Page 26 of Wandering Souls

“Quinn, now is not the time.”

“I met your Abi today. She’s a looker. No wonder you keep calling.”

That made him sit up and take notice. “Met her? Whereabouts?”

“At the hospital.”

His heart hiccupped. “Hospital?”

Quinn shrugged and strode into his office. She made herself at home in the chair opposite his desk. “I think she was waiting for Colt or something. She looked fine, so stop worrying.”

Ray disliked how perceptive Quinn could be. The wild child constable had a knack for reading people. Handy as a copper. Annoying as a colleague. “I’m not worried.”

“What’s her story, anyway?”

He sighed. “She doesn’t have one.”

Quinn laughed and pointed at him, the knowing twinkle in her eye making him want to change the subject. Fast. “Liar. Everyone has a story and sooner or later, I figure it out. You may as well tell me.”

Had she worked outhisstory? “Don’t you have some work to do?”

“Well, actually, I have some information for you. There’s a warehouse. A little birdie told me it’s kitted out as a hothouse.”

Much as he didn’t like that she’d sniffed out a case, he was glad for the distraction. “Have you informed the Senior Sergeant?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “He sent me to you. I mean, I could check it out for you, save you a trip and all.”

He stood. “Where’s your sidekick?”

“With the Sarge. Apparently, he’s being recalled to Melbourne.”

Her lack of courtesy grated on his nerves. “That would be Senior Sergeant to you, Quinn. You might find following protocol is actually helpful. Let’s go.”

Lifting his jacket off the back of his chair, he didn’t wait for her to follow, nor did he make sure she could keep up as he hiked out of the station to his sportscar. She whistled appreciatively at the ageing hotrod. He unlocked the doors and slid behind the wheel.

“There’s dog fur,” he warned when she settled on the passenger seat.

“Then you can pay for the dry cleaning.”

“Smartass,” he mumbled and started the engine. “Where are we going?”

She directed him to the industrial district at the northern end of town where dozens of relatively new warehouses lined the aptly named street, Industrial Drive. Most of them were well signed, with three-story high roller doors open and people going about their work.

As he rolled by, she pointed out the suspect location. Surrounded by nine-foot cyclone fencing, the blue metal shed sat silent behind locked gates. It appeared no one was on duty today and though it offered a prime opportunity to scout out the place, Ray didn’t stop. At the end of the street, he U-turned and swung by again.

“Hothouse, you say?”

She pulled her standard issue notebook out of the top pocket of her jacket and flipped it open. Reading out loud, she rattled off the address and the notes she’d made.

“And you came about this information how?”

“Alcohol loosens tongues, Ray, and men like to impress a pretty girl in hopes of getting laid.”

He wanted to roll his eyes as her crudeness made him feel old. “Quinn,” he sighed, exasperated by her insatiable need to prove herself. “You can’t do undercover here in a small town. Everyone knows who the cops are.”

She giggled and stuffed the notebook back in its pocket. “I didn’t say I was the pretty girl, grandpa. You sound like Wilson.”

Did not.“And you should take notice.”

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