Omens (Cainsville 1)

"I'll see what I can do."

Gabriel called at eight thirty the next morning, as I was in the clothing store looking for jogging sweats.

"I've arranged our first appointment," he said.

I flipped through a stack of pink T-shirts. Were they all pink?

"Who is it?"

"Jan Gunderson's sister."

"Anna?" Damn it. My one lead and he already had her contact information. And I was sure he hadn't needed to break into an apartment with a dead body to get it. Figures.

He continued, "You'll pose as my intern. Dress--"

"Businesslike. I know. Unless we're interviewing hookers or bikers, that'll be my default. If we do interview hookers and bikers, warn me in advance, because I have nothing to wear." I looked around the shop. Fifty percent polyester. Fifty percent loungewear. "And I won't find it in Cainsville."

"Jeans and a T-shirt would suffice for such situations."

I'd been joking. Was he? I honestly couldn't tell.

He continued, "Business wear for this one, but dowdy."

"Dowdy?"

"Frumpy. Plain. No makeup. Tie your hair back if you can."

"What is she, Amish?" I found a navy and white sweat suit in my size and pulled it out.

"Just do it, Olivia. I'm in court this morning. The interview is at noon. I'll--"

"I work at three. I'll need to be back by then."

A pause. "So you intend to keep playing server, even though you have something else to occupy your time?"

I gripped the phone tighter. "I'm not playing anything. It's my job."

"You have an Ivy League education, and you're working in a diner."

"That's not your concern."

"It is if it interferes with this investigation. I have a job, too, Ms. Jones. You cannot expect me to work around your schedule when with one call to your adoptive mother, you could solve your insolvency."

"No." I took the sweat suit into the change room. "You're right about the scheduling, though. We'll work it out."

"We'll see. Be ready at eleven." Before I could argue, he said, "I can dictate to my secretary on the drive there, so it isn't lost time. I'll bill you a hundred dollars flat fee each way."

Which meant it was roughly the same cost as a cab. And the cab would not be a luxury sports car.

I agreed, hung up, and went to try on the sweat suit.

I was sitting on the front steps when Gabriel pulled up to the curb. He put down the passenger window and lowered his shades to look at me. I tried to open the door. It was still locked.

"I thought we talked about your appearance," he said.

"I have one business suit. This is it. My hair is too short to pin up."

"Makeup?"