He says, “I don’t know why you think I was involved. It meant nothing to me. I wasn’t even a member.” He turns away and puts his brush in a jar of mineral spirits, then goes to the window and adjusts the shades to increase the brightness. “I can’t help you with your investigation if all you’re doing is throwing baseless accusations around, hoping something will stick. I thought you were more professional than that. I thought you were some big-city hotshot, but now I see you’re just a failed has-been, trying to bolster your ego by pinning the blame on someone — anyone — who you don’t think will fight back. Well, let me tell you, Detective, I don’t take this kind of thing lightly.”
His words strike home, and for a moment I’m at a loss for words. I say nothing as he picks up his phone from where it lays on a wooden stool. He punches a number and lifts the phone to his ear, looking at me all the while.
“Hello, police? There’s a woman here in my place of business, and she’s harassing me.” He pauses, listening to the voice on the other end.
“She’s accusing me of things. Slanderous things. I think she might be crazy.”
A high-pitched tone begins to sound. Maybe it’s inside my head. I don’t move.
“Her name is Audrey Lake.” He puts down the phone. Looks at me with cold, unfriendly eyes. “I suggest you leave. The cops are sending someone.”
My gut tenses. My face burns. My palms feel cold and I clench them reflexively. I want nothing more than to puncture his bubble of arrogance and self-satisfaction.
When he moves, it’s too quickly for me to respond. I thought he’d shot his wad, that he’d wait, smiling, for the cops to arrive. But he lunges and bunches the fabric of my jacket in his fists. I feel the heat of his breath, and see the individual stipples of stubble on his jaw. His voice rasps with purpose and barely throttled anger.
“If you ever come around making accusations like this again, I will do more than call the cops. I. Will. Kill you.” He gives me a single shake, and pushes me away.
And Zoe, the woman who can’t stand to be pushed around by anyone, bursts through her barriers. She straightens my rumpled jacket, and pulls my pistol from the holster. Aims for the center of his body mass, and her grip is rock steady.
“Go ahead, asshole. Try it now.” Her anger seethes under my skin like the lava under Yellowstone.
The sound of an approaching siren wails in through the open window. I back toward the door. “You better watch yourself, Mr. North. Or you’ll be assisting inquiries from inside a prison cell.” With that empty threat uttered, I slam the door behind me hard enough to rattle the glass.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I HOLSTER MY weapon and walk down the outside stairs just as a black SUV with the word POLICE emblazoned on the side draws up in the parking lot. The model smirks as she blows out a stream of smoke through ruby lips.
“Leaving so soon?”
“You should leave too — he’s not a safe man to know.” I feel like I’ve got a gallon of adrenaline coursing in my veins, like I might have a heart attack any second.
She smiles like a ferret. “Who wants to be safe?” Then she crushes her cigarette butt under her heel, smiles at the cop car, and walks with a sway and a purpose back up the stairs.
Get the hell out of Dodge, Lake.
I’ve done nothing wrong, Zoe.
Tell it to the marines.
The door to the SUV opens, and Jane Candide steps out.
“Do detectives usually answer random citizen calls?” I ask.
“I came to make sure you leave the premises.”
See? Told you.
“Oh, shut up.” Too late I realize I’ve verbalized my comeback to Zoe.
Candide glowers, putting her hands on her hips. “What did you say?”
Great. “Not you, Detective. I was talking to myself.”
That’ll go over well.
“Ms. Lake, I really am in no mood for your antics. I don’t care if you’ve been hired by someone. You are harassing citizens and hampering our investigation at every turn.” She sounds exhausted, and it’s no wonder. After last night’s fire, she was probably up until the wee hours filling out paperwork.
I take a deep breath. “Listen, I’m following up on a lead. I have to ask questions that sometimes make people uncomfortable. You know that.”
“What does this artist have to do with anything?”
I can’t tell her about the vision. She’ll think I’m loony. “He has connections with Victoria Harkness. He knew her when they were younger. He painted a suggestive picture which he donated to the church.”
“And you didn’t see fit to show me this picture when we were there?”
“It isn’t there anymore.”
“Where’s the picture now?”
“I think Daniel Chandler sold it.”
She nods, pursing her lips.
“It showed her with wings in a beam of light, floating over the water.”
“Sounds like an alien abduction to me.”
“Given that she ended up in the river, I think there’s a connection. It showed a specific place, piling fields with the bridge in the background. That painting was hanging in the fellowship hall where everyone could see it.”
“You’re grasping at straws.”
“Jane, listen —”
“No, you listen, Audrey. Steve wants you out of the picture. He’s tired of running into you, and this call from a citizen complaining about you is just the icing on the cake. I’ve seen your file. I know you had a meltdown back in Colorado.”
Speaking through gritted teeth. “I’m not having a meltdown.”
“Audrey, look. I know what it’s like to have to start all over again. I know what it’s like to make mistakes, okay? I pretty much wrecked my career in Portland. I was just lucky that Steve and the APD were willing to give me a second chance. I’m telling you, acting like a rogue agent is not the way to rebuild your credibility.”
“That’s not what I’m trying
