Chapter Four

The mechanic, Gary Pruit, lounged in his garage and watched them approach. He sat bathed in the fluorescent light of a single bulb that sprouted from the high, cobwebbed ceiling. It seemed to accentuate the dirt on his coveralls, as well as the stubble on his jaw.

Without taking his eyes off them, he turned to spit a brown stream of tobacco juice onto the floor.

“Candi,” he said, nodding as politely as a man with a wad of chew in his mouth could manage, “what can I do for ya?”

Maggie stopped at the open door of the garage while Candi walked in, her tight black skirt riding up with each step she took. Gary didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, was hiding it well. He kept looking from Candi to Maggie, and back again, as if they were going to steal something.

“Gary, you’ve got to fix that damn bumper. It keeps rubbing up against my front tire.”

“Well, we can’t have that, sugar.” He smiled, residual tobacco juice glistening on his lower lip. “I told you I could pop it out. But it’s gonna run ya.”

Candi dug a pack of gum from her purse. Popping a piece into her mouth, she grimaced.

“Yeah, I know,” she said around the pink wad. “How much is it gonna run me?”

“Couldn’t do it for less than three hundred.”

“What? You know I can’t afford three hundred.”

“Might be closer to four.”

“Shit.”

“You can take it down the mountain. But there ain’t no way they’re fixing it for less, I guarantee you that.” His gaze shifted toward Maggie, and he spit another brown stream. “But I’ll tell you what.”

Candi glanced back at her and rolled her eyes. “What,” she said, facing Gary again.

“I’m having a poker game at my place next weekend. I’d do it for two, if you give us a private show.”

Candi’s curvaceous back straightened. “I don’t do that anymore, Gary. You know that.” Her voice dripped ice cubes. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll live with the damn dent.”

Gary sneered at Maggie. As if she were the reason Candi had stopped doing whatever it was she used to do. “Who’s this?”

“This is Maggie. She’s from Portland. Maggie, this is Gary Pruit, the only mechanic in town.”

Maggie nodded. “Nice to meet you.” She didn’t think she’d ever spoken such an outright lie. The guy made her want to bathe in lye soap, and made her more uncomfortable by the second.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he said. “Outta town, huh? What brings you here all the way from Portland?”

Candi shot her a look. But Maggie knew he’d find out on his own soon enough.

“Just visiting. I’m interested in Wolfe Creek. I’m a writer.” Where the hell did that come from?

“Writing a book? What kind of book?”

“Not a book. I’m a copywriter. But I am interested in the town. Maybe someday I’ll write something for your tourism bureau.” This was rich. The last thing she needed was for anyone to think she’d be writing an exposé about this place, and whether or not there was a murderer living in its midst. But she needed a solid reason to be poking around other than Aimee, and it’d just popped out.

He spit another stream of juice. “What tourism bureau?”

“This town is full of history, Mr. Pruit. The Inn itself is no exception. I know there have been several famous visitors over the years, presidents, actors, and I also know people come here just to stay in those rooms. That’s interesting, I think. To most people. And there’s a county-wide tourism bureau, as well as a state one.”

“Huh,” he said, skeptically. Candi just stood there with her mouth open. Maggie hadn’t mentioned anything before about doing any research for writing. Of course, that’s because there hadn’t been any research. At least not for writing. Maggie painted a smile on, fake though it was.

“I thought you’d be more interested in our legend over that old hotel.”

“Legend?”

Candi unwrapped another piece of gum. “Christ. She just got here, Gary. She’s going to think this town is full of nut jobs.”

Too late, Maggie thought.

Gary Pruit considered that for moment, spit another stream of dark brown juice, and leaned forward in his chair. “She’s gonna find out sooner or later.”

Maggie stiffened. “Find out what?”

Candi chewed her gum, managing to look seductive in the process. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” she said, popping a small bubble. “It’s just a bunch of bologna. An urban legend or some such nonsense, made up by bored, ignorant locals.”

The temperature in the garage seemed to drop a notch. Dark clouds had rolled in, pregnant with rain, and the light changed fast. Maggie didn’t like Wolfe Creek in the daytime. At night, it made her want to crawl inside herself, and not come out until dawn.

“Well.” Candi broke the awkward silence. “I think we’ve wasted enough of your time for one evening, Gary.” She turned on her heel. “Come on, Maggie. Let’s grab that coffee, hon.”

Maggie’s gaze lingered on the man in the chair before Candi took her by the elbow and guided her quickly out the door.

