Leaving the high school, Gage got in his van and headed to the police station. Something told him the bomb threat was connected to Harriet Abel's murder, and he wanted more information. The sun, a dull orange, lay low on the horizon over a flat and oddly green ocean, like a pool ball hovering over a felt table. The air felt cool and dry, much drier than it usually was on the Oregon Coast. When he arrived at the station, Gage was told that Chief Quinn was at the hospital with his wife. Nobody else was willing to talk to him. Trenton popped out of the back office just to give Gage the bird. So much for that.
Remembering the fast food packaging in the basement room back at Harriet Abel's place, Gage swung by the McDonald's by the casino, hoping he might stumble upon her there. No such luck. He tried the Burger King, the Carl's Junior, and a half dozen other places along Highway 101, but Brianna wasn't at any of them. Giving up on Brianna for the time being, he set his sights on Winnie Rallins, making a pass through the casino and also a half dozen bars in town. No luck with her either. He was coming up empty on all accounts. What kind of private investigator was he, anyway?
Maybe he should call the number and tell them he was bowing out of the investigation. Was it really worth risking the lives of everyone he loved? No, it wasn't. It would never be, no matter who or what he was trying to help. There was always someone else to save. There was always another damsel in distress, the maiden in the tower who needed rescuing, or another denizen of the downtrodden and oppressed who would remain that way unless he stepped up to help them. There was no shortage of injustice in the world. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't it be someone else?
It just did.
Gage did not believe he was better than other people. He was a man of many flaws. Yet he knew it was no use trying to convince himself of something he could never do. He could never stand aside. It wasn't because he was a better person. It's just who he was.
He could, however, do his best to protect people, and then give them the choice whether they wanted to risk being around him.
He stopped at Books and Oddities, but for once the store was closed by its stated hour, so he headed to the Turret House. It was dark by this time, but the unusually clear sky still retained vestiges of light, a purple sheen with pinpricks of stars that shone through like the heads of needles. The moon bathed the tops of the sand dunes behind the Turret House with silvery light. The lack of wind made the ocean particularly loud. Eve answered the door, gave him a hug, and led him into the kitchen, where she and Alex were cutting green and red peppers for a stir fry. By the window, Cat Stevens played from the Alexa device, a gift Alex had bought Eve for her birthday. She asked Gage if he wanted to join them for dinner, speaking louder to be heard over the music.
"No," Gage said, leaning against the white tile counter, "I can only stay a little while. I just wanted to touch bases with you both. A lot has happened."
"What's that?" Alex said.
"Let's turn off the music," Eve said. She stepped over to the Alexa device, leaning down to black cylinder and raising her voice. "Off!"
"No, dear," Alex said, "you either have to hit a button or say its name."
Eve hit a button. The music got louder. Alex shouted "Alexa! Alexa!" at the device, to no avail. The music reached jet engine levels. Eve covered her ears with her hands. Alex jumped over to the Alexa and hit a button himself, but nothing happened. In that moment, even with the music blaring so loudly that it made him wince, Gage felt a swelling of affection for these two people. How could he let anything ever happen to them?
Finally, Alex gave up and unplugged the device, and the three of them sat there drinking in the blessed silence like people who'd just stumbled upon a pond after trekking through a desert. When their ears had finally recovered, Eve asked if he'd found out who'd killed Harriet. Her voice was so hopeful he hated to disappoint her.
"Not yet," he said, "but it's not for lack of trying. I do have more questions than ever, so that's got to amount to something eventually."
"Tell us," Alex said.
He did. He told them about everything from his second encounter with Ridley to his meeting with Frank Gefferick. He told them about Ridley's threat and about discovering that Brianna was living with Harriet Abel. He told them about his theory about someone buying up properties to eventually build a hotel and conference center next to the casino.
"That makes sense," Alex said, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his plaid shirt. He'd moved on to cutting onions. "I was going to tell you I talked to a couple more people in the FBI. I couldn't get them to do much for me, but I did learn that all the rental companies that own property on Harriet Abel's street have home offices in the Cayman Islands."
