Nowhere to Hide (17 page)

“No problem. What can I do for you?”

“I didn’t really like the way things went the other day,” he said. “I got the feeling you were testing me with those questions.”

“Mr. Dempsey had made some accusations and I was following up.”

“Man, Nine. You’re so damn neutral. Is that you, or is it a ‘cop thing’? It’s annoying as hell.”

That brought her up short. “Sorry.”

“Meet me for lunch,” he said. “Let’s have a real conversation.”

“I . . . don’t . . .” she said reluctantly. Yes, she wanted to see him, but no, she wasn’t sure she wanted to share lunch with him.

“It’s just lunch. I want to talk to you.”

“I don’t have a lot of time,” she demurred.

“I’ll come your way. I’ve got an appointment in Laurelton later anyway, and well, I live there.”

“Your office is in Portland?”

“Downtown, yeah. But name a place in Laurelton. I can be there in half an hour.”

She glanced at the clock. It was eleven-thirty. “Okay, how about Xavier’s? They’ve got a rockin’ bar scene at night, but in the day it’s calmer and the food’s good.”

“Xavier’s. See you at noon . . .”

He clicked off and she did the same, returning to the squad room but avoiding Gretchen’s eyes. Luckily Sandler was in an involved conversation over Emmy Decatur’s school records and didn’t notice until September took her gun from her drawer and fitted it to her hip holster, slipping her light gray jacket over it. Then Gretchen started signaling her as she wound up the phone conversation, so September waited.

“You’d think I was asking to break into Fort Knox, the way they lock down those permanent records,” Gretchen grumbled. “Christ, I hate schools. Are you going to lunch?”

“Xavier’s,” she said.

“Oh.” She was surprised. “Meeting someone?”

“Yep.”

She picked up on September’s monosyllabic responses and said, “Jesus, Nine . . . Jake Westerly?”

“It’s a public place. I think I’ll be okay.”

“Didn’t I warn you?” Gretchen shook her head, and added, “Bad idea.”

“Maybe I’ll learn something.”

She snorted. “Say hi to Dom for me, if he’s bartending. And bring me back a sandwich?”

“What kind?”

“Anything.” Her attention was grabbed by the phone again, so September strolled outside into the blasting sun.

By day Xavier’s seemed less slick and glossy; the light streaming through the windows making it appear more like a restaurant, less of a pickup bar. September was early on purpose; she wanted to be seated to scope things out before Jake got there. She looked across the length of the zebrawood bar and noticed a dark-haired, buff male bartender but it wasn’t Gretchen’s Dom.

A young, female maître d’ dressed in a black skirt and a body-hugging black, long-sleeved top stood by with a pile of menus in her slim arms. “Would you like a table?”

“For two,” September said, and followed her to a spot by the windows that looked into a bioswale wetlands—which looked more like dusty weeds than anything—that lay between Xavier’s and the row of commercial buildings beyond. She waited while the busgirl poured her a glass of water from a pitcher, a lemon slice slipping into her glass. She could feel the race of her heart and gave herself a mental tongue-lashing. This wasn’t a date in any real sense. It was a meeting, an interview, an exchange of ideas.

Still . . .

Her thoughts turned to Wes Pelligree again. He was recuperating, which was great, but she missed having him around. In truth, she liked him a lot, though she’d never gotten the hang of calling him by his nickname, Weasel, which he teased her about. She’d quietly fantasized about him despite his longtime girlfriend, Kayleen Jefferson, who’d basically moved in with Wes since the shooting, from all accounts.

Oh, well . . .

Thinking about Wes, however, brought to mind thoughts of Jake Westerly. Maybe because she couldn’t be with Wes and therefore was frustrated in love . . . maybe that was why she was still attracted to Jake. He was the epitome of the kind of guy she was interested in and couldn’t seem to have. Either that, or she simply chose unavailable men.

Peachy.

She was trying to think of how to handle this upcoming interview when Jake himself appeared, wearing cowboy boots, denim jeans, and a collared white shirt with a suede jacket. Again, she got that sense that he could be the poster boy for “today’s cowboy.”

Wes Pelligree, she realized, had a tendency to dress the same way.