“Let me guess. You didn’t meet that guy because of car problems?” Maggie was surprised to find herself relaxing back into the overstuffed chair in the corner of the small mom-and-pop coffee shop. The soft voices of the people around them faded into the background and became a comforting hum, while a steady evening rain drizzled outside the windows.

She took a sip of her steaming mocha, watching Candi over the rim of the mug. The other woman leaned back, seemingly oblivious to the looks she received from the men in the room. In the dim light, she really was breathtaking. Comfortable in her own skin, she exuded sensuality.

Smiling, Candi took a sip of coffee, before setting it on the table beside her. “Would you believe I have a past?”

“That just means you’re interesting.”

“Well, that’s a nice way to put it, I guess.”

“What kind of past?” Maggie asked, liking how it felt to be drinking coffee in a warm room with rain coming down outside.

“Wolfe Creek is a small town, but it’s not that small. There used to be a strip club out by the freeway.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Candi hesitated for a second before continuing. “I used to be an exotic dancer.”

“Wow.”

“It was right out of high school and was an easy way to pay the bills.” She shrugged. “It was hard at first, but you get used to it.”

Maggie blew on her coffee, not sure what to say.

“Turns out I was pretty good. Paid the bills and then some.”

“How long did you do it?”

“I’d love to say I had a sudden attack of morality, but I danced there until they closed the place down a few years ago. Been waitressing ever since. I have a little nest egg, though. Put away for a rainy day. So at least I have something to show for it.” She sighed. “Do you think I’m a horrible person now?”

“Of course not,” Maggie said, and meant it. Surprised, since her strict Catholic upbringing didn’t exactly condone topless dancing. But she and religion had recently had a parting of ways. She was angry at everyone for Aimee’s disappearance. Including God. “I don’t think you’re horrible. It must have taken a lot of courage to do what you did. I admire that.”

Candi reached out and patted Maggie’s leg, a gesture that made her stiffen, but the other woman didn’t seem to notice. “I appreciate that, hon. It was an experience all right, but I wouldn’t change any of it. I’ve watched a lot of Oprah in my twenty-eight years, and she’d say it made me who I am. And that’s true.”

“It must be hard with creeps like that Gary guy never leaving you alone about it.”

“Oh, he’s a creep all right. But harmless. Gary Pruit can’t get a woody without the help of about three Viagra. That’s a well-known fact.”

They laughed, and a few more people trickled out the door, leaving them alone except for the barista behind the counter. Outside, the wind picked up and the pines swayed like prickly giants who’d had too much to drink.

Silence settled between them, but it was a comfortable one. They sipped their coffee and listened to the rain patter against the window. After a few minutes, Maggie leaned forward, curious.

“I have to ask…you’ve lived here your whole life,” she said. “What do you think of this town? What do you think of the people who live here?”

Candi smiled, her eyes sharp and knowing. She was no dummy. “You mean, do I know anyone who could have snatched your friend?”

“Not exactly. Well…yes. I guess.”

“That’s hard to say. I watch the news. I know how these things unfold. It’s always the last person you expect. But yes. I have a gut feeling that whoever took her lives here. I’ve felt that from the beginning.”

“Me, too.”

“The problem is, when you live in a town this small, everyone protects everyone else. It’s not that they’re necessarily trying to cover anything up; it’s just that I think there’s a deep instinct to watch over their own. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes.” The police had told Maggie that, too. Had warned her that talking to anyone in town would backfire eventually. She wondered if it would happen with Candi.

Leaning back, she decided to try a different tactic. Maybe if she came up with some specific people, the need to gossip would kick in.

“There’s this guy. He’s staying at the Inn right down the hall from me. Native American, long hair, really good-looking. Do you know him?”

A shadow passed over Candi’s face, her perfectly tweezed brows coming together to form a wrinkle between them. “I do.”

“Who is he?”

“His name is Zane.”

Maggie waited, trying to be patient, knowing her relationship with Candi was new and delicate, like spun sugar. It would collapse if she wasn’t gentle with it. “Zane?”

“Zane Wolfe.”

It took a second for the name to register. “Any relation to Deputy Wolfe from the cafe?”

“Zane is Koda’s brother.”

That’s why they both looked so familiar. The long hair had thrown her off. The leather jacket and worn out jeans, compared to the crisp, official sheriff’s department uniform. So different. Masking the now obvious similarities. Brothers.

“How well do you know him?”

Candi looked down, the little wrinkle between her brows remaining. “I’ve been in love with him since the ninth grade,” she said. “That’s how well.”