's carrying. "I found this in Mick's things, and I thought it might be important."

  I check my watch.

  "Yes, you have time for me, Casey," she says.

  "I'm checking Eric's time." I turn to him. "It's almost one. You'd better go take that council call. I'll handle this."

  He gives Isabel a look.

  "I'll behave myself," she says.

  "You better. Casey's been stabbed three times. Doesn't need your shit." He turns to me. "She gives you a hard time? Radio Will and have her locked in the cell."

  "On what charges?" she asks.

  "Pissing me off."

  "Ah, the usual, then."

  When he's gone, she says, "Well, he's in a very good mood. I'm glad to see it. I know Will was flitting around, but Eric's the one for you."

  She steps onto the deck, and I expect her to take one of the chairs, but she gracefully lowers herself to sit beside me on the edge. "Does Beth know about you two?"

  "Mmm, yeah. Eric isn't exactly making a secret of it."

  "Hell, no. He landed the town's prize catch, and everyone's going to know it."

  I give her a look.

  She smiles. "All right, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and say that's not the entire reason. So how did Beth take it?"

  I shrug.

  "Not well, but you don't know me enough--or like me enough--to confide. I'm sure you saw that one coming, though, given how she feels about Eric."

  "She's very protective of him," I say.

  "You noticed, huh?"

  "Kind of hard to miss. He seems to bring out her maternal instincts."

  Isabel chokes on a laugh. "Yes, Beth might be older than Eric, but that's not maternal instincts she's feeling."

  I look at her. Then, "Shit. I had no idea. Are you sure?"

  "Well, let's see. About eighteen months ago, she came and asked my 'professional' advice on seduction. She didn't tell me who she intended to seduce, but there was really only one option, so I told her I'd strongly advise against it. She ignored me and made her move. He shot her down. I believe she tries again every few months, to see if he's changed his mind. He hasn't. He wouldn't have even before you came along. She's been subtle enough about it that they can remain friends, but ..."

  "She's still interested."

  "Interested implies she'd like a few hours of his time. Beth wants more. Much more."

  "Damn him," I mutter. "Why the hell was he so insensitive this morning?"

  "He is letting her know he's off the shelf. Bluntly, as he does everything, and yes, I feel bad for her. Beth and I don't always see eye to eye, but she deserves something good in her life. Unfortunately, that's not Eric, and it never was, so you can stop feeling guilty."

  "I'm not--"

  "Sure you are. I would, too, however much I'd know it wasn't my fault. You consider her a friend, hence you will feel bad. But she obviously didn't tell you she was interested. You did nothing wrong. Let it go. She's better off this way."

  I shake my head.

  Isabel looks at me. "You think she'd be happier chasing a guy who doesn't want her?"

  She has a point, and I shrug.

  "I know Beth and I aren't the only ones who don't see eye to eye, Casey, but I'm still hoping we can get past it. For now, how about you forget what I do for a living, and I'll forget you don't like what I do for a living. Yes, that's very generous of me, I know."

  "I can't run interference for you with Eric."

  Her eyes widen. "Are you suggesting I would attempt to ingratiate myself with you to gain an ally in the sheriff's fight to shut down my establishment? I'm impressed. Yes, that's exactly what I hoped when I met you. But you treated me well with Mick, despite your personal feelings. You got stabbed by some madman in the woods, and you're already back on the case, conducting interviews from your bed. Everyone's impressed. So my overtures have gone from blatant self-interest to genuine interest. I would like to get to know you better."

  "You can start by handing over that file."

  She smiles. "Business first. I approve." She starts to pass it to me and then stops, her hand still on it. "The fact I'm bringing this to you is a sign of my trust in your abilities, Casey."

  "No, it's a sign you want to find out who killed your lover."

  "True, but this is ..." She sets the folder on my lap. "Mick was hiding that. Which might suggest he was hiding other things, including an affair, and it's difficult for me to admit that. But if I thought there was a remote chance he was, I would admit it. As humiliating as it might be to have my young lover cheating on me, it'd be worse to be proven wrong. Mick had faults. He had secrets. Screwing around wasn't one of them. But this was."

  I open the folder. It's a sheaf of papers. On the top one is a list of names. I've seen them before. In Dalton's journal. They're the real names of those he suspects are in Rockton under false pretences.

  I flip through the file to find notes on each name. It seems like exactly what I saw in Dalton's journal. Notes on the suspects and their crimes.

  "You aren't asking me what those names are," she says.

  I look up at her. "Do you know?"

  "I've heard rumours that there are people here who shouldn't be. Secrets are profitable, and I may have been known to pay for them."

  "Is that where Mick got these?" I ask.

