City of the Lost (27 page)

“I’ll talk to her.”

“She has Mick keeping an eye on me, and he makes me nervous. You know he used to be a cop here, right? And the sheriff fired him?”

I didn’t know the last part, but I nod anyway. “I’ll handle—”

“And I think they’ve told others. I’ve been offered … credits.”

I look sharply toward the guy who’d been hassling her, now trying another woman at the bar.

“No, not him. At least, he hadn’t gotten to it yet. I know you’re still mad at me, Casey…”

“I’m not mad. Just very busy.”

“Will you help me with this? Please?”

I tell her I will.

“
Spelunking,” Dalton says, leaning over my desk.

“It’s an awesome word,” I say.

“It is. And we’re doing it tomorrow.”

“We are?”

He heads for the back door. I’ve learned this isn’t his way of avoiding a conversation—it’s him moving it to another location.

He takes his seat. I take mine, perched on the railing as we watch a raven hop along the forest’s edge.

“You gotta stop feeding her,” he says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He snorts. After a minute, the raven hops up the steps and onto the railing beside me. She waits. I count off thirty seconds. Then I take a bread crust from my pocket. She waits until I hold it out, gingerly snags it from my hand, and flies off.

Dalton sighs. Deeply.

“It’s your fault,” I say. “You gave me the book that says ravens are smart. I’m testing that.”

Another sigh.

“I am. She’s learned to recognize me and know that she will get exactly one crust per day. It’s a treat. Not a meal.” I glance over at him, going serious. “If you really want me to stop, I will.”

“Nah. Have your fun. But if I catch you giving her a name…”

“I won’t. She’s a wild animal. Not a pet.”

He nods, satisfied that his student has learned her lessons well.

“What was this about us going caving?” I ask.

“A few of us are heading out tomorrow. You’ve been working the case non-stop. A break will freshen your brain.”

I say yes quickly. Another lesson assimilated. If I want something, admit it. None of this pissing around pretending I don’t really care one way or the other. He wants me to care—one way or the other.

It’s spelunking day. We’re closing up the station at noon. Kenny and a couple of the militia guys will be in charge. I joke that we should make Val man the station, and we spend the morning trading quips about that. Or Anders and I do. Dalton just rolls his eyes and mutters.

I’ve given up on Val. She reminds me of a principal I had in elementary school. We swore she was a vampire who could only arrive before dawn and leave after dark, which explained why no one caught more than fleeting glimpses of her. We’re sure Val is reporting on us via her satellite phone, but she comes out so rarely that we never have to worry about watching over our shoulder.

Val’s only defender is Beth. “She’s a deeply unhappy woman,” she’ll say.

“Then she should get off her ass, do some work, and be
less
unhappy,” Dalton replies.

“That’s not the solution for everyone, Eric. I think there’s a story there.”

“And I think you just want there to be one, to give her an excuse.”

Anyway, that’s Val. Dalton did tell her we were going caving. She didn’t care.

The idea of taking off for the afternoon seems very carefree and spontaneous. Like skipping school on the first gorgeous day of spring. Except I never actually did that, and I suspect if Dalton had lived down south, he wouldn’t have, either. So while we have every intention of cutting out at noon, the reality is a little different.

At ten, we get a call—which in Rockton means someone comes running through the station’s front door. There was a break-in at the greenhouse last night. All three of us go to investigate. It seems like a simple case of someone deciding, presumably drunk or high, that he really needed a tomato. Or an entire vine of tomatoes. One is stripped clean, with a tomato crushed underfoot as the thief made his escape.

Yes, it’s almost laughable. The Case of the Trampled Tomatoes. In Rockton, though, resource theft is a serious offence. It has to be.

We could abandon the investigation at noon. But it would send the wrong message to would-be thieves. Dalton sends Anders off to guide the others and says we’ll catch up.

At twelve-thirty, we find the thief. It takes actual detective work—interviewing two witnesses, examining footprints left at the scene, and then banging on the door of the suspect, who is sound asleep, with squashed tomato on her shoe and three ripe ones on her counter.

Jen protests her innocence. She accuses me of having a vendetta against her. She attempts to hit me. I put her down. Dalton is amused. He even smiles. Then he lets me escort her, arm wrenched behind her back, to the cell, where she’ll spend the afternoon, namely because we really do want to get off on our trip and this is the easiest way to contain the howling woman.

