I looked in through the door. Miranda was sitting on the sofa watching television, paying us no attention. “She’s harmless,” I said.
He glanced at me, skeptical. “Wiccans aren’t to be messed with, dude. Spells, curses, shit like that.”
“Come on,” I said, opening the slider. “I’ve got some garlic in the fridge.”
“Garlic is vampires, man,” he whispered. “Witches are a whole different thing.”
“How would you know?” I asked.
He moved in right behind me as if we were two kids walking into a haunted house. “I watch the Discovery Channel. Trust me.”
Miranda looked up as we stepped into the living room. “Well, well. Nice of you to finally show up.” She looked past me to Carter. “And you brought a pet.”
Carter walked slowly around the dining room table and into the corner of the room, so that he was as far away from her as possible.
“Miranda, this is Carter,” I said. “Carter, Miranda.”
Carter stared at her like she was a giant spider. Miranda smiled back like she was about to sink her fangs into him.
“Gorilla-boy startled me this morning,” she said. “Thanks for the tip on the towels and the food. I slept in your bed. When I came out this morning, he was lurking.”
“I was not lurking,” he said.
“You’re lurking right now,” she said, raising a blackened eyebrow. “I’m fairly certain you’ve been lurking your whole life. It seems to be in your nature.”
Carter started to say something, then stopped and shot me a look wanting my help. It was rare that anyone could get him off balance, and I was enjoying it.
“She doesn’t bite,” I said to him.
“You don’t know that,” Miranda said, her licorice-colored lips curling into a you-have-no-idea-what-I’m- capable-of sneer. Carter took a step back and bumped into the wall. “Anyway,” I said, “I need to go back to San Francisco.” The sneer faded from her face. “Why?” “I’m gonna go talk to Simington again.” “What about Darcy?” she asked.
“The police here are on it. There’s not much I can do. And I might actually be able to get some information from Simington that could help them.”
She tucked her knees beneath her and leaned against the back of the sofa. “What kind of info?”
“I’m not sure yet. But remember when I asked you about a guy named Landon Keene? I know who he is now.” I turned to Carter, who was still wedged into the corner. “Remember that guy in the casino?”
He reluctantly pulled his eyes off Miranda and moved them to me. “That asshole in the shitty shirt?” “Yep. Him.”
“Who is he?” Miranda asked.
I gave them a brief version of what Liz and I had learned in El Centro.
“So Simington worked for Keene?” Miranda asked.
“It sounds like they worked together in some capacity,” I said. “I’m just not sure how. That’s what I want to know.”
Miranda slid off the sofa and stood. She was wearing a black T-shirt, cut above her waist, that had “GOOD GIRL” written in white letters across the chest. Stainless steel gleamed in several painful looking piercings around her exposed navel.
“No offense,” she said. “But I don’t see how that’s gonna help figure out what happened to Darcy.”
“It may not,” I said. “I’m going to go talk to him, though. Can you set up the visit like you did last time?”
Annoyance rippled across her face. “Finding out who killed Darcy is more important to me than setting up a reunion with your daddy. I know you’ve got issues, but I came down here to figure out what happened to Darcy, not to be your secretary.”
“I’m not asking you to be my secretary,” I said, resisting the urge to yank on one of those metal bars in her stomach. “If you don’t want to make the call, fine. Tell me what I need to do.”
“Do you really think the cops are working hard on Darcy’s murder?” she asked. “Please. They’ve probably got fifteen other cases just like hers.” She folded her arms across her chest. “No. We do something about Darcy first before you go back to San Francisco.”
I felt my teeth grind together and the muscles in my jaw twitch as I tried to keep from picking her up, carrying her down to the ocean, and drowning her little gothic ass. I looked at Carter.
He held his hands up like he wanted no part of her.
Which, unfortunately for him, gave me an idea.
“How about this, then,” I said to Miranda. “You set up the visit with Simington, I go to San Francisco, and you and Carter stay here and do some interviewing.”
“What?” Carter said, his voice shooting up about three octaves. Miranda and I both looked at him. He cleared his throat and tried for his normal voice. “What?”
“Start checking with the neighbors and see if you can’t find out more about the guy who was seen here the night of Darcy’s murder,” I said. “You know the people who live around here. They’ll talk to you. They won’t talk to Miranda if she’s alone.”
