Mariah Stewart - Cold Truth

Cass stared at him, her expression unreadable.

“Like I said, Cass. Your choice,” he repeated.

They both turned at the sound of Mitch’s car doors slamming.

“This is lovely,” Regan was saying as she got out of the sedan. “What a beautiful old inn.”

“It’s a great place to stay. Nice room. Ocean view. Quiet.” Rick glanced at his watch. “If we hurry, we can make the end of the lunch hours. They stop serving at two.”

He turned to Cass.

“What’s it going to be?”

“I guess the crab cakes,” she told him, and without looking back, fell in step with Regan and Mitch.

“Which way is the dining room?” Mitch asked.

“Straight through the lobby,” Rick replied. But once they stepped inside, he paused in the doorway, then directed the others to go on in and get a table. “I’ll only be a minute.”

It was closer to five minutes, but Rick joined the others as the waitress was passing out menus. Mitch appeared to be on the verge of comment, but said nothing.

“I’m assuming all the seafood entrées are good,” Regan was saying.

“You can’t miss with any of them. I had the sea bass the other day, and have had the soft-shell crabs and one of the soups,” Rick told them. “All pretty terrific.”

“Nothing like what you get back home in Texas, eh?” Mitch closed his menu and placed it on the table.

“Nothing at all like Texas,” Rick agreed.

“That’s where you’re from, Texas?” Cass asked.

Rick nodded.

“You don’t seem to have much of an accent,” she noted.

“I’m from there, but I haven’t lived there for some time.”

“I see,” Cass said, but Rick doubted that she did. He just wasn’t up to talking about the years of New En-gland boarding schools. He wasn’t in all that good a mood to begin with.

The waitress reappeared, took their orders, and promised to be back in a flash with their iced teas.

“By the way, I spoke with Annie McCall,” Rick announced. “She’ll be joining us tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s as soon as she can get here?” Mitch asked.

“She’s wrapping up something else today. Tomorrow is the best she can do.”

“Who’s Annie McCall?” Regan asked.

“Anne Marie McCall. Dr. McCall. She’s our favorite profiler,” Mitch explained. “Not to mention the best I’ve ever worked with.”

“What makes her the best?” Cass unfolded her napkin and rested it on her lap.

“She’s a psychologist, but besides being book smart, she’s a real master at understanding behavior. Especially aberrant behavior,” Rick told her. “She’s really good at putting the pieces together. You’ll see when you meet her.”

“I’d like to meet her, too.” Regan frowned. “I’m sorry I’m going to miss her.”

“We can always drive back tomorrow, if you’d like. I want to be part of the sit-down with her,” Mitch said. “You’re welcome to come along.”

“The sit-down?” Cass leaned back to permit the waitress to serve her drink.

“The preliminary meeting we have where we toss around whatever information we have. We’ll give her a chance to review the records, the interviews, the lab reports, all of that, but we like to discuss the cases informally. Some of our best insights come from those moments of idle chatter.”

“It hardly sounds idle,” Regan noted.

“I guess unstructured is probably a more accurate term,” Mitch said. “It’s sort of a brainstorming session.”

“Any chance I could be a part of that, too?” Cass asked.

Rick nodded. “Absolutely. You will be the star witness. We can’t have that powwow without you.”

Cass looked momentarily pleased, the guarded expression she’d been wearing lifting a little. Then she asked, “And after she leaves? Will I still be invited to the powwows?”

“You’ll know everything that’s going on when I do,” Rick promised.

“That wasn’t the question.”

“No, but that’s the answer.” He handed his menu to the waitress. “I think we’re all ready to order. Cass? Regan?”

Orders were placed and glasses replenished. The conversation drifted from the current investigation to the information Regan had found in her father’s files.

“That’s really interesting,” Cass said. “You write books about old cases and try to solve them at the same time? How many have you solved?”

“On my own, none.” Regan smiled. “But my dad had quite a record.”

“I’ve never read any of his books, but I will definitely look for them.”

“I’ll try to remember to bring you a few.”

“Thanks, Regan. That’s nice of you. And it does appear I’ll have some time on my hands, so maybe I’ll even get to read a couple of them.” Cass turned to Rick and asked, as if it had just occurred to her, “When do you suppose I can move back to my house?”

“I don’t know. We’ll look into that later. After we eat. You’re not the only one who missed out on dinner last night, you know.”

“I saw you nursing that bag of chips from the vending machine this morning, so don’t even pretend that you haven’t eaten in days.” Cass almost smiled.

“A snack-sized bag of potato chips doesn’t count for anything. It doesn’t even rate a true snack designation, and it sure as hell did not make up for the dinner and the breakfast I didn’t have.”

“Here.” Mitch passed the basket of soft rolls to Rick. “I realize they’re not organic stone-ground whole wheat, and God knows they probably aren’t as good as the ones you make in your little kitchen, but you can buck up, just this once, and eat what the rest of us eat.”

Rick grinned, and without comment buttered a roll, which he proceeded to devour.

“You make your own?” Cass pointed to the basket.

Rick nodded. “I have on occasion made my own bread. Not very often, but I have done it. Much to the amusement of some of my fellow agents, I might add.”

“You never should have mentioned it,” Mitch told him.

“What was I thinking?” Rick shook his head good-naturedly.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Cass asked.

“My grandmother baked every day. Cakes, cookies, breads-all from scratch. I often stayed with her when I was little. She said everyone should know how to bake their own bread and do their own taxes. So I learned both at an early age.”

The waitress brought salads, and Cass picked at hers, watching Rick out of the corner of her eye, and tried to envision those large hands kneading a mound of dough.

“So, what’s on the agenda this afternoon?” Mitch asked.

“Well, I’m going to get copies of everything we have and make a file up for Annie, then I’ll have it sent to her overnight. That way she’ll have a head start on the case before she gets here. I’ll check in with the lab.” Rick hesi-tated, then turned to Cass. “Do you think your friend Tasha would get copies of all the lab reports for us? We still don’t have the ME’s report from the victim on the dock.”

Cass nodded. “I’m sure she’ll give us whatever she has.”

“Even if you’re off the case?” he asked.

“Especially if I’m off the case.”

“Can you give her a call?”

“Now?”

“Yes. But the reception is poor in here. You’ll have to take the phone into the lobby.”

“I’ll be right back.” Cass picked up her bag and left the room.

“Is the reception in here really that bad, or were you trying to get rid of her for a few?” Mitch asked.

“Both, actually. While I was in the lobby, I switched rooms from a single to a two-bedroom suite with a sitting room between.”

“You move fast. I had no idea you were such a player,” Mitch said wryly.