I’m finishing a brief report on the incident when Diana swings into the station with a wide grin. For a second, I forget anything’s happened between us.

“Hey,” she says. “I heard you had some excitement this morning, and I’m betting you haven’t eaten lunch.”

“I—”

“So I’m taking you out. No tomatoes. I promise.”

“Today’s—”

“Your lucky day, my friend. Having solved the great tomato caper, even your asshole of a boss can’t deny you an afternoon off.” The door opens as my
asshole boss
steps in and stands behind Diana. I try to cut her short, but she’s going full steam. “I have also wrangled an afternoon off, which means we are doing lunch and then going rafting. It’s gotten too cold for pond dips, but it’s still fine for raft lounging.”

“She has plans,” Dalton says.

Diana turns. “Work, you mean. I think Casey—”

“—has earned the afternoon off. Which she is getting. We’re going caving today. You know that because I heard Petra telling you.”

“I thought that was cancelled due to tomato theft.”

“Nope. Casey? Got your things?”

“Casey?” Diana says. “When did you pull the stick out of your ass and start calling her by name?”

“
Diana
,” I say, sharply enough that I expect her to react. Maybe even apologize. She doesn’t, and when Dalton motions for me to get ready, she says, “Yes, Casey. Hop to it. God forbid you keep the man waiting.”

She’s been drinking. That must be it. But I don’t smell alcohol and she’s standing upright, no wobbles.

I open my mouth to ask her to leave, but she grabs my arm. “Come rafting with me, Case. You know you want to.”

“No,” Dalton says. “
You
want her to. Casey has been busy and you don’t like that. She’s also been hanging out with Petra, and you don’t like that, either. So you’re…” He trails off, frowns at her, and says, “Look up.”

“What?”

He motions for her to tilt her head up. He’s not reaching out to touch her, but she bats his hand away as if he is. That’s when I notice her pupils are constricted, despite the dim light.

“What’d you take?” Dalton asks.

“Take?”

“Any medications?”

“Aspirin for a headache. Is that a crime, sheriff? Want to lock me up with Jen? Maybe you want to watch the cat fight, too.”

His look is complete incomprehension. She mutters something, but I know where the bizarre accusation came from. The same place as those pupils. Rydex’s opiate base constricts pupils.

“Then you won’t mind coming to Doc Lowry’s,” Dalton says. “Have her check you for that headache. Make sure it’s only painkillers you took.”

“Are you accusing me of taking dex, asshole?”

“Diana,” I say. “Don’t.”

She turns to me. “What? He can call me a druggie but I catch shit for calling him an ass?”

“Go home, Diana,” Dalton says. “Or go rafting. I’m not going to call you on it this time, because if I do, Casey won’t get to go caving. But the next time, you’re taking the test.”

“Asshole.”

“Try a new insult. You’re wearing that one thin.”

She stomps out. I stare after her.

“She’s fine,” he says. “Pretty sure she took dex, but probably only to work up the nerve to talk to you.”

I turn to him.

He shrugs. “I know you’ve been getting some distance from her since the bar thing. And I’d say it’s about fucking time. Point is that she took dex to get up the nerve to waltz in here, like nothing’s happened, and all it did is unleash her ugly side again.”

I say, “I think she’s having other problems.” I tell him what Diana said about the misunderstanding with Isabel.

“You talk to Isabel?” he asks.

“I spoke to Mick yesterday, who doesn’t seem convinced it was a misunderstanding. He says that’s not the only incidence of … an exchange of goods, so to speak.”

“Credits?”

“No, no.”

“So guys give her stuff after sex. But that’s customary, right? Down south?”

I look up sharply and sputter a laugh. “Uh, no.”

“Then what’s that?” He points to my necklace.

I stiffen and my tone cools. “It’s called a gift—”

“—from a guy you were sleeping with. Obviously
not
payment for sex. That’s my point. It’s a cultural norm. Historically, guys pay for attention from a woman—dinner, a show, flowers, jewellery … The problem is that up here, as you’ve pointed out, guys
do
pay for sex. So they could be giving Diana stuff in payment, and she’s accepting them as gifts.”

“Are you actually defending her?”

“I’m saying it might be an honest misunderstanding. However, I also think she’s exaggerating the issue to get your attention. Same as coming in here high on dex. Maybe it wasn’t just working up courage, like I thought. More attention seeking. She’s high, I call her on it, she demands a drug test … and you spend the day taking care of her as you always do, instead of going caving with Petra.”

