Or they left the cars here because they’re on the run.
Only a tiny twinge of guilt poked at me as I retrieved Randy’s spare key from under an old tire and let myself in. It was cold inside, which gave me pause. Randy was surprisingly frugal about some things and always turned down the thermostat before he left. But this had the feel of a place that hadn’t been heated all night. And Randy didn’t skimp on his climate comforts when he was home.
A quick check of the kitchen revealed a cold coffeemaker and dirty dishes in the sink. “Damn it, Randy,” I murmured then checked his bedroom. Not that it helped. I had no way to tell if he’d grabbed a few changes of clothes since most of his clothing lived in a pile in a corner.
I returned the key to its hiding place, then raced to Coy’s house. Dread wound through me at the sight of the garage door standing wide open, and I felt nothing more than a resigned disappointment when I determined the head and bag of bloody clothes were gone—no doubt resting in their new home at the bottom of the swamp.
Sighing, I returned to my car. Now I could think the worst.
I sat in Coy’s driveway for a solid five minutes while I ran through my options, and my disappointment shifted to seriously pissed. I’d put my own ass on the line to give those guys a chance—the only chance they were likely to get considering the horrific nature of the murder—and they’d shit on it. What the hell else could I have said to get through to them? I didn’t want to throw them under the bus, but did they really think I was going to let this go and walk away? Grayson Seeger deserved better than that.
Frustrated, I grabbed my phone and found Detective Ben Roth’s number, but hesitated before hitting the call button. How on earth was I supposed to convince him that the guys might be persons of interest? I had no evidence. Great, so I saw Judd use a yellow lighter. Big whoop. I’d cleverly destroyed his cigarette, so couldn’t point to that. And “they were acting weird at the Fest” was hardly probable cause.
And, of course, I couldn’t tell Ben I found the head and bloody clothes then waited all night before telling him. And then having to explain how I knew to look there in the first place. Here I was thinking I was so clever leaving the smear of blood in Coy’s garage, but now I didn’t have enough info to give Ben for him to get a warrant. But I had plenty to get myself into trouble.
“Shit!” I’d screwed up, waited too long. Judd and Coy might very well get away with murder, and I had no one to blame but myself. That wasn’t okay. And there was always the chance that Judd was crazy enough to come after me, despite my insistence that I’d told other people what I knew.
So fix it.
I blew out my breath. That was all I could do. Fix it. I’d watch my back and find a way to point Ben in the right direction. Somehow. And, in the meantime, I could focus my worry on the rest of the shit on my plate.
Lucky me.
Chapter 20
My VIP pass got me past the lines and through the gate of the Zombie Fest in nothing flat. I went straight to the Hunting Grounds on the slim chance that the guys were continuing to play their “everything is normal” game, but a check of all the prep areas turned up nothing. And though all three were registered for the hunt that was due to start in ten minutes, they hadn’t signed in yet.
The last whisper of hope vanished that Randy might get out of this unscathed. Grief swam through me, and I let it linger for a few seconds before I ruthlessly pushed it down. Nothing I could do at the moment about the potential well-deserved arrest of the Three Dumbasses, and I’d already gone way way above and beyond the call of friendship to help Randy. I’d have to let the problem simmer of how to involve the cops without getting myself in trouble. Right now it was time to focus on my other big headache: the Zombies Are Among Us!! fiasco.
I returned to the VIP tent, slipped inside the Graveyard and paused to let my eyes adjust to the dimmer light from the fake moon. The crowd inside was thicker today, most likely because of the hype for the mockumentary premiere. After a quick detour to grab a snack, I wound my way through the crowd then staked out a spot with a decent view of the screen.
Andrew was near the stage, conducting a meet-and-greet thing with VIPs, while Thea Braddock and Tom Snyder did their bodyguard impressions from a discreet distance. Braddock spotted me in less than ten seconds and gave me a hard look before continuing her surveillance of the crowd. Yep, I heard her loud and clear: I’m watching you, and I will take your ass down with zero prejudice if you step out of line.
Y’know, I was beginning to really like her.
The crowd near Braddock shifted, and I tensed as Dante Rosario stepped through with a German Shepherd—the Marquise de Saber—on a lead. Rosario strolled casually, but to my horror the dog zeroed in on Andrew. Shit. All zombies carried at least a micro-whiff of decay, no matter how tanked up they were on brains. And that dog was trained to smell rot.
Heart pounding, I wormed past people toward the impending disaster. Rosario moved to Andrew and offered his hand as if they knew each other—which they probably did considering Rosario was the face of Saberton’s so-called commitment to public service. Andrew smiled and took Rosario’s hand while, at their feet, the Marquise dropped her belly to the ground like a furry sphinx, her eyes riveted on my zombie baby.
Double shit, though so far it didn’t seem as if Rosario had noticed his dog’s behavior. Time for me to create a distraction and keep it that way.
“Andrew!” I called out, all bright and cheery, pairing it with a big wave. Both men looked my way, along with everyone else in earshot. Andrew stared at me with a What the hell are you doing? expression.
Distraction level one achieved.
“Oh my god,” I gushed as I closed the distance. “I’m so glad I caught you before the premