Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [92]
“Where is she now?” Paul asked.
“She’s still at Verducci’s. They’ll keep her for a while until they secure the crime scene. Then they’ll probably take her to the station to finish their interrogation.”
“Can I call her?” Paul picked up his cell phone.
“You’re welcome to try,” Ed said. “I’m sure she’ll pick up if she can.”
Lacey answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Lace . . . uh, it’s good to hear your voice. What’s going on?” he asked.
“Not much.”
“You sure about that?”
“Uh-huh.” She wasn’t budging.
“Anything new?” Paul said. The relief he’d felt a few minutes before was being replaced by familiar irritation.
“We need more milk,” Lacey said.
“Anything else?”
“Cereal,” Lacey replied.
“Lace, are you in shock? I know where you are. I’m in Sheriff Ed’s office right now.”
Paul held up the phone awkwardly.
“Hi, Lacey,” Sheriff Ed called out.
“What were you doing in Birkton with that creepy doc?” Paul asked.
“Investigating. Tell the sheriff I think Doc Holland is suspect number one right now.”
“Lace, please. You’re putting yourself in danger. This has to stop.”
“It will stop when the murders stop,” Lacey replied, disconnecting the call.
Paul stuffed his phone back in his pocket.
“I’d tell you to talk some sense into her,” Ed said, “but that train has clearly left the station.”
Paul didn’t know how to respond to that. “Yep,” he said.
“This keeps up, we’re gonna have to change the population sign,” Ed said, shaking his head. His attempt at a light tone didn’t quite come off. He seemed shaken up.
“I guess so,” said Paul.
He wasn’t comfortable hanging around inside a law enforcement office, especially when it wasn’t quite clear what was expected of him.
“So, can I go?” Paul finally said.
“Yep,” Ed said, and stood up. He walked around the desk to Paul and took him by the shoulders, looking him in the eye. There was no sense of threat, only genuine concern. “Get some rest. And try to stay out of trouble. I’ll make sure Lacey gets home safe.”
For a second Paul forgot that he was a pot grower inside a sheriff’s office.
As Paul started toward the door, Ed said, “Remind Lacey to bring that letter to me tomorrow.”
“What letter?”
“From Doc Holland.”
“Right,” said Paul, like he knew what Ed was talking about. “Will do.”
When Paul got back home, he saw a familiar shape in the rocking chair on the porch.
“Irving!”44
Paul picked him up and gave him a squeeze. His thick fur was tangled with thistles, burrs, and even part of a cigarette filter. He’d apparently been on quite an adventure. Paul took him inside for some milk and tuna, then cut the reunion short to start looking for the Doc Holland letter. It was for Lacey’s own good. Keeping stuff to herself seemed to have a way of putting her in the vicinity of dead bodies.
He was about to lift Lacey’s dresser when Brandy called his cell.
“You want to come over? I made mac ’n’ cheese. Don’t worry—it’s from a box. I figure you could use some quote-unquote home cooking.”
“That sounds delicious,” Paul said.
“You sound distracted,” Brandy said. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a letter. Lacey has apparently heard from Doc Holland. Ed wants it. Not sure why. Maybe to test it for DNA or something. I just don’t know where she’d be keeping it. For all I know she might be carrying it around with her.”
“You’ve tried the obvious places, right?” Brandy asked.
“Probably. Like what?”
“Like between her mattress and box spring?” Brandy said.
Paul lifted the mattress. There it was, still in its envelope. He put the phone down and read the letter. He was surprised to find that it was addressed to Sook. He didn’t know the old man had been involved in the whole blackmail scheme. Yet another one of Lacey’s secrets.
“How’d you know?” Paul asked.
“Sometimes you have to dumb yourself down a little to find what you’re looking for,” Brandy said.
“I’ll be over right after I drop the letter off at the station.”
“I’m not sure that’s the right move, Paul.”
“Why?”
“Getting official