Page 35 of Mensa's Match

My eyes widened – and then my whole body deflated. “I did, but I threw it away when I brushed my teeth last night.”

As his head twisted, he ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Blume.”

I stood a little straighter. “Shoe’s on the other foot here, Kenneth. Did you get a receipt for your gas?”

“Not quite the same thing. You get a name for the cashier? I paid a black man with dreads, but don’t remember his name, and odds are damn good he won’t remember me for shit because his whole day is filled with people telling him twenty-dollars on pump ten.”

I stared off to the side for a beat. “I know she was blonde and it looked like she had a really great color-melt job done recently.”

His eyes closed and his mouth dropped open as if he were painfully confused. He opened his eyes. “Don’t know what the fuck a color-melt job is, but if you remember anything else about her – maybe I can get a prospect or someone to go out there and see if she remembers you.”

I stepped past him because we were cutting it close on that thirty-minute time frame. Mensa fell into step beside me. Iglanced up. “Yeah, I remember she had a Betty Boop tat on her inner forearm. She was younger than me, and it seemed odd, but I figured these days young people are into all kinds of things.”

He nodded. “Good. I’ll pass that along.”

We kept walking, and I stayed quiet.

When we were a block away from the courthouse, I couldn’t hack it any more. “Mensa, I don’t want to question your gut, but seriously, they can’t suspect us of this.”

Mensa stopped and locked eyes with me. “You’d be right, except for one thing. Corrupt Chrome came to town just over a year ago. The other brothers weren’t concerned, but I did my research. These assholes… they’re scum. Not a damned thing they won’t do for money, and the fact we were both there when Rod threatened Dontrell… my guess is that gave him the idea to make us the scapegoat.”

Call me a nerd, but I loved people who did their research. The way Mensa didn’t let anyone else’s complacency keep him from being vigilant made me admire him anew. His road name made even more sense now, even if the brothers may have had different reasoning. By my definition, geniuses were smart people, and smart people looked into things so they showed up well prepared.

No matter how much I admired him, I gentled my tone when I spoke. “The scapegoat thing could be true, but you also sound paranoid, Mensa.”

The way he tipped his head, I wasn’t the first person to say that to him. “If overkill is better than being killed, then I’d rather be paranoid thanannoyedthat I’m sitting in jail.”

I grinned. “Can’t argue with that, Mensa. You have a name for this lawyer? Let’s get in there, and get this over with.”

Chapter 10

Incomplete Heathen

Mensa

Mensa spotted Monica Wrightpacing in front of the police station. A man stood to the side watching her, and Mensa wondered if he was a junior partner or possibly an intern.

Before they got too close, Mensa said, “That’s Monica, our lawyer. Not sure who she brought with her.”

Monica smiled at him. “Mr. Ragstone. From what Mr. Walcott shared on the phone, I brought Todd Morton along because you and Ms. Blume have to be questioned separately about the events from last night. I can be with you or I can—”

“Stick with Whitney. She’s former FBI and believes this is all standard procedure. No offense to your colleague, but my gut says they’re banking on her playing by the rules.”

They went into the police station, and found Robinson and Fortner waiting for them. Fortner deserved an award for his irritated scowl.

Monica introduced herself and Todd Morton to the detectives. With the formalities over, Robinson led them toward the rooms for questioning.

Fortner opened a door and looked at Whitney. “Ms. Blume, if you don’t mind.”

Whitney peeled off from the group, stepped into the room, and Monica followed her.

“This way, Mr. Ragstone,” Detective Robinson said, opening the door across the corridor.

It bothered him much more than it should have that he and Whitney had been separated.

He sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs in the cramped room, and Todd Morton settled next to him.

For almost an hour, Mensa endured a litany of repetitive questions about why he’d left Twisted Talons after the shooting began, why he fled the scene of a crime, why he hadn’t returned after losing the motorcycle chasing him, and why he hadn’t felt it was safe to take Whitney back to her home.

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