Page 33 of Nowhere to Hide
“Better than the bag of pretzels I had with my coffee this morning.”
I disappeared into the main living space of my boat. The one nice thing about a catamaran was the wider space. Since I didn’t need much on my own—and I preferred most of the amenities to be on the top level where I steered, I’d gone for a decent kitchen. I tossed some poppers into my air fryer and a pepperoni pizza in my convection oven.
I used solar panels to beef up my power, so I didn’t have to lean on the lithium batteries most boats ran on. While the food cooked, I stared at the bottle of bourbon in the upper cabinet.
You don’t need it.
I shut my eyes against the voice who had been strangely silent for hours now. My hand shook a little. I’d definitely been leaning on that fucking bottle for way too long. Instead of pulling it down, I grabbed my bottle of aspirin, took three, then cracked a bottle of water and downed it in one long pull.
I splashed water on my face in the sink and raked my fingers through my hair.
Looking at dead bodies wasn’t on my schedule today, that was for fucking sure. There was little doubt that Stone was onto something. I wasn’t sure if it was willful ignorance on his captain’s part or ego.
It deserved a call into the feds at the very least.
I had to wonder if it was politics. Salem was a tourist driven town. A serial killer would be a touchy subject. It was early summer, but the fall months were already being planned in a place like this. It was probably 80 percent of their entire revenue for local businesses.
The heart of Salem was filled with day trippers and weekend warriors who stopped through on their trips to Boston. Once October hit, there was no end to the buses that dropped people in town by the hundreds.
Milligan used to bitch about October, but I knew he loved the over-the-top flavor of the parades and cosplayers on Derby andEssex Streets. I was pretty sure he used to hook up with a witch before he met Alyssa.
I wasn’t sure if she was a real one, as in the religion of it, or just someone making a buck on the tourists.
The timer on the air fryer beeped, dragging me out of the past. I checked on the pizza and pulled that out as well. I dumped the poppers on top of the pizza on the stone and used a mitt to take them back out to where Stone was. He’d tucked the files away, leaving the photos tacked to the table.
He was standing, his hands in his pockets as he stared.
“Hope you aren’t vegetarian.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Definitely not.”
“Good.” I set the stone down on the side counter.
We dug in, plowing through the meal as we discussed a few other details of the possible victims.
“Do you have this in digital too?”
Stone shrugged. “Not pulled together like this. I’ve been mostly digging into cold cases to find matches on my own time. We all get assigned two cold cases to work between our main roles. It’s not exactly a priority for most cops during the busy months.”
“But you’re a good little detective?”
He tossed an overly crispy jalapeño popper into the trash before he brushed off his hands. “I was a damn good detective. Some days I wish I never found this fucking case, but I can’t let it go.”
“Why?”
Stone frowned. “What do you mean why?”
I wanted another beer, but I went for a Coke. I grabbed two and handed one over to Stone. “I mean maybe you’re just a Boy Scout.”
He cracked the can and gave me a steady look.
“Whatever.” I sat down and grabbed one of the files.
Dick alert.
I ignored the voice.
What did I care if he was a Boy Scout or an obsessed cop? I was just killing time.