  "No. I've heard perhaps three stories. Not nearly in the detail of that file, and to be perfectly honest, I don't want those secrets, Casey. The only reason I'd care to know who those people are is so I can stay as far away from them as possible. When I want secrets, I want things like your friend getting here by lying about her ex. That's useful. What's in there isn
't useful--it's dangerous."

  "So where did Mick get it?"

  "All I can think is that maybe he was keeping notes for Eric. That Eric was digging into people, and he didn't dare keep a record in his handwriting, let alone in his house. So he asked Mick to help. Which Mick would have. Given his own past."

  "Which is?"

  She taps the folder. "I added a page for him. If you have questions, you know where to find me."

  Before Isabel leaves, I ask her about schizophrenia. We talk for a bit, but she doesn't add much to what I know. Some of it fits Jacob and some of it clearly does not.

  Afterward, I can't get to Mick's notes as quickly as I'd like. My next interview arrives early, and that's supposed to be my only interview for the afternoon, except two more people show up, bearing information that is less than useful. However, they also both come bearing gifts. Brian brings another apple pie. Petra brings a sketch she did, of me on Cricket, racing Anders back into town.

  I get the feeling those gifts were the point of their visits, rather than the uninformative information. Petra admits there's a good reason I haven't had any actual visitors. Dalton has apparently been telling everyone to leave me alone. Or, more accurately, leave me the fuck alone.

  There's a moratorium on all social visits until tomorrow, by which time he's decided I'll be well enough to take them. I could argue with that, but he has a point. The interviews are taxing enough. It just would have been nice to be told why no one was coming to visit me.

  I conduct the afternoon's meetings in my living room, getting myself prepared for the trip to Dawson City.

  I'm packing when Anders comes by.

  "Boss is tied up with council shit," he says. "They're going over plans for rebuilding the woodshed. To leave on schedule, he'll need to meet you at the hangar. I said I'd walk you over."

  "Thanks."

  He holds my duffle bag as I put in a change of clothing. "So, you and Eric, huh?"

  I glance over.

  "He told me. I think he figured he should be the one to do it, which I appreciate. We had a nice talk."

  "Oh?"

  "Yep. Let's see, how'd it go." He lowers his voice to Dalton's pitch. "You hear about me and Casey? No. So you and Casey ...? Yeah. Ah. You and Casey. That okay? Sure. I'm happy for you. Yeah? Yeah. Okay. Good." Anders looks at me. "It was a guy conversation."

  I laugh. "I see."

  "If it was anyone else, I'd be less okay with it, but Eric? He deserves you. You deserve him. I am happy for you both."

  He gives me a one-armed hug, and I say thanks. Then I toss my toiletries in the bag and he carries it downstairs. I need to grab my jacket from the back room, and when I come back, he's got Mick's folder. I'd left it on the front table when I went to pack, planning to take it for some in-flight reading. He's staring at the first page--the list of names. When I walk in, he slaps it shut.

  "Sorry," he says. "I'm snooping."

  "You're a cop. You're supposed to snoop."

  He smiles, but it looks strained. He's had to pick up the slack while I recuperate and Dalton plays nurse. I catch a glimpse of the toll it's taking as he hands me the folder.

  "You okay?" I ask.

  He jumps, as if startled by the question. "Sure. Why?"

  "You look seriously overworked."

  "Always." He points at the folder. "Since I'm professionally allowed to be nosy, I'm guessing that's a list of real names?"

  "Hmm?"

  "Real names of locals."

  "Something like that. Just a lead I'm chasing." I stuff the folder into my duffle, which he takes and waves me to the door without another word.

  Nine

  We're heading through town when Dalton joins us.

  "All done with the council?" I ask.

  He makes a noise under his breath, one I interpret to mean he's annoyed at the interruption to his day but yeah, it's done.

  "Meant to run the pre-flight check earlier," he says. "You okay with hanging out? Or do you want to rest at the station?"

  "I'd like to see how you do it. Not that I'm going to be a pilot anytime soon, but I'm interested."

  That pleases him, and he nods. He talks to Anders for a moment, before the deputy takes off to run an errand. He'll bring Diana after that, something I'm in no rush for.

  We're on the edge of town when we spot four of the militia, armed and on horseback, heading for the woods.

  "Hey, boss," Kenny calls with a wave.

  Dalton eyes them and veers in that direction. "What's this? Don't need four guys for patrol."

  "Hunting mission," Kenny says.

  "Nothing on the schedule."

  Kenny grins. "This is a different kind of hunt. We know you're busy, so we're going to find the bastard who cut up Casey."

  Dalton tenses so fast I swear I hear vertebrae snapping.

  "Whoa, no," I say. "We are nowhere near that point, guys. I haven't even been able to provide Eric with a description, it all happened so fast. I appreciate that you want to keep the town safe, but for now, we can best do that by staying out of the woods and posting a couple of extra guys on border patrol."

