Page 72 of Girl, Haunted

‘Just point me in the direction,’ he said. ‘I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got something.’

‘Be safe. Don’t do anything dumb.’

‘Count on it.’

Luca disappeared through the crowd. Ella waited for Redmond to assign his men to their homes for the night, and Ella wasn’t sure where, but she’d be amongst them too.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

Luca expected to hit that overflow of traffic that came at dusk, the one after people got home from work and realized their freezers were empty. But Yamhill seemed to be an exception to many rules, including that one. So here he was, rolling down an empty Stark Street on the hunt for a white Camaro.

The street didn’t offer much in the way of scenery. It was a long stretch of road flanked by trees, fences and dirt patches. If it didn’t twist and turn so much, Amanda Krafton’s white Camaro would stand out like a peacock among pigeons. But halfwaythrough his fourth mental recitation of every curse word he knew, there it was. Gleaming like a pearl in a pig trough, parked half on the curb and half in a ditch.

Luca pulled up in front, killed the engine. He hauled himself out, sauntered over and gave the Camaro a quick once-over. Up close, the car looked almost tragically out of place. It was pristine. Gleaming. Loved, even. Which only served to make the whole tableau that much sadder. Somewhere out there was a husband who'd never buff that chrome again. Never twist the dial on that custom sound system until the bass made his molars buzz.

He scanned the interior. Seats, dash, a scattering of fast food wrappers on the passenger floorboards. Nothing jumped out as hinky. Then again, he wasn't exactly expecting a blood-spattered 'I Did It!' sign in the back window. No blood inside, which meant Amanda wasn’t killed in here. Exterior was the same too, save for a parking ticket taped to the windshield.

Then the meter maid – no doubt the same woman who’d reported the car – chirped from behind. ‘This your ride, mister?’

Luca spun around. The woman had 'city employee' written all over her, from the bored slouch to the smoke-stained fingers. He flashed his most disarming grin and said, ‘Not quite.’

The meter maid nodded, slow, like her head was on a delay. Her eyes flicked from Luca to the Camaro and back again. ‘She in trouble? Only I seen this fancy ass ride parked here goin' on eight hours now. Racking up fines like nobody's business.’

A pause then as he debated just how much to spill. Honesty was all well and good, but in his experience, too much truth in a town like this led to rumors. ‘The owner passed away last night. I’m just here to see what’s what before we contact the next of kin.’

The meter maid's face went slack in that way unique to those confronted with unexpected mortality. Like they'd just taken a peek behind the curtain and hadn't much liked what they'd seen.

She mumbled some platitude or another, the kind of rote 'sorry for your loss' that held about as much water as a plug nickel. Then she cocked her head, and the light of prurient interest sparked in her eyes. Luca swallowed a sigh. Here it came, the busybody nosiness that seemed to afflict half the population in these kinds of towns.

‘You ask me, whoever parked this thing probably ducked into one of them shops. Folks around here, they're always pulling that stunt. Leave the car on the curb, dash in for smokes or lotto scratchers. Figure they'll be in and out before anyone's the wiser.’

Luca glanced at the shabby awnings, the smeared windows. She had a point. This stretch of Stark Street didn't exactly look like a high-traffic area for a lady like Amanda Krafton. But it was just close enough to the town center to be convenient. A quick stop, there and gone.

Only she'd never made it back to her car.

Getting warmer, Hawkins.

‘Sounds about right,’ he said. ‘Folks are always looking for the shortcut. Which shops, exactly?’

‘Top of the street, take a right. A row of ‘em.’

‘Much appreciated. I might have to take a look inside this car, so if you hear an alarm, it’s my fault.’

The woman took a step back but shamelessly kept her eyes on him. Luca guessed this was going to be the highlight of her week, maybe her year.

Time to get personal. He gave the handle a perfunctory tug, just in case the universe felt like tossing him a freebie.

No luck. As expected.

He fished a thin strip of metal from the inner pocket of his coat and slipped it between the window and the chrome. A little trick Miss Key Expert, aka Ella Dark, had taught him. He jiggled it, feeling for the catch. These older models, they were cake to jimmy. Just had to have the right touch.

The lock popped and Luca slid into the driver's seat, the smell of stale air freshener and cloying perfume tickling his nose. He pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, stretched to cover his wrists. No need to muck up any potential evidence with his own grimy paw prints.

He tossed the glovebox, pawed through the center console. A handful of ketchup packets, some tissues, a few stray CD's that looked like they'd been trapped there since the '90s. Nothing that screamed murderous madman or imperiled dame.

The back seat was more of the same. Candy wrappers, a gym bag that smelled alarmingly clean. Luca guessed ‘going to the gym’ was just a cover story for Amanda to escape the house given her husband’s possessiveness. Luca was about to chalk it up as a well-meant bust when a glint of something metallic caught his eye. It was wedged in the crevice between the cushions.

He snagged it and pulled it free like a scrap of meat from between teeth. A key. Small, bronze. The kind that might open adiary or a strongbox. Luca turned it between gloved fingers as a niggle wormed at his brain.

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