"Which makes it a good bet they're all owned by the same people," Gage said.
"Probably. I couldn't call in enough favors to get them to dig any further. That would take a lot more resources than anyone was willing to commit for an old has-been."
"You're not a has-been," Eve said.
"I'm totally a has-been," Alex said. "A very happy one, in fact." He pointed at Gage with an onion slice. "And don't you even think of telling us to go into hiding because of this stupid threat Ridley made. That's not going to happen."
"You've at least got to be careful," Gage said. "Stay armed, watch your back."
"What are you going to tell them tomorrow morning?" Eve asked.
"I don't know yet. I need to buy some time."
"It's certainly odd," Alex said. "This weird game, giving you until tomorrow morning. Why not tell you to quit now? It's almost like he's . . . I don't know, daring you to keep at it."
"Or," Gage said, "he doesn't have as much freedom to act as he'd like me to believe."
"He sure doesn't know you at all," Eve said.
"Why's that?" Gage asked.
"Well, if he thinks he can bully you into stopping, he doesn't know the first thing about you." She smiled at him.
"You're a sweetheart," Gage said. "Will you marry me?"
"Certainly. But what do we do about my current husband?"
"He's had you long enough. I don't think he'll mind."
"Hey!" Alex protested. "I mind, I mind!"
With the tears in Alex's eyes, even fake ones induced by chopping onions, he made for such a comical figure that they all had to laugh. It was good to laugh. It was good that they could laugh, with everything going on and everything they had to risk. It meant they were still in control.
Control. His mind snagged on that word like a fishing lure caught on a branch just below the surface of a river.
"What is it?" Alex said.
"Eve is right," Gage said. "It's almost like the Gray Man is baiting me, like he actually wants me to keep going."
"The Gray Man?" Eve said.
"Sorry. I meant Ridley. That's how I've been thinking of him sometimes, since Ridley isn't his real name."
Alex scraped the diced onions into the cast-iron skillet, then washed his hands in the sink. "I don't know. Deadlines, ultimatums—it's a very organized crime thing to do, isn't it? You've dealt with people like him before."
"That's true," Gage said, "but think about it. Maybe it wasn't an accident that he was at Barnhart's office when I arrived. He didn't have to be. Whether Barnhart took off on his own, or he was killed, Ridley didn't have to be there. By being there, he nudged me in a big way toward the idea that someone was buying up all the property near the casino. If it wasn't intentional, it seems very sloppy, and I don't get the sense this guy is sloppy. I get the sense he's very much in control at all times."
"So what does he want, then?" Eve asked.
"Good question," Gage said. "If we went with the most obvious answer, I'd say he wants me to find out who killed Harriet Abel."
"But why?" Alex said.
"That I don't know. Maybe Harriet's murder wasn't part of the plan. It did seem spontaneous."
"If he didn't do it," Eve said, "then who did?"
"I wish I knew," Gage said. "This is all speculation, though. For now, even if I'm being played, I have to treat his threat like it's real and see if I can figure this out by tomorrow morning. Alex, do you have your—"
"It's in our bedroom," Alex said.
"Good. Might want to keep it even closer for a while. Loaded and ready to go."
Eve sighed. "I hate guns."
"I'm sorry," Gage said. "I hate that I'm putting you in this situation."
"No, no, you have nothing to apologize for. What are you going to do?"
"Right now? I'm going to borrow your phone and try to reach Zoe again. She needs to know the danger, too."
"And then?"
Now it was Gage's turn to sigh. "I have to disappoint a very nice librarian," he said. "We were supposed to go on a date in about an hour."
Ava didn't answer. Gage called her number three times from Alex's landline, and each time it went straight to voice mail. The last time, he told her what was happening without going into too much detail, saying he had reason to believe people around him might be in danger and that it might be best to postpone their dinner engagement for now. He hated doing it all by voice mail, but he didn't have a choice.
It was a quarter to eight by the time he parked in front of his house. He knew something was off right away. The light was on in his bedroom. The kitchen light, the one over the sink, was on too, but he always left that one on. But the bedroom? No, he always turned that one off. Maybe he forgot this one time, but he didn't think so.
He took out his Beretta and surveyed the scene. There were no other cars. It felt unusually warm, the wind still, the stars visible and bright. Each passing vehicle on the highway below felt like it was passing next to his house. The ocean, blocks away, was at a steady dull roar, the sound traveling far on a still night. His front door showed no signs of forced entry.
Gage crept to the porch, standing to the side of the door, and turned the knob with his left hand. Unlocked. He eased it open, making sure to stay clear. Waited a beat. Nothing. He leaned in, saw his living room with the high, A-frame ceiling. The light over the kitchen sink cast a rectangular yellow bar along the vinyl floor, fading to nothing when it reached the dark hall. If someone was in the bedroom, he couldn't hear them.
"Hello?" he called.
Nobody answered. Was he going crazy? He was absolutely sure he'd turned off the bedroom light when he left that morning. Somewhere behind him, through the fir trees and the dense underbrush that separated his house from the apartment complex over there, he heard someone laugh. It happened that way sometimes. Some sounds carried, others didn't. He didn't know why.
He took his time making his way into the house, peering around corners, being cautious, passing Zoe's dark bedroom, the door open, until he came upon his own closed bedroom door. He never closed it when he left. He saw a strip of light underneath. Leaning in closer, still being careful not to put himself in the possible line of fire, Gage listened intently.
He heard an odd sound, something halfway between a hum and a moan. The sound rose and fell, almost gone one moment, loud the next. The longer he listened, the more sure he knew what it was. He'd heard it before, when someone was in pain, a kind of keening.
He opened the door.
The first time his gaze swept over the room—lit by the bedroom lamp next to his bed—he didn't see anyone, but then he spotted the blonde hair peeking over the top of his tan bedspread, the two colors so similar they blended together. The odd keening was coming from this person. He crept closer, still not ready to lower his Beretta, and found Winnie Rallins crouching in the corner.
She clutched a long kitchen knife to her chest, one he recognized from his own set. When he came into view, she flinched and sunk even further into the corner, collapsing into herself the way a spider sometimes does when poked. Smeared mascara ringed her eyes, dark tear tracks streaking out in all directions. Her blue denim skirt, short and tight, was hiked up so high he saw her pink underwear. She'd removed her arms from her black leather jacket and wrapped the jacket around herself like a protective shell.
When she finally recognized him, she burst into tears. Gage holstered his Beretta. She dropped the knife and crawled toward him, clutching at his pant leg, wailing openly.
"Oh God," she said, "Oh God, I'm so glad you're here."
"How did you get in here?"
"Please . . . don't be mad. I'm scared. I didn't—I didn't know where else to go."
"Winnie, calm down. I can barely understand you."
"Please . . . Please, Garrison—"
"Okay, let's get up. Sit on the bed here. Come on, just breathe. Breathe, Winnie. Take your time. That's right. Breathe."
He got her on the bed next to him, both of them sitting facing the open door, having a hard time of it because she clung to him as if she had no strength of her own. If anything, her wailing only grew louder. He patted her back and let her lean against him, keeping part of his attention on the door. He still didn't know what this was about, or if someone else was involved, and he needed to be careful. Maybe this was some kind of trick.
It took a little while, but finally she managed to quell the sobbing, the shuddery breathing, and the frantic clinging well enough that she could speak coherent sentences—well enough for him to understand, anyway.
"It finally hit me," she said. "Mom, she's gone. I just . . . I went to get her things and I was driving home and I just . . . couldn't. I couldn't go there."
"But how did you get in here? I know it was locked."
"An old boyfriend, he—he taught me how to pick locks," she said. "It wasn't a hard one. I'm sorry. I shouldn't—shouldn't have—"
"You picked my lock? Seriously?"
