Page 13 of Stay in Your Lane!

I gave our waitress a sheepish look. “Is it, um—is it too late to order a piece of apple pie?”

“Of course not. With or without ice cream?”

“Uh, with, please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Then she was gone, and Everett grinned across the table as he dunked a triangle of fried mac-and-cheese into the ramekin of ranch dressing. “Their pie is awesome. You’ll love it.”

“I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?”

He laughed and ate the fried bite. Then he switched over to the pie and took a couple of bites of that before going for another mac-and-cheese bite. It occurred to me then that it was odd the waitress had brought both his entrée (well, app) and dessert at the same time. Apparently she knew him, and apparently he liked his sweet and savory together.

Not that I could judge—I ate my hashbrown casserole right alongside my fried apples at Cracker Barrel, and I wasn’t sorry about it.

The waitress returned with my order a moment later, and I had to admit that for all side-eye I’d given this place, Waffles? had some damn respectable apple pie.

“So what happens next?” Everett asked after I’d taken a couple of bites. “You talk to your dad, but… I feel like we should be doing, I don’t know. More? Like is there somethingIcan do?”

I picked at my pie. “Well… There were pictures at the scene of a woman with a baby. Could be his sister and a niece or nephew. Or it could be his kid.” I shrugged. “Maybe see if you can track down any information on them?”

Everett blinked. “How would I do that?”

“Social media’s probably a good start.” I shrugged. “Guarantee there’s a memorial post for him somewhere, and if she’s close enough to him that he’s got a picture in his house, she’s probably commented or posted.” I paused. “Unless they’re really estranged or something.”

He chewed thoughtfully on some pie as he seemed to digest what I’d said. “Feels a little like stalking.”

“Yeah, it kinda does. But she might be able to help us figure out what happened to the guy.”

“True. All right.” He put his fork down and picked up one of the remaining triangles of fried mac-and-cheese. “I’ll start digging in the morning.”

“Okay. That’s probably all we can do tonight. Not much more we can do until we find her and get the cops involved.” I felt like I should be calling my dad right now, waking him up and demanding he get on this immediately. Murder cases didn’t—and shouldn’t—wait for anything. But I wanted a chance to get some sleep and put together a coherent, persuasive argument to get his attention. Otherwise he’d just blow me off, and I wouldn’thave a lot of luck getting any other cop’s attention if Detective Bowman had already decided this was a giant nothing burger.

Strategize. I had to strategize.

I absently scratched at the bandage on my arm, which was getting itchy. I needed to switch it out and put some more Neosporin on it.

Everett’s gaze tracked my hand, and then his eyes went huge. “What did you do to your arm? You didn’t hurt yourself at the scene, did you?”

“Oh, that? No, it wasn’t from the scene.” I glanced at the bandage, debating how to shrug off the question. But then I remembered who I was talking to, and I grinned. “Would you believe me if I said I was bitten by a piranha?”

He gave me that look that people gave when they were pretty sure someone was yanking their chain, but they were curious. “A… piranha? Like the fish?”

“Mmhmm.” I picked up my coffee. “I have seven of them. And this morning, I’d just finished cleaning their tank, and I was fixing one of their toys, and?—”

“Hold up.” He showed his palms. “Hold. The fuck. Up. You have seven piranhas? Like as pets?”

“Pets.” I shrugged. “I’d call them roommates but they don’t pay rent or buy groceries, so…”

“I didn’t even know you could have those things as pets. And you put your arm in their tank?” He flailed a hand at the bandage. “And that’s all they did to you?”

I laughed. “Oh, yeah. All that stuff you hear about them chowing down on anything that goes in the water—it’s kind of a myth. They only do it if they’re starving.”

“They…” He stared at me, and I could almost hear his brain shorting out. “But one of themdidbite you.”

“Mmhmm.” I put my forearms on the table. “It’s happened a few times, actually.” I pointed out a few scars of varying ages,including one on my thumb that had hurt like a motherfucker and taken forever to heal.

Everett sat back and stared at me. “Holy shit, dude. So you have a tank full of piranhas, and they bite you on a regular basis. That’s fucking metal.”

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