Crush - Alan Jacobson [62]
Whatever it was—or wasn’t—she would keep her eyes open, but carry on until she heard otherwise. There were too many things she had to deal with, and this, at the moment, seemed like a distraction.
She walked over to the others and got the sense they were still talking about the new victim when her phone rang again. It was Robby.
“Hey there. What’ve you been up to?”
“Went to the outlets and did some fabulous shopping, bought you the most marvelous clothing and a dear—”
“Robby, the gay thing doesn’t work for you.”
“No? Fine. I got you some clothes. Hope you like ’em, but I gotta say it was a bit of a crapshoot.”
“Much better,” Vail said. “I’m sure whatever you got will work for another few days. And what about a place to stay?”
“I booked us into this darling inn with a wonderfully frilly duvet and cherry—”
“Robby?”
“Cut it out, right?”
Vail rubbed her eyes with thumb and index finger. “Yeah.”
“Okay. I got us a room at the Heartland B&B in Yountville, a few blocks from downtown.” He gave her the address. “Meet me there in an hour? Or do you want to go straight to dinner? There are a few nice looking restaurants downtown, within walking distance.”
“Works for me. I need to get out of these shoes. I’ll meet you at the B&B, do a quick change, and then we can pick a place to eat.”
She shoved the phone into its holder, then walked over to Dixon. “So what’s the deal?”
“Aaron is still with the body.” She glanced at the setting sun. “But he’s gonna need some fixed lights brought in if he’s gonna be here much longer.”
Lugo closed his phone and said, “He said he’ll be done in about twenty. He needs someone to hold the lantern for him.”
“Unless you think he could be our UNSUB, I’ll do it,” Vail said. “I’ve got some time to kill before I can get into my B&B.”
Brix slammed his trunk closed and said, “I’ve known Matt a dozen years. If he’s our guy, he’s fucking got me fooled. But if you’re concerned about it—”
“I can handle it.” She flashed momentarily on her recent romp with the Dead Eyes killer, but pushed it from her mind. She couldn’t do her job effectively if she let things like that change the way she operates.
“Good,” Brix said. “I’ve got a car arranged for you at St. Helena PD. A green Ford Taurus that was used by its investigator before the position was canned. It’s yours. I’ll have Aaron drop you off there when he’s done. Keys will be in a magnetic case in the driver’s wheel well.”
Vail nodded her thanks, wished everyone a good evening, then headed out to the vineyard to assist Aaron. As it turned out, it was to be the start of an unexpectedly dangerous evening.
TWENTY-FOUR
John Wayne Mayfield stood on the hillside, Carson binoculars pressed against his face, watching the police try to make sense of his latest job. He couldn’t make out fine details of their facial expressions at this distance—and in the fading light—but he could get a sense of what they were thinking and saying by their body language.
And they didn’t look happy.
But he had warned them. He told them what would happen. Did they not believe him? Next time they had better listen or he’d make them pay again.
As he crouched and watched them debate what they had found, he realized that maybe he hadn’t been convincing enough. Maybe he needed to speak louder for them to hear him.
AS THE LAST of the task force members drove off, Vail watched a car pull up behind Matt Aaron’s vehicle. At the wheel was Austin Mann.
“I’ll be right back,” Vail said.
“Wait—where are you going? I need you to hold—”
“I’ll just be a couple minutes,” Vail called back, and continued down the path toward Mann.
Mann slammed his door and maneuvered around the car. “I just got the text. Who’s the vic?”
Vail stopped, blocking his path, and shoved her hands in her rear pockets. There he was, only a dozen feet away now. Prosthetic arm at his side. Vail pulled her gaze from the device and looked Mann in the eyes.
“Glad you’re here.” She had to handle this carefully, tactfully—a laughable thought. If there’s one skill Karen Vail never could master, it was the art