"I'm sorry!"
"Stop saying you're sorry. It's all right. I'm just . . . surprised, that's all."
"I just—couldn't go home, Garrison. I couldn't . . . be there in that empty house again. Please. Let me— let me stay here. I'll do anything you want. Anything. Just don't make me go."
"Winnie—"
"I can make you happy. I'm good at making men happy. Trust me. Let me make you happy. I just don't want to be alone. In that house. I can't."
Her voice had taken on more confidence, as if she was entering territory that made her more comfortable.
"But where's your car?" he asked.
"My car?"
"Yes. You didn't walk here."
"Oh. Yes. I left it at the movie theater down the road. I was—I was going to see a movie, and that's when this feeling came over me. I thought about where I would go after the movie and I just couldn't go home. I couldn't."
"And instead of driving here, you walked?
"Yes."
"Winnie, come on."
"What?"
"You're not telling me everything."
"I am, I am!"
He held her away from him. Her eyes, wet and shiny, looked more fearful than sad.
"You're hiding from someone, aren't you?" he asked.
"What? No!"
"Winnie, tell me the truth. I can't help you if you don't."
"I told you, I just wanted to walk! I wasn't thinking straight, I guess. The thought of being alone—"
"They came to see me. They told me to back off."
She blinked a few times. "What? Who?"
"You tell me. You wrote their number down on the same note you wrote about getting your mom's things."
"Mom's . . . I don't—I don't know—"
"I don't believe you picked that lock, Winnie. Who picked it for you?"
"What? No one! I told you—"
"Did you know Brianna Hobart was living in your mother's basement?"
"Who?"
"Winnie, don't lie to me."
"I'm not! I really don't know who that is."
"Lying."
"Garrison, please!"
"She was staying in your mom's basement. How could you not know?"
"She was?"
"Lying again."
"No, no, I'm telling the truth. I don't—I don't go down there. I know how it sounds, but I don't. And I haven't been there that much lately anyway. There was a woman down there? Who is she?"
Gage's frustration, percolating since he'd found her hiding in his room, began to boil over. "What's the game plan here, Winnie? Someone picked the lock and let you in here. Why?"
"No! It's not like that. It's—"
"Were you supposed to seduce me, get me to back off, what? Were you given an ultimatum, too, just like I was? Tell me what's going on."
"It's not—"
Gage slapped her. It surprised both of them. He was not one to slap women. He just couldn't take it any more—the lying, the clinging, the sickening sense that he was getting played. She blinked in stunned amazement at him. A red welt bloomed on her cheek. She started to cry again.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Who are you running from?"
"I don't know."
"Winnie—"
"I'm telling the truth! I don't know who they are!"
"Who killed your mother?"
"I don't know."
"Was it you?"
"What? No! God, I couldn't do that! Garrison, how could you even—"
"Where did you get all that money in your suitcase?"
"My—my suitcase . . ."
He shook her. "Tell me! Tell me one true thing right now, Winnie!"
"Men gave it to me! Okay? Men! I make men happy, and they give me money sometimes! It's not so bad, is it? It just helps me get by. Ken, my husband, he took care of me, but then he died. I didn't know what to do. I was so lost, so lonely. I make men happy, and they take care of me."
"So you're a prostitute?"
"It's not like that!"
"Like hell it isn't. Who let you in here?"
"No one! Please! That part is true. I really did pick the lock. My husband taught me."
"Ken taught you?"
"No, not Ken! Ken was wonderful. Ken saved me. I was—I was married before, I was very young, a man I met when I was very lost. Dad died, Mom and I didn't get along, and he took me away from all that. He used to rob houses. He taught me. I—I helped him sometimes. I hate this! I hate this part of me! I thought I left that all behind, but then Ken died, and I didn't . . . Oh, Garrison, I wanted that part of my life to be over. I really did. And then they said I needed to come home."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Winnie!"
