Page 66 of The Mermaid Murder

“I don’t know.” Jeremy’s voice was low, and I felt his doubt. “He’s still unconscious. EMTs just got here. Local cops are right behind them, I gotta go uh… explain my presence.” The connection was broken.

“She was there,” I said. “Misty was at the scene of what sounds like an attempted murder and arson.”

“She was up there investigating Eva Quaid’s murder for that podcast.” Mason managed to look worried and proud at the same time. “The tenth anniversary edition, I bet.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” I said. “This weekend isn’t just the anniversary of Eva’s disappearance, it’s also that art show that was Paul Quaid’s alibi according to the police report. The one he never misses. He shouldn’t have been home.”

“Bet about now he wishes he wasn’t.”

It was after midnight when we spotted Misty’s Jeep in the other lane coming toward us. Mason flashed the headlights so she’d know it was us, then made a U-turn and sped up behind her.

She pulled onto the shoulder and got out, came running, and hugged my neck like there was no tomorrow. She smelled like smoke, and the terror she’d experienced rippled through her, into me, so I hugged her harder. “Are you okay, baby?” I whispered into her fire-scented hair. God, was it singed?

“How do you even do this all the time?” she asked, and I had no idea what she was talking about.

She let go of my neck and hugged Mason’s. He was giving her his stern cop face, though. She let go of him and took a step back, which brought her beside her companion, a girl with tight corn rows, and killer eyes. And then she smiled and flashed her braces.

“Hi, Aunt Rache,” she said, trying to look angelic.

“You must be Zig. What the fuck were you doing?”

“Investigating,” Misty answered. “Don’t judge us. You’ve been doing it for years.”

“Well, yeah, but—” Mason began before I cut him off.

“What were you thinking? You could’ve?—”

“I saved a man’s life tonight, Aunt Rache.”

Well, that shut you up, didn’t it?

Sure did, IB. Sure did.

“Look, everything is fine,” Misty said with a softer tone. “We were never there.”

I lifted my brows and sent her a look. “Tell me you didn’t ask Jere to lie for you.”

She said, “I would never ask him to.” But she lowered her eyes when she said it. “Look, we’re exhausted. I just want to get some rest. We can talk about everything else tomorrow.”

“Go to the house we rented for the weekend. I’ll jot down the address.”

“I have it,” Mason said, pulling a card from his pocket.

“But I don’t want?—”

“Look, we can’t be everywhere at once,” I said. “Christy’s there. It’s safe or we wouldn’t have left her alone. Nobody here knows where we’re staying.” I took the card from Mason and tucked it into the pocket of her jacket. “Wait. I have your phones. Christy got them from the dorm room. They’re both dead, but you can take my charger. Don’t plug it in until you’re where you should be. We don’t want it pinging way the hell up here.”

“Okay.”

Mason had retrieved her phone and a charger from our glove box, and he handed them to her. “You heading straight to bed?”

“Zig and I need to decompress first.”

“You sure you don’t need an ER first? You’re hoarse, and you reek of smoke. How much did you take in?”

“A little.”

She didn’t elaborate and the look in her eyes said she wasn’t going to. I was less thrilled about her plan to “decompress” with Zig. The two of them were still digging, and probably had some ill-gotten evidence to examine. What I wouldn’t have given for ten minutes alone in that car.

---