Page 51 of Luck of the Devil
“Your mother’s car’s not in the driveway,” he said. “Where was she?”
I released a short laugh. “Mine’s not there either. Are you gonna ask where I was?”
“You were at the tavern with Louise and the bookseller. He was watching you like a lost puppy.”
I cringed. “First of all, don’t say that about Nate.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Second,” I said, refusing to admit he was right, “how do you know I was there that night?” I looked over at him and he gave me a look I was learning was his obstinate I’m not going to answer you expression.
“Seriously, Malcolm.” Sure, he’d been working behind the bar that night and had seen me. We’d even had a short conversation about nothing while I’d ordered a beer, but the fact he knew immediately that I’d been there that night threw me off.
It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he’d been keeping track of me. I knew some of his dangerous secrets. Maybe he’d worried I would rat him out.
And yet…
I didn’t think that was it.
“Let’s watch the rest of the video,” he said, gesturing to the phone.
“You were watching me,” I said without any hint of anger. “Did you have someone trailing me?” If so, I’d missed it, which made me feel like an idiot, but there was no doubt I’d been impaired.
“No,” he said softly, sitting back in his seat as though he realized this was about to become a discussion.
“Then how did you remember I was there two weeks ago on a Wednesday night?”
He turned and looked out his side window, remaining silent for several seconds. I was about to restart the video when he said, “I was keeping an eye on you.”
“Why?”
He was silent again, and I realized this was his way of answering difficult questions. Was he coming up with a fabricated response or was he finding the nerve to answer?
I nearly laughed at the idea. Finding the nerve? James Malcolm was composed of nothing but granite and steel.
Finally, he answered, sounding resigned, “I was worried about you.”
He was worried about me? That nearly shocked the shit out of me.
“Because of my drinking?” It was the only reason I could come up with. I hadn’t started working the Burton case yet, and the man who’d kidnapped Ava Peterman was dead.
He turned back to face me. “Press play.”
I studied him for a moment. This man was a confusing mess, and the closer I got, the more of a conundrum he became. But I did as he said, because if he was worried about me for some reason other than my drinking, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. At least not right now. Not until after we found who was behind my mother’s death.
We watched the rest of the video, which lasted several minutes. Different lights went on and off in the house, and then my mother’s car pulled into the driveway. She got out and walked to the back of the house, but we didn’t see the men come out.
“She’s in the house with them,” I said.
Malcolm grunted his acknowledgment.
A few seconds later, a faint light appeared in the dining room, faint enough that I was sure it was from the kitchen. There was still no sign of the men leaving the house, and I wondered if they’d escaped out a back window and slunk off through the backyard. But why was the clip still playing?
Nearly a minute later, the front door opened, and the two men walked out the door. Their faces were shadowed, but I could make out a few of their features.
“That isn’t Pinky and Mike,” I said, the hair on my neck standing on end. “And I’d bet money they made contact with my mother.”
“Agreed,” he said with a tight voice.