“What are you scowling at?” Jake asked with a grin as he seated himself across from her.

“Life in general, I guess.”

“Maybe this job’s getting to you, Nine. I don’t remember you ever being so . . .” She waited while he searched for the word, but he finally just gave up. “You look great though,” he said instead.

“Thanks.” She felt tongue-tied and that fueled her self-directed anger; she could feel her scowl deepen. Time to take control. “You called me to talk about something?”

“I wanted to give you a chance to pick my brain about Phil and Carolyn and Drea. I know I shut you down on that before.” He was gazing at her speculatively and she fought hard not to look away. “And, I was thinking about our second grade teachers.”

“What about them?”

He shrugged lightly. “Mrs. McBride came just short of rapping knuckles a time or two. Everybody was afraid of her.”

“She was a little short on warmth,” September agreed. “I was lucky to have Mrs. Walsh.”

“Maybe you should check with them, our old teachers. Ms. Osborne was younger, so I thought she’d be a good start, but I called and she’s no longer at the school.”

“You called the school district and asked if Ms. Osborne was there?” she questioned carefully.

“I called Sunset Elementary this morning,” he said with a nod.

“You want to direct my investigation?”

He held up a hand. “All I did was ask a simple question. I gave them my name and told them I had Mrs. Walsh. Mrs. Peterkin, in the office? She remembered me, and she knew my dad had started the winery. She told me Mrs. Walsh died a few years back, but Mrs. McBride lives at Grandview Senior Care. She doesn’t know what happened to Ms. Osborne after she left.”

September wasn’t sure what to make of him. “You’ve decided I should interview McBride and Osborne?”

“You know I always think of them with a Ms. or Mrs. in front of their names. They were so
big
when we were kids and had all the power.” Amusement flickered in his eyes. “And you sound so hardass and professional calling them by their last names.”

“Jake . . .”

“Hmmm?”

September could tell she was on slippery footing and she didn’t like the feeling at all. “I suppose you have a list of questions I should ask them, too?”

“Somebody had your artwork. Let’s just see if we can figure out who it is.”

“You’re thinking it’s an old classmate.”

He shrugged. “That’s what you were thinking about me. I’d like to explore the possibility it’s someone else.”

The same idea had been floating around in her brain, and it irked her that he’d suddenly stepped in with the same idea. She realized she was feeling competitive about the ownership of whose idea it was to talk to Sunset Elementary and immediately decided she didn’t care.

“Okay,” she said.

“You’ll go talk to them?” he asked, surprised at her sudden capitulation.

“If I can find them. Sure. Why not? I’ll go see Mrs. Peterkin in the office and see what we can come up with.”

Their waitress walked up and asked, “Have you decided yet?”

Jake’s gaze was on September. “I think we just did,” he said, faintly smiling. “But I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet, though. Give us a few minutes.”

The waitress looked confused, but smiled and said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

September leaned across the table. “What did we decide on?” she asked tensely.

Jake leaned right back at her. “We’re going to Sunset Elementary. Together.”

“If you think this high-handedness is working for you, you’re wrong.”

He sent her a thousand-watt grin. “Oh, I think it is.”

Sensing she was losing a battle she wasn’t certain she wanted to fight, September pulled back and picked up the menu. She stared at the words but his mocking eyes seemed burned onto her retinas.

Muttering beneath her breath, she heard him ask, “Did I hear the word insufferable?”

Lowering the menu, September said, “I’ll have the Santa Fe salad and a turkey club to go. I promised my partner lunch.”

“We can drop it off on our way,” he suggested.

“I’ll buy it and I’ll take it to her.”

“I can buy.”

“This is a police investigation. I don’t want you mucking around in it.”

“No mucking. You and I are just going back to our grade school, trying to connect with our old teachers and maybe some old classmates. And Mrs. Peterkin remembers me, so maybe I can learn something before you get all official and cop-like.”

“You’re not an asset in this, Westerly.”

“Westerly. Jesus.” He shook his head. “I want to find the sick bastard who killed Sheila and sent your artwork to you. I want to help.”

If I were smart, I’d shut this down now
, September thought to herself, but the words out of her mouth were, “Okay . . . Jake. But if we do this, I’ll do the talking.”

He opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, closed it, and said, “The turkey club sounds like a winner.”

Forty minutes later September and Jake left the restaurant and got into their respective vehicles as September insisted on taking her own car to Sunset Elementary. He told her he’d wait for her, and she drove back to the station with Gretchen’s sandwich, a little boggled by the whole thing.

Handing Gretchen the brown bag from Xavier’s, she tried to head back out, but Gretchen asked, “No Dom?”

“No Dom. Maybe he only works nights.” She edged toward the hallway.

“Where’re you going?” Gretchen demanded.

“My grade school. Sunset Elementary.”

“Good luck with those permanent records.”

“I’d like to see some photographs. Maybe a class picture. I can’t find my own.”

“Whose idea was this?” she asked.

“Jake’s,” she admitted after a long moment. “He and I are going together. He’s meeting me there.” Gretchen looked startled and September added quickly, “Jake called ahead to the school and they’re expecting him.”

“He’s all over this case. Jesus, Nine. What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m playing this out. He knows I’m bringing you this sandwich, which he bought by the way. He’s not going to kill me in broad daylight when my partner knows I’m meeting him.”

“Do you know what you’re doing? Are you clear on your motivations?” she demanded.

“I’m clear.”

She shot September a sideways look and dragged the sandwich from the bag. “Tell him thanks. And text me the minute you leave the school. I don’t like this.”

“I gotta go.”

“Text me.”

September drove to Sunset Elementary, wondering if Gretchen was right. Maybe she was blinded by what she’d thought of him in high school. He
was
all over this case.

She pulled into the lot and had to squeeze the Pilot in a small spot; a lot of parents’ cars were still around as people got used to the new school year’s routine. It was probably a bad time to descend on Sunset Elementary as the school year had just started, but then she hadn’t been the one who’d set this up.

She saw Jake climb out of his Tahoe and they walked toward the front door of Sunset Elementary School side by side. September automatically stepped back as her partner, Sandler, generally walked in first, but Jake swept out an arm to indicate she should precede him. Inside the school was fairly quiet, in that afternoon lull before bells started ringing and kids started hitting the playground. September thought she’d get that hit of déjà vu, heading back to her old school, but the inside of the building had been completely overhauled in the intervening years and was painted with bright colors instead of the beige she remembered. The administration offices had been moved to a new wing and hallway, and only a look through the hallway windows to the playground equipment reminded her of climbing up the metal and wood structure and sliding down the tall slide.

“Mrs. McBride used to say we were children, not kids,” Jake remarked as they reached the administration offices. “Kids were baby goats.”

“She was a stickler,” September said.

“I always thought being a kid sounded better than being a child. More grown up. Someone calls you a child, it’s an insult. They call you a kid, it’s like an homage.”

“If we go to Grandview Senior Care to talk to her, I’ll let you tell her that,” September said.

“I could get my knuckles rapped, but it might be worth it.”

She felt herself smile and he shot her a look and smiled back. There was no way he was the killer. No way. He was just too damned personable and she knew him.

Mrs. Peterkin was the only person available when they walked in. September had left her gun in her vehicle, but she pulled out her badge for the woman to examine as she introduced herself as an officer and a former student. Peterkin’s eyes were wide and she looked askance at Jake, who reminded her warmly that he’d called earlier asking about Osborne, McBride, and Walsh. She practically melted beneath the power of his smile and September watched their introduction with a mixture of amusement and impatience.

“Well, like I said, Mr. Westerly, Mrs. McBride is at Grandview Senior Care and Mrs. Walsh has passed on. I must admit, I took a peek at the file for Ms. Osborne after we spoke, and it doesn’t say where she went, but there was a phone number. Looks like her home number. I could call her and ask if it’s all right to give you information on her?”

September thought about pointing out, once again, that this was a police investigation, but when Jake said, “That’d be great,” and Mrs. Peterkin smiled and gazed up at him, she figured it wasn’t necessary.

“Is there something else I could help you with?” she asked, looking from Jake to September, then back to Jake.

Jake’s brows lifted and he glanced at September. “ Well . . . yes . . .”