"I mean it, I don't! This man, this man in a suit, he just showed up a couple weeks ago and said I needed to go home and see my mother. He seemed very plain, like not the sort of person who'd . . . . Oh, but he had very scary eyes. He said I needed to make her see how much she loved me, how much I needed her. They said I shouldn't tell anyone."
"That's all?"
"Yes! That's it."
"Or what?"
"Or . . . Or . . . Oh, God."
"Just say it, for God's sake."
"He had some video on his phone. Of me . . . Of a man paying me money, after we . . ."
"Oh."
"It wasn't what it seemed! It was—I'm not a whore! But the police, they'd think—"
"And all he wanted was for you to go home and see your mom? Why?"
"I don't know! And then he called me and gave me his number and said I should call him if you came to see me again. That's why I came here, Garrison. I figured, if he doesn't want me to see you, you're the only person I can trust. I'm sorry! I should have told you all this before. I really don't know who killed Mom. It's awful! I don't know what they want! I don't know—"
The doorbell rang. Her eyes flew wide. Gage had his Beretta out of its holster again before she'd barely blinked. He realized, as soon as he did, that it was probably Ava, but it could have been Thomas Ridley. He put his finger to his lips and got up to leave the room, but Winnie clung to him. He yanked his hand away. She followed to the front door. All he could do was keep her behind him when he opened it.
The person standing on his front stoop wasn't Ridley. It wasn't Ava Quinn either. It was Rita Rodriguez, and she was holding a pizza box.
"Surprise!" she said.
He slipped his Beretta into his back pocket without her seeing it. She wore a blue denim jacket over a form-fitting black shirt with a low V-neck, the emerald pendant hanging between her breasts sparkling in the crisp night air. She wore matching earrings and green-framed glasses. It was the kind of outfit that was meant to appear casual but wasn't, plenty of thought put into her appearance. In his porch light, her skin had the warm glow of caramel. She was smiling widely until her gaze left his face and she saw who was behind him.
"Oh," she said. Her eyes dimmed.
"Rita," Gage said. He looked past her, saw no one else, just a red Volvo parked behind his van.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I just thought . . . I thought you might like . . . I didn't mean to intrude. I'm sorry."
"No, no, it's not—"
"I'll go," she said, and started to turn away.
"No, don't. Please, come in."
"No, I—"
He took her by the elbow and guided her into the house. It wasn't just that he didn't want her to go like this. Some instinct to protect her, to get her out of the open air, where someone might be watching, lurking in the shadows of the tall arborvitae that lined the back of his property, took over. Was the Gray Man out there? He closed the door and the three of them stood next to the counter, Winnie wide-eyed and chewing on her fingernails, Rita holding her pizza box and blinking at Gage as if she was trying to hold back tears. He took the pizza box from her and set it on the counter, the smell of pepperoni filling the room.
"Rita," Gage said, "this is Winnie, Harriet's daughter. Winnie, this is Rita Rodriguez. She's a fellow teacher at your mother's school."
"Oh," Rita said. And then, again, when the meaning of what he'd said actually sank in: "Oh."
"Nice to meet you," Winnie said, though she didn't sound nice saying it. Her voice turned icy, and she moved a step closer to Gage, hovering at his elbow as if attached by an invisible cord. "You were friends with Mom?"
Rita smiled. If she noticed the change in Winnie's attitude, she didn't show it, though she did fidget with the emerald pendant. "Well . . . colleagues, I guess. I didn't know Harriet that well."
"That's not surprising," Winnie said.
"I'm sorry."
"It's just, Mom was a hard person to know. She didn't open up much about herself."
"Yes. She was a wonderful person, though. I always admired—"
"We could share him, you know," Winnie blurted.
"Excuse me?"
"I've done it before. It's something men really like. Him, the two of us . . . It could be a lot of fun."
Rita gaped, speechless.
"Winnie, Jesus," Gage said.
"What? You don't want a threesome? Rita's very attractive. I can see the way you look at her. Look at those breasts. My God."
"Stop," Gage said. "You're humiliating yourself."