  "It's not about safety, Casey," Kenny says. "You got cut up by some psycho out there. We're going to make him pay."

  The other three nod. While it's sweet that they want to go after the guy who hurt me, I feel a bit like the wide-eyed maiden in a spaghetti western, the local gunslingers mounting up to go hunt down the villain who sullied my honour.

  I look at Dalton, waiting for him to jump in with a loud and profane diatribe about exactly why this is a bad idea. But he's frozen in panic, and I know all he's thinking is that four armed men are hell-bent on riding into the woods and shooting his brother.

  "No," I say, as firmly as I can. "I appreciate the gesture, guys. I really do. But what we have out there isn't a killer who'll descend on us in our sleep. It's a guy with a problem, hopefully temporary, and--"

  "So he's a psycho, like I said."

  Okay, not the right tactic. "Eric and I will deal with this when we get back. We need to find this guy and see what happened to him or it could happen to others, and then we'd have a real problem."

  Kenny's hands move on his rifle. "We're ready for it."

  "No. The people in those woods have as much right to be there--"

  "They're a threat. They've always been a threat. If we have the opportunity to wipe them out, for once and for all--"

  "Do you actually hear what you're saying? We have a name for that, Kenny. It's called a massacre, and if that's what this town has come to, then some of us really need to get back south and get civilized fast."

  His mouth works. One of the others says, "We didn't mean it like that."

  "The answer is no," Dalton says, stepping forward, chin up, jaw set, the sheriff back. "Hell, no. Fuck, no. I-cannot-goddamn-believe-you're-suggesting-it, no. If you have a problem with the way I'm handling this situation--"

  "Course not, Eric."

  "If you have a problem with the way I'm running this town--"

  "No, we just ... For Casey," Kenny says weakly. "We wanted to find him for Casey."

  "And Casey doesn't want you to do it like this. So get your heads out of your asses, put those horses away, and find something useful to do, like cutting wood or hauling water. We need that. We don't need a bunch of yahoos in the forest, shooting anything that moves and hitting the folks cutting wood and hauling water."

  "Okay. You're right. But ..." Kenny lowers his voice. "We're not the only ones who want to find this guy. People are talking. Whispering about heading off while you're away."

  "What? If anyone sets a foot outside this town while I'm gone--"

  "They won't. We'll make sure of it. I'm just letting you know ..." He looks up at Dalton. "Something has to be done, Eric. You know how people get."

  "Then make sure they don't get that way. Not while I'm gone. Or I'll fire the whole fucking lot of you. Got it?"

  They get it.

  We continue to th
e hangar in silence. I want to tell Dalton it's okay, they won't dare go into the forest behind his back, but I know that doesn't matter, because all he's thinking about is Jacob, out there and messed up, with a whole town gunning for him. And the one guy who gives a shit is leaving town.

  Dalton starts his pre-flight check. When he notices me at his shoulder, he remembers I'd wanted to see, so despite the fact that instruction might be the furthest thing from his mind, he explains, because that's what he does.

  He's checking some wires and telling me their purpose, and I ask what happens if they're loose or damaged.

  "Then we don't get off the ground," he says.

  "Important stuff, then."

  He finds something like a smile for me. "Everything is important stuff up there."

  "What about--?" I lean over and then hiss in pain.

  He grabs my elbow, steadying me. "You up to this?"

  "If I'm not, can we postpone it and go look for Jacob?"

  I'm instantly sorry I asked. Hope flickers across his face, followed by dismay and then anger, as his fingers tighten.

  "That's a no," I say, gently pulling away.

  He realizes how tight he's gripping me and apologizes as he rubs the spot. Then he straightens and says, "If you're not up to it, I need to go alone. The council is insisting and ..."

  "And while we're working on a backup plan, you aren't eager to push them, not over this. Okay, I'll be fine. But I should take my pills before we go. Where's my duffle?"

  I look around, and he walks across the hangar to retrieve it. While he's gone, I slip my switchblade from my pocket. When he comes back, I'm tapping one of the wires.

  "Did you check this one already?" I ask.

  "Yep, I--"

  I lift the cut ends. "Better check again."

  He frowns. Then he sees the knife in my other hand, and he smiles, coming over to put his hand on the back of my head, tilting my face up for a kiss.

  "Thank you," he says.

  "I'm hoping it's not easily fixed."

  "Yeah, it is, but no one else knows that. I'll get Val out here, show her the plane's not starting, and tell her I'll fix it before morning."

  "And in the meantime, while it's still light out, you should comb the forest for the guy who attacked me."

  "Yep, I should. You up to coming along?"

  I hesitate. "Physically, yes, but ..." I look up at him. "You don't want me out there, Eric. You know how I react to a threat. If Jacob came after you--"

  "He won't."

  "But if he did ..."