“You’ve reviewed details of the case?”
“Harriet ‘borrowed’ the files from the sheriff’s archive. I’ve got digital copies of everything, although ‘everything’ isn’t as much as you’d expect. Apparently, the sheriff at the time of Piper’s disappearance was one of Daddy Devane’s cronies. The current sheriff’s more conscientious by all accounts, but he’s got limited resources and sees no need to reopen a case colder than the dark side of an iceberg. Piper’s grandmother still lives in town, according to Stéphane, but she’s got a reputation for being a bit out there so nobody listens to her.”
“Out there?” I asked. “In what way?”
“She believes Piper was abducted by aliens. Her buddies at the Saucer Syndicate stage a picket outside the Woodford County Sheriff’s Office every year on the anniversary of her disappearance, although in recent years, it’s turned into more of a general conspiracy theory-based rant.”
“I see how that could be controversial. What about her parents?”
“Never in the picture, so Harriet says. When Kyla and Piper started hanging out in ninth grade, Piper was the ugly duckling, but smart, and Kyla just wanted someone to do her homework. Piper managed to stay in the clique as she blossomed into a swan, but there was evidently tension between the two of them, which culminated in the homecoming queen face-off.”
“Wannabe royalty, tinfoil hats, and a body lying in a shallow grave. Maybe,” Dan murmured. “All the makings of a good novel.”
“Except this is real life,” I pointed out. “But you know how you love a good cold case…”
“I also love sleep.”
“You can sleep after the election. I’ll make you hot chocolate and sing you a lullaby.”
“Sing? You? I just said I liked sleep.”
“How about I promise to keep my mouth shut instead?”
Dan sighed and drained the last dregs of her coffee. “Fine, send me the file.”
Bradley had left me an outfit on the jet—a cocktail dress in deep purple, plain enough that I didn’t look like a tart but short enough for me to play the part of a trophy wife. Yes, some outsiders knew I was involved with Blackwood, but I never liked to disclose quite how hands-on my job was. Far better to play dumb and let people underestimate me.
Black was wearing his old dress uniform, which, let’s face it, was the only reason I usually went to these things with him. Not only did I get to stare at him in it all evening, but since our marriage had turned from a convenient sham into at-it-like-rabbits, I also got to peel him out of it at the end of the night. Bradley had booked us a hotel room nearby, thank goodness. Otherwise the cab driver might have got an eyeful.
“What’s the plan, boss?” I asked. “Do you want me in full vapid-blonde mode tonight?”
“I think so, yes.” Black cracked a rare smile. “You certainly look the part.”
I threw a tube of mascara at him, but the asshole caught it.
“Ah, you want me to go as a drag queen?”
“Shut up, Chuck.”
The O Club could have been any mid-budget hotel the world over—slightly tired decor, harried waitstaff rushing around, and an unimaginative menu created with a nod to profit margins rather than gourmet dining. The white tablecloth had a tiny hole in front of my place card, and my wine glass had a chipped rim.
But we were seated just one table away from Eric Ridley.
He was angled side-on to me, his uniform now a little tight across the stomach, and since he kept turning away to talk to the brunette on his right—he hadn’t brought a date of his own, she was somebody else’s—that gave me plenty of time to check him out unobserved. He’d changed his hairstyle since I saw him last. Tonight, the top was slicked back, the sides shaved. But paying a visit to the barber didn’t make up for his tendency to slouch. Every so often, he’d catch himself and straighten. Puff his chest out. He also liked the sound of his own voice. The others at his table struggled to get a word in edgeways, and I caught a couple of eye-rolls during a particularly long anecdote. Which fitted with Black’s assessment that Ridley lacked self-awareness and thought the lieutenant’s stripes he wore on his shoulders elevated him to demigod status.
I’d had a fair bit of practice at this shite, so I still managed to make small talk and eat as well as conducting surveillance. Also at our table of ten was another Blackwood guy, a former enlisted man who Black had recruited into our Boston office a few years after he and Nate started the company. Black did that a lot—snaffled up the good guys he met along the way—which meant our team was built on a solid foundation.
I went easy on the wine, watching, waiting for my chance. It finally came between dessert and the start of the charity auction when Ridley pushed his chair back and strode off in the direction of the bathrooms. The relief from his dining companions was palpable.
“Be right back,” I whispered to Black, picking up the oversized handbag Bradley had sent for the occasion. Black caught my hand and kissed my knuckles, and the lady opposite swooned a bit. I couldn’t blame her.
A moment later, I slid into Ridley’s vacant seat and smiled at the brunette.
“Hi, I was just wondering where you got your necklace? It’s really eye-catching.” In a gaudy, plasticky sort of way. I lowered my voice a touch. “Plus I wanted to escape yet another conversation about ships’ innards.”
“You like it?” She sounded faintly surprised. “It was a gift from my husband.” Ah, so she was wearing it under duress. “Honey, where did you buy my necklace?”
A faint look of panic crossed the man’s face, which was made all the more amusing by the captain’s stripes he wore.
“Uh, from the internet.”
“Which site?” she asked. “This lady wants to buy