Even with her mocha-colored skin, Rita's furious blush turned her cheeks crimson. "I'm sorry. I'm not—I didn't come here to—"
"No, of course you didn't," Gage said. "I'm sorry about that. Winnie's just had a lot—"
The doorbell rang again. This time all three of them jumped. He gathered both women behind him, pulling out his Beretta. Rita, seeing it, retreated away from him, covering her mouth with both hands. He looked through the eyehole, fearing it might be Ridley for real this time. It wasn't until he saw the blonde hair and the green eyes that he remembered what he'd forgotten. He opened the door, feeling so out of sorts that he forgot for a second what he was holding in his hand.
"Yikes," Ava said. "Do you always answer your door with a gun?
She looked like she'd just stepped off a fashion shoot, dressed in a black leather jacket that tapered in at the waist, tight jeans, and toeless black heels that revealed toenails painted fire truck red. It matched her lipstick and her red beret. If Rita had dolled herself up in a way that wasn't meant to look as if she had, Ava had done the opposite.
"Ava," Gage said.
"Oh no. I smell pizza. You forgot about dinner, didn't you?" And then, as she spotted movement behind him, she frowned. "Aaaaand you're not alone. I'll go. Sorry."
"No, no, come in, please. I left a message—"
"You did? I guess I forgot to check my phone. It's okay. You've got a woman here. I don't want—"
"It's not like that. Let me explain."
He opened the door and she stepped into the house. Her frown deepened when she saw Winnie, but then, seeing Rita, her eyebrows went up. Winne crossed her arms, her smile prim and smug. Rita blinked heavily. Gage closed the door and returned the Beretta to its holster.
"Well, this is interesting," Ava said.
"A foursome, then," Winnie said. "That's new even for me."
"Excuse me?"
"Winnie, stop," Gage said.
"I really should go," Rita said. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you had a date."
"Apparently Garrison didn't either," Ava said coolly.
"I still think we could make the best of this," Winnie said. "I bet he's man enough to handle all of us."
"Who are you?" Ava shot at her.
"All right, hold on," Gage said. "Before this gets out of hand, let me explain."
He started to make introductions, but then the front door began to open. No doorbell. Again his gun was back in his hand, jumping into his palm as if attached by a spring. The three women, who seemed about ready to claw each other's throats out, stepped closer to one another, not exactly clinging to each other in a group hug but still falling behind Gage. If it was Ridley, Gage was ready for him.
It wasn't Ridley. It was a twenty-year-old young woman he knew all too well.
"Zoe," he said.
She stopped short when she saw the Beretta, her eyes wide, her mouth open, speechless for once in her life. He put the gun in his holster, feeling relief that it wasn't a threat but also alarmed at even the tiniest prospect he might have shot her by mistake. Her auburn hair, which she'd grown out even more in the months since he'd seen her, was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She wore the brown suede jacket he'd given her last Christmas, and she had a gray duffle and a canvas laptop bag slung over her shoulder. The tiny diamond nose stud, the last remnant of her Goth teenage years, was gone, and if he wasn't mistaken she was actually wearing lipstick—faint pink, barely detectable, but definitely there.
"Christ," Zoe said. "It's me. What are you doing?" And then, seeing the women behind him, her eyebrows went up. "Um, really, what are you doing?"
"My God," Winnie said, "you certainly are popular with the ladies. A fivesome, then. A regular harem."
"Excuse me?" Zoe said.
"She's his daughter," Rita said, who sounded like she might be sick.
"Hmm," Winnie said, "that'd be a bit too kinky even for me."
Ava snorted. "Will you just be quiet? You're not helping anything. Garrison, what exactly were you thinking when you agreed to go to dinner tonight?"
Gage was beginning to wonder that himself, but for the moment he was too flummoxed by Zoe's arrival to focus on anything else. He opened his mouth to say something but weirdly found he had nothing to say. Zoe closed the door behind her, put down her bags near the door, and looked at him with a smug, bemused smile. He did not know what she was waiting for, but she was clearly enjoying herself.