“That seems … extreme.”

“For a normal person, yeah. Diana?” He shakes his head. Then he walks over to my jacket. “Enough of this. Her stunt failed to screw up your day. She’s not going to screw it up by making us
fight
over her stunt. We’re going caving.”

The others have the ATVs. To be honest, as much as I love the thrill of those, the horses are winning me over. It’s a quieter ride, one that makes me feel part of the forest rather than an intrusion on it. We can relay instructions more easily. I can gape about more easily. And I can pester Dalton more easily.

I’m also becoming rather attached to my horse. Yes, mine, because it’s rare for anyone besides us and the militia to ride them, and the militia usually leave Cricket behind. I’m not quite the little girl who finally got a pony, but there is a little of that. Now to completely compensate for my frustrated-animal-lover childhood …

“I want a dog,” I call up to Dalton.

He shakes his head without turning.

“Hey, you’re all about me wanting things. Maybe I’ll just grab one of the ferals and tame it. Is that okay?”

He doesn’t even dignify that with an answer.

“How about the dog we spotted on patrol a couple days ago? The one you and Brent have been trying to put down? Beth told me it took a chunk out of your leg last spring. Careless, sheriff. Very careless.”

I get a flashed finger for that.

“But I do admire its attitude,” I say. “I think that’s the one I want. I can muzzle it, if that makes you feel safer.”

“Speaking of muzzles, you do know we’re listening for trouble, right?”

“
You’re
listening for trouble.
I’m
pestering you with stupid requests. Because I know how much you love that. I’d also like a hot tub.”

He snorts a laugh. One of the locals had started a petition for a hot tub. Dalton’s reaction was a wondrously imaginative line containing six expletives and a single noun. I’d offered to write it up as an official response and pin it over the petition in the town square. Anders dared me to do it. I still might.

We continue in silence, and I’m considering asking about a bird I saw yesterday, when I catch a glimpse of something in the forest. There’s a second when I think it’s the dog, because that’s the kind of place this is, where I’d tease Dalton about a feral dog … and it would promptly appear to bite his other leg.

I peer into the forest, and see a man. He has pale skin, light hair worn shoulder length, and an old-style army jacket. That jacket is distinctive, and I’m certain I haven’t seen it before.

“Eric?” I whisper. Yes, it’s Eric now. As Diana pointed out, we’ve moved beyond surnames and titles. I ride up alongside him. “I saw someone. I think … I think we’re being followed.”

I describe our tracker. When I do, he relaxes and his lips twitch in a smile of relief.

“You know him?” I whisper.

“Yeah.” He looks at me. “I’m going to ask you to stay right here. I won’t go far, and I’ll stay where I can see you, but I need to speak to him, and he’s not good with strangers.”

My gaze must flick toward his gun, because he says, “Nah, nothing like that. He’s uncomfortable with outsiders, but absolutely no danger.”

He dismounts and passes me Blaze’s reins. He gives the gelding the apple from his pocket and then strides into the forest. I slide off Cricket and pass her my apple as I make a concerted effort not to watch him go. I’m curious, of course, but I want to be respectful.

“Jacob?” Dalton calls.

I nod, understanding now.

Dalton calls Jacob’s name a few more times. He adds, “I’m alone. I’d like to talk to you.” Finally, “Have it your way. Pain in the ass.” He says the last with a mix of exasperation and affection. This isn’t just someone he vaguely knows. There’s a relationship here, and when he comes out, I say, carefully, “Jacob. That’s the guy Brent was talking about.”

“Yeah.”

He climbs on Blaze, and I think the conversation is over, but as we start riding again, he says, “He’s a good scout. Grew up out here. Few years younger than me. I’ve known him … well, I’ve known him a long time.”

“And you’re worried about him.”

“Nah.” He pauses. “I’d just like to tell him about Hastings and Powys. Pass on the news. Ask if he’s seen anything. We missed our last meet-up, and I was a little worried. But you saw him, so he’s fine. Just being a pain in the ass. He heard us talking, and he was curious enough to see who the new voice is, but he’s sure as hell not coming out to say hello.” He rides a little farther and then says, “And I’m going to need to ask you to respect that, Casey. If you do catch a glimpse of him, please don’t try to introduce yourself. He’s not Brent.”