boy. And her biceps are pressed in to make the line of the chest smooth on the outside, but the fabric’s filled out and wrinkles here like there’s flesh there. A boy skinny enough for that shoulder breadth almost certainly wouldn’t have anything like enough muscle mass to fill out the shirt that way, even if there wasn’t enough shadow below to indicate breasts. It’s an androgynous kid, but it’s a girl. When was this painted?”
I gaped at her and the painting, back and forth. Now that she’d pointed out the error of my ways, I could see the feminine traits, but left to my own devices, I’d have been looking for a boy until doomsday. “Uh.” I lifted my eyebrows, trying to remember. “I think it had a copyright date of last year.”
“All right. Assuming this is based on a real person, which, frankly, is a hell of an assumption, Joanne—”
“I know,” I interrupted. “But it’s all I’ve got to go on.”
Jen nodded. “Taking that assumption as writ, you’re looking for a girl somewhere between twelve and fifteen, maybe slightly older, probably not much younger. Now, also assuming she has a real life from which she is missing, when would she have gone missing?”
I shook my head. “I’m guessing any time from around the solstice up till…today. I don’t know.”
Jen studied me. “You’re not making this easy, Joanne. Can you tell me why you’re not sure this girl is even real?”
I wrinkled up my face, then dropped my chin to my chest. It took more than a minute to nerve myself up to talking again. “The other visible riders in the painting are real. Based on real people, I mean. But they’re not…” The only person I’d said this to so far, at least in a straight-forward fashion, was Billy. I’d snapped at Morrison, but I never expected
Jen was silent. I stuck my jaw out, setting my teeth together, then forced myself to look up at her. She had an expression of sympathy that was worse than outright mockery. “Look, I’m really
She held up a hand, then took the paper back. “I’ll put out a bulletin to see if anyone matching the description has gone missing in the past two weeks. Are the eye and hair color accurate?”
I took a breath. “The coloring for other people in the painting is dead on, so I think hers is, too. So yeah.”
“Okay.” Jen glanced at the clock. “It’ll probably be ten or so before I get anything back, maybe even later. Want to meet me for coffee around then?”
I managed a weak smile. “Thus getting me out of here before Morrison sees me? Yeah. Around the corner?”
Jen nodded. “Yeah. Make it ten-thirty. Do you have a cell phone?”
I shook my head. “I’ll call around ten-fifteen to make sure we’re still on.”
“Okay. See you in a couple of hours.” Jen picked up a sketchpad from a desk and went back around the corner. I stood where I was for a minute, pressing my lips together. I wanted to ask why she believed me, but I was afraid she’d say she didn’t. I decided I’d rather not know I was being humored, and edged to the door, cautiously tugging it open. Would skulking around draw attention, or should I brazen it out and try to slip past Morrison that way?
Having worked myself up into a fine dither, I opened the door farther and peeked out.
“You’re causing a draft!” Jen shouted a few seconds later. Guilty, I slipped into the hall and closed the door behind me.
Rather anticlimactically, I made it all the way to the garage entrance—the back way in—without encountering the Dread Morrison, whom I’d worked up as being nearly as bad as Cernunnos, by now. Nearly. Despite not knowing anything about cars, Morrison had never stuffed a sword into my ribs, and that had to count for something.
“Here, hey, can I help you?” A blond guy a couple years older than I was stood up from behind a car, a tire iron held behind his shoulders like Bo’s baseball bat. I froze, then scowled.
“Did they hire you about three months ago?”
“Sure did. If you’re here about the computer loan, I swear the check’s in the mail.”
I looked down at myself. I never thought I looked like a bill collector before. Did bill collectors wear jeans and sweaters on the job? Maybe they did. “Actually,” I said to my feet, and looked up again, “I’m a mechanic.”
There was a phone in the garage I worked at in college that whoever was closest was supposed to answer. Whenever I did, the person on the other end would always ask to speak to a mechanic. Whenever I said I was one, there was always a long deadly silence, no matter if the caller was male or female. The blond guy produced the same kind of long deadly silence. I seriously considered kicking him. “No,” I said, “really. They gave you my job.”
His eyes widened. “You’re Joanie?”
Wasn’t that nice? They talked about me enough for him to know my name. “I’m Joanie,” I agreed. “You’re…?”
“Incompetent, compared to you, I guess. Do me a favor, won’t you, and walk on water. The guys’ve been swearing you can do it.”
Somehow, I didn’t think I had a new friend here. “Only at Easter. Sorry if they’ve been giving you a rough time.”
He gave me an unfriendly look. “It got worse a couple days ago. When you got back.”
“Sorry,” I repeated. “I think they thought I was like their mascot or something. The Girl Mechanic.” He was good-looking, in a tall, blond, broad-shouldered, Thor-like way. If you like that type. Which I did. And we obviously already knew we had cars in common. It was too bad he’d set out to dislike me. “Is anybody else around?”
“They went for coffee.”
“You don’t like coffee?”
“I don’t like crowds.”
He was a real charmer. Kind of like a pit viper. “Right,” I said. “And two’s a crowd. I’ll just get out of your hair.” His long, thick, blond, wavy hair. I needed another cold shower. I glanced at the car he was working on as I went by, and cleared my throat. “That’s Mark Rodriguez’s car. Check the axle alignment. I never saw anybody yank more wheels out of whack than Rodriguez.” What the hell, Thor was determined to dislike me anyway. He and Morrison could have a nice bitchfest about me someday. “Brakes probably need work, too. He’s got a lead foot for braking.”
Thor gave me a look over the top of the car. “He brought it down for brake work,” he admitted. I felt just a little smug. “Hang on,” he said. I looked back over my shoulder. He took a hand off his tire iron and spread his fingers at the car. “Aren’t you gonna show me your stuff?”
“Never on the first date, mister.” Pleased with myself, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and went out whistling.
It was probably inevitable that Morrison was at the street corner. He opened his mouth and I held up a hand. “Go talk to your boy Thor in the garage,” I said. “He doesn’t like me either.” I stepped around him and got far enough down the street that I thought I was actually going to get away with it before he caught up with me.
“I’m addicted to the doughnuts, Morrison,” I interjected into his next indrawn breath. “Can’t help myself, there’s just nowhere else in the city that makes them quite like The Missing O. Swear to God, that’s all I’m here for. A nice apple fritter.” Maybe I could keep this up and just not let him get a word in edgewise. It sounded like a good plan to me.
“I’ll buy you one,” he offered with a tight smile. I crinkled up my face. Not only had my nefarious plan not worked, but apple fritters were filling and I’d already eaten one.
On the other hand, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for Morrison to spend money on me, even if it was only a dollar twenty-nine. “You talked me into it. Be careful, though. People will talk.” Bruce was right. I was in a good mood. If I closed my eyes and concentrated a little, I could feel the city’s people, millions of lives wrapped up in their own quick paces. I could affect them if I chose to.
I could also walk right out into traffic. Morrison’s big hand closed on my shoulder and hauled me back from the curb. My eyes snapped open and I stared up at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” we both barked, and then neither of us would give in to the little surge of laughter the doubly demanded question
