Page 19 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

“Here.” Kimberly passed over a white business card embossed with gold text. Expensive-looking. The gold matched the necklace she wore—a flat, odd-shaped piece covered in strange symbols. Swirls and swooshes and pictures that reminded me of hieroglyphics.

I pointed at it. “Egyptian?”

“What?” She followed my gaze, blushing until she realised I wasn’t staring at her cleavage, not that I could see much because she’d covered it up. “The necklace? I don’t know. It was a gift from my mother.”

“She’s got good taste.”

“Thank you.” Kimberly stood, dismissing me. “I’ll email the contract right back. I appreciate your coming, Mr. Cullen.”

Well, that was easier than I’d thought. Frosty or not, if she wanted to put in the money, I’d put in the hours. Time to go hunt an invisible man.

CHAPTER 7 - REED

ACCORDING TO JERRY Leopold, Kimberly Jennings had been found lying on a grass verge beside Juniper Avenue, half-hidden by a bush, wearing one high-heeled pump and a pale-pink dress totally inappropriate for the weather. No surprise there. Leopold had been first on the scene—again, no surprise because Dunkin’ Donuts was only a half mile farther along the road.

Kimberly’s other shoe lay near a set of traffic lights at a lonely intersection, a T-junction bordered by a derelict warehouse on one side and an undeveloped lot on the other. The area had been earmarked for regeneration years ago, but a lack of funds meant the Bethesda Urban Partnership’s vision remained a pipe dream. If I recalled correctly, the lights had only been installed after a trio of fatalities caused by drivers pulling out into the path of speeding vehicles.

The shoe’s location suggested Kimberly had staggered about twenty yards before collapsing, and the medics estimated she hadn’t been there longer than half an hour or hypothermia would have set in. Factoring in the distance to the Park Plaza Hotel—a fifteen-minute drive—she’d been abducted between half-past nine and ten o’clock.

Guess Tim had planned on getting an early night, the sick fucker.

On Sunday morning, I checked my armpits passed the sniff test then drove to a cheque-cashing place, not only because I needed food and gas, but because bribes were a necessary evil in my world. People answered questions far more readily when a crisp twenty was involved.

My hope lay farther back along Juniper in the motley collection of stores clustered around what had once been a popular bar until the owner got arrested for drowning his wife in the bath and the place closed down. I’d pulled that case, one of my last, and it might have been ruled an accident if not for the fractured hyoid bone in her neck. The guy died in prison.

Now the Moon Dog Tavern lay crumbling, its lopsided sign squeaking in the breeze. The subject of an inheritance dispute, or so I’d heard. Next door, Ed’s Food & Liquor wasn’t due to open for another fifteen minutes, but the neon sign from Dunkin’ Donuts glowed beyond. With cash in my wallet, I figured a bear claw was an excellent way to start the morning, and I could check for any watchful eyes while I was at it.

But I was unlucky. The camera outside angled down into the parking lot and only caught the edge of the road. The blonde behind the counter called her friend who’d worked the late shift the previous week, but she’d been so engrossed in schoolwork between customers, she hadn’t even noticed the ambulance drive past with its red lights flashing.

“Try Ed next door,” the blonde suggested, topping up my coffee. “He’s always sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

“Care to give me an example?”

“My boyfriend was here late the other night, just sitting at the counter waiting for me to clear up because some punk spilled soda everywhere, and Ed called my manager to complain that Mason was in here after hours. Kept going on and on about debauchery and the lack of morals in today’s youth.”

Ed was gonna love me, then. Maybe I should have put on a button-down shirt and gotten a haircut in preparation.

He glowered when I walked in, eyes tracking me around the store as I added food to my basket. Crackers, cheese, pre-grilled chicken, apples, bottled water. Nothing that required cooking. I tried to stay healthy, donuts aside, but it wasn’t easy with no fridge and no kitchen.

“That’s it?” he asked when I stacked my purchases on the counter.

“Yessir.”

“Twenty-three dollars and eighteen cents.”

“There is one other thing.”

Ed huffed and rolled his eyes. Service with a smile.

“I’m a private investigator working on a case in the area, and I was wondering if you saw anything unusual last Sunday?”

“At night, you mean? Are you talking about that drunk girl who fell out of the car?”

“Not drunk. She’d been drugged.”

“Drugs, you say? That’s even worse. Back in my day, we never took none of those illegal substances. Work of the devil, they are.”

“No, she hadn’t been taking drugs. Somebody put them in her drink then tried to kidnap her.”

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