Finally, he summoned up the obvious question: "What are you doing here?"
"Well," Zoe said a bit snidely, "it's good to see you, too."
"No, I just meant—"
"I know what you meant. I just felt like coming home, so I did."
"You felt like coming home?"
"Yes."
"So you did?"
"Right. I still have a room here, you know—unless you rented it out or something."
"Of course not! But don't you have classes—"
"Is that pizza I smell? God, I'm starving."
While everybody watched, Zoe took a plate from the cupboard and opened the pizza box. Steam rose from the box, the pepperoni smell even stronger than before. She reached for a slice, but when she saw that no pieces had been taken she looked at Gage. He looked at Rita, who appeared the most teary-eyed and shell-shocked of anyone in the room. She shrugged at him. He shrugged at Zoe. Zoe shrugged and took a slice, immediately biting into it and having a hard time chewing it because she was smiling so broadly. Gage didn't think she was smiling about the pizza. She was clearly enjoying his predicament.
"I better go," Rita said, starting toward the door. "I'm sorry. I really should have called. This is my fault."
"Wait," Gage said.
"Me too," Ava said, looking at Winnie, her eyes hard and cold. "You can have him all to yourself, honey. I'm afraid I'm not that kind of girl."
"It's okay," Winnie said, crossing her arms smugly, "I'll more than make up for both of you."
"Oh boy," Zoe mumbled between bites, not even trying to hide her glee.
"Now hold on!" Gage protested. "If you'll just—"
The two women stampeded toward the door. If he was a smarter man, Gage probably would have just let him go, but he liked them both too much to allow them to leave with such a dark impression of him. He had to do something, so he blocked the door. They glared. He smiled, trying to put on the charm. Their glares became more intense. He held up one finger, smiling at them, hoping neither of them had a gun themselves because his charm offensive wasn't working.
"One minute," he said. "Give me just one minute to explain, and then you can go."
Ava crossed her arms. Rita sunk her head. Across the room, Winnie snorted.
"Oh, let the two hussies go," she said. "There's nothing they have that I don't have, and I don't have the kind of hang-ups—"
"Winnie, so help me God," Gage said, "if you don't shut up right now, I'm going to take you straight to the police and let them sort everything out. I mean it!"
That, finally, got her attention. She blinked at him for a few painful seconds, then she started to cry. Of course she would. At first, Ava and Rita both seemed to enjoy the turn of her events, but as soon as the waterworks started their expressions softened. Rita rushed to Winnie's side. She produced a handkerchief from her tiny black purse and gave it to Winnie, who dabbed at her eyes with all the dramatic flair of a mime.
"You shouldn't yell at her like that," Rita admonished him.
"I'm sorry," Gage said, though he didn't think he had anything to be sorry about, not considering the situation. "Just let me explain, will you? All of you. This is Winnie Rallins. She's Harriet Quinn's daughter." He saw Ava's and Rita's eyes widen, both of them appraising Winnie anew. He pressed forward so as not to lose his advantage. "She's in trouble, and that's why she showed up out of the blue."
"What kind of trouble?" Ava asked.
"I can't say—yet."
"Can't because you don't know, or can't because you won't?"
"A little of both," Gage said. "I'm not holding back because I'm hiding something. I'm just trying to give myself the best shot to figure this out."
Winnie sniffled, dabbing at her eyes again, the blurred mascara giving her a shock of dark around her eyes. "I can explain," she said. "There's this man—"
"Not now, Winnie," Gage said. "We'll go over it later. See, we were in the middle of talking about it when Rita showed up." He gestured to her. "Everyone, this is Rita Rodriquez, a teacher at the high school. She'd been helping me with the case. She's been terrific. I appreciate you showing up with the free pizza, Rita. That was really sweet of you."
"Oh," Rita said, and for a second, judging by the blank look in her eyes, Gage wasn't sure if she'd grasp the lifeline she was throwing him—but then she smiled. "It's no problem. It's the least I could do, since you're working so hard."
"Well," Gage said, "when you're deep in the middle of grading papers, let me know and I'll return the favor."
He smiled at her, a tiny bit of flirting. Her eyes brightened. It wasn't much of a gesture, a tiny thing, but when he turned to Ava, it was obvious by the way she was looking at him—a squint, pursed lips, head cocked to the side—that she hadn't missed the implication of his smile, no matter how much he'd tried to hide it. He smiled even wider. She didn't.
"And this," he said, "is Ava Quinn. She's"—he almost said that she was the daughter of Chief Quinn but remembered that was a touchy subject for her—"heading up the library here in Barnacle Bluffs, taking over for Albert Bernard. She's been a fantastic help with some research, and we were going out to dinner tonight. I was really looking forward to it."
"Me too," she said, though her icy tone conveyed the opposite. She glanced at Zoe. "And this is the famous daughter Zoe, I take it?"
"The one and only," Zoe said, wiping her face with a napkin. She tipped her head toward Rita. "Hola, Mrs. Rodriguez. Cómo estás?"
"Estoy bien. Y tu?"
Zoe shrugged. "La vida es la que es."
"Please, please," Winnie pleaded, covering her ears with her hands, "I don't speak Mexican and it's too much. I can't—I can't handle all of this . . . this . . . I just need—I need —"
She fainted. Of course. If she'd gone any longer not being the center of attention, it might have killed her. Fortunately, Rita was able to catch Winnie as her legs gave out. Gage also found it highly suspicious that Winnie happened to fall in Rita's direction, and quite slowly at that, though it did serve to break the tension. They got her settled on the couch with a glass of water. He told her to rest easy for a few minutes, then gathered with Ava and Rita back near the kitchen.
"I'm sorry about all this," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "She's not the most stable person, as you can tell."
"Not your fault," Ava said. "Life happens."
"Yeah," Rita said. She looked at Ava. "And I'm sorry if me showing up . . . I didn't know that you were . . . that you and he . . ."
"Oh, it was just dinner," Ava said, waving her hand dismissively, though he could hear the hurt in her voice. "Not a big deal, really."
"Well, I should go," Rita said. "I've intruded long enough."
"Me too," Ava said. "Raincheck, maybe?"
"Absolutely," Gage said.
"Oh, don't cancel your plans because of me," Rita said. "You should—"
"No, no, Garrison needs to help Winnie. That takes priority. And I take it Zoe showing up wasn't exactly planned, either?"
They all looked at Zoe. She was on her third piece of pizza by now. He knew she heard them, but she didn't make eye contact. Whatever merriment she'd taken from his predicament was gone, and what remained was harder to discern. He shrugged at Ava and Rita, and they nodded in return. Rita, on her way to the door, patted his arm—in a comforting, not a flirtatious way, but Ava, following in her wake, frowned when Rita did it. After Rita said her goodbye and stepped outside, Ava leaned in closer to Gage.
"I want you to know something," she said.
"Yes?"
"I'm a very modern woman."
"Oh."
"What I mean is, I'm not really opposed to . . . you know, what Winnie said. I just didn't know who she was, but I could be into it. You know, all of us . . . together . . ."
He stared at her, speechless. She held the moment for a long time before bursting into laughter. This time she grabbed his arm, and there was a lot more to it than a comforting gesture. She did not strike him as a particularly flirty woman, not in a physical way, at any rate, so it came off a bit more aggressive than she might have intended.
"I'm just messing with you!" she said.
"Oh, thank God."
She raised her eyebrows. "Really? You're relieved? Is there something wrong with me?"
"No, I—"
"Isn't it every man's fantasy?"
"Well—"
"Or you'd just prefer different women?"
"No, no, I wouldn't—"
"Oh, you are into that stuff, then? Kind of pervy, aren't you?"
"Um, I'm . . . I'm not sure . . ."
"Got you again!"
Laughing even louder, she turned and left, leaving Gage reeling.