“Now you have the responsibility,” Jerry said. “It’s tough to be king.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call myself the king of Otto’s Books,” Gypsy laughed. “But you’re right. It’s hard to have responsibility. I think I need to fire her next time she messes up.”
“If it makes you feel better, you can come and cry on me after,” Jerry said. When she looked at him, his eyes were twinkling in the lights. “I’ll have a shoulder saved just for you.”
“Thanks, Jerry,” Gypsy said, rubbing his hand. They’d turned twice already, Gypsy keeping the route short since she knew she needed to be up early for work again. She turned the third corner now, and it was only a short time before they would be back home again.
“I think I’ll go to the store,” Jerry said, gesturing ahead of them. At the next intersection, there was a twenty-four-hour store that sold all kinds of essentials, including a particular type of rum that Jerry always said reminded him of home. “Now, child, you call on me if you need to!”
“I will,” Gypsy said, letting him go. “I hope those blinds work out for you.”
“And be careful,” Jerry said, throwing the last words over his shoulder. “They say there’s a maniac at loose in Seattle. You’ve got to watch yourself!”
“I will,” she promised him again, waving as she turned the corner back towards home, just in case he would turn around to see.
Gypsy took a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs. Yes, Jerry was right, she thought, as she walked across the front of the building next to hers. She would have to take the responsibility – the girl knew the rules, and if she broke them again, there was no way Gypsy could give her a second chance. She didn’t want to risk her own job, after all, and –
There was a wrench; for a moment Gypsy didn’t quite understand what had happened, except that she was suddenly a lot further back in the space than she had been. Then she registered an arm across her shoulders, and for a moment, absurdly, she wondered if Jerry was trying to play a trick on her.
But this wasn’t Jerry.
“Hey -” she started, but she never got the chance to make another sound. His hand shot out to cover her mouth, and the scream she tried to make was too muffled. She made to run, trying to use the grip she had on the sidewalk to push away from him and make it up to her front door, but he was too strong, holding her too tightly, her head crushed back against his shoulder.
A knife flashed out in the darkness in front of her and plunged into her chest, the streetlights no longer reflecting on the reddened blade as it was pulled out and struck into her again.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Laura pulled up outside a small café, one of the only venues that was still open along this strip of the road. In the yellow lights of the interior, she could see Caleb Rowntree through the window, looking annoyingly good under what she was sure would not be flattering lighting for her own skin.
She got out of the car and headed inside, joining him directly. A waitress followed her from the door to pour coffee into a cup, which Laura accepted gratefully. Maybe it would be better than the swill at the precinct.
“You wanted to meet?” Laura said. It felt strangely anticlimactic. What should have been their initial greeting had been essentially stolen by the waitress, who swept in just as Laura had been about to say hello.
“I did,” Caleb said. He flashed her a wide smile, as charming as it was attractive. “You must be tired. You’ve been at it all day?”
“Yep,” Laura said, sipping her coffee. She almost rolled her eyes in pleasure. It was good coffee – strong and flavorful. Just what she needed to both combat the headache and keep her awake long enough to do what she needed to do.
Caleb laughed, obviously watching her reaction. “Good coffee?”
“
Better than what they have at the precinct,” Laura admitted. “So, what was it?”
“Right,” Caleb said, leaning forward over the table conspiratorially. “Well, I think I might have a lead for you.”
Laura raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t told him that they had already arrested a suspect. It would be interesting if he could name the same man. “What is it?” she asked, leaning forward as well in spite of herself. Caleb had the kind of nature that could just draw you in, make you want to listen to him.
He was probably going to be a star, as soon as he got his foot in the door with a movie or two.
“There was a student in the class,” he said. “With Suzanna, I mean. I think he could be suspicious. He only came once or twice, and I never saw him with Lucile – but if he tried one class, I’m living proof that it’s possible to have tried more than one.”
“What was his name?” Laura asked.
“I’m not entirely sure, but I know it was Robert something,” Caleb said. He lifted the sugar shaker and poured some into his own coffee, stirring it around. He liked it sweet, apparently. “I was thinking you might be able to get his full name from the class records?”
“It’s possible,” Laura said. She sipped her coffee again. This clearly didn’t line up with Scott Darnell, but there was no harm in listening. “Go on.”
“Well, he was just kind of creepy,” Caleb said. He was animated as he spoke, his face moving expressively and his hands darting through the air. Laura found she could hardly look away from him. “He had this way about him, always skulking to the back of the class and refusing to take part in things. I think Suzanna took him aside at the end of the second class and told him he had to take part if he wanted to join the group, and then we never saw him again. Or I didn’t, anyway, and I haven’t missed a class.”