J. Black - The Shop

“Just a couple of things. Yes or no. We could even play twenty questions.”

“It’s getting frigid in here.”

“Couldn’t you ask him, just in case he’s feeling talkative?”

A pause. And then, “No promises.”

“Sounds like a warm front’s coming in.”

“Time will tell,” he said, and hung up.

The phone rang again immediately. Jolie thought it was Agent Moran calling back. But it was Skeet.

“What are you doing today?”

“Not much.”

“Then why don’t you come down to the office? Say, half an hour.”

Skeet Mullins asked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He sat at his desk, feet up, and swiveled on his office chair, back and forth, squeak-squeak-squeak. Annoying as hell, but Jolie was used to it. “What do I think I’m doing?”

“You’re telling me you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

On the drive over, Jolie had tried to figure out how much Skeet knew about her activities, and she came to the conclusion that Detective Jeter of Panama City Beach PD might have called and left a message with Louis. That was the logical assumption, so she went with it. She gave him her most mystified look. “Do you mean going to Panama City? I didn’t know going to Panama City was a problem.”

“Panama City?”

“I was there yesterday. Is that a problem?”

Now Skeet was the one to look mystified. His mystification was a lot more convincing than hers. Either he was acting, or he didn’t know about Detective Jeter or the missing Nathan Dial.

“Are you moonlighting for the state police?”

“No.”

“Well, you act like it. Last I heard, the hostage situation at the Starliner Motel was the FDLE’s case. So what were you doing questioning anyone, period? What part of ‘paid leave’ don’t you understand?”

So that was it? When she’d gone into the neighborhood behind the Starliner Motel, she must have offended someone with her questions. Maybe Mark’s parents didn’t like her talking to him.

Skeet dropped his feet and leaned forward. “You’re on leave pending the conclusion of an investigation into an officer-involved shooting concerning a reckless discharge of a firearm. You cannot represent this department, you cannot go out there playing detective like you’re Nancy Drew.”

That hurt. When Jolie was a stars-in-her-eyes rookie in the sheriff’s office, she had expressed her desire to become a detective. Skeet started referring to her as Nancy Drew. Behind her back, but she’d heard about it.

“You are to cease and desist until the officer-involved shooting investigation is over. Am I clear?”

“Yessir.”

“Because if you keep it up, if you continue to flaunt this department’s regulations, the state’s regulations, you will be summarily fired.”

Just then—of course—her phone chirped.

“What’s that?” demanded Skeet.

Jolie checked the readout. “It’s my neighbor. I bet you my cat got out again.”

“Well, now you’ll have plenty of time to take care of things like that,” Skeet said.

The minute Jolie was outside the building, she took out her phone. She punched in the number of her caller as she walked to the car.

“This is Special Agent Belvedere,” he said without preamble. “You wanted to talk to me?”

Jolie told him what she wanted to know. It didn’t take long, because she knew she wouldn’t get much.

“I can’t talk about that.”

“I don’t mean specifically. Just generally. Your general impression.”

Silence. At least he didn’t hang up. Jolie added quickly, “As little or as much as you would like. I just want to know your observations regarding the subject, Luke Perdue.”

“This is part of your investigation into Chief Akers’s death? That’s a little far afield, isn’t it?”

As her Irish grandmother would say, in for a penny, in for a pound. “I know, but it’s important to know what his state of mind was.”

“The chief’s, or Luke Perdue’s?”

“Both.”

Another pause. Then Special Agent Belvedere said, “If you’re talking about Chief Akers, I heard suicide was ruled out.”

“It hasn’t been ruled out.” Another lie. For a brief crystallizing moment, Jolie realized just how far off the reservation she’d strayed. “You can see why Chief Akers’s state of mind would be affected by the outcome of the hostage negotiation.”

“Damn rumor mill. Okay, I’ll only say this once, just to characterize the situation. And I insist you do not repeat this. The subject—Perdue—gave us all the signals that he would surrender.”

“Surrender? You sure of that?”

“I’ve been in hostage negotiation for fifteen years. It was only a matter of time.”

“Are you saying he wanted to be taken into custody?”

“No. I’m saying he was desperate to be taken into custody.”

“You were pretty sure he would have released Kathy Westbrook and surrendered himself to the authorities?”

“Not pretty sure. Positive. I hope this helps.” Jolie could almost hear him check his watch. “I’m late for an appointment. Are we through here?”

“Yes, we’re through.”

He said, “It’s too bad.”

“Too bad?”

“I know how I felt when it ended the way it did. You can bet Chief Akers felt the same. It could have affected his state of mind.”

“That’s what we think,” Jolie lied.

“Good talking to you, and now I really have to go.”

As she closed the phone, Jolie heard a car door slam and footsteps approaching. She looked up and there was Kay.

Kay crossed her arms over her chest. “I want to show you something.”

Her voice was too high, and her face looked pinched.

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Her nostrils flared, and white lines bracketed her mouth. “Oh, you could say that.”

“Kay—”

“Would you come with me?”

“Is Zoe all right?”

“Like you care.”

“What’s this about?”

“It won’t take up much of your time. I promise .” Kay stalked to her Navigator, her shoes ticking on the pavement. Turned back when Jolie didn’t follow. “If you were ever my friend, ever my friend at all , you’d come with me.”

No choice. Jolie got in and Kay swerved out of the parking lot.

On the road Jolie asked, “You want to tell me where we’re going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

They went east on Highway 98. Jolie tried to figure out what had Kay up in arms, but the only thing she could think of was her talk with Zoe. Would Zoe go running to her mother, just because Jolie asked her about Luke’s last night with Riley?

Unlikely. Zoe would have to be a real pushover to tell her mother every little thing. But something had made Kay like this. The tight lips, the whiteness around her nose and mouth, her designer sunglasses blocking Jolie out.

In Port St. Joe, they turned onto Fifth Street and Jolie guessed where they were headed. Her parents’ house. The one that was on the market. Jolie had no idea why, but she could feel the tension, feel the anger about to spill over. It scared her. She thought that maybe Kay was this close to flying into a rage.

In front of the house, Kay slammed the car into park. The air conditioner was like a fog, clinging to Jolie’s face as she looked past the windshield at the shabby yellow cottage. “Would you mind telling me what this is about?”

Kay turned to look at her. Unseeable behind the large Dolce & Gabbanas. “I should have known better. You spoil everything you touch. You use people, Jolie. I tried to build a relationship with you, and you just used me to get what you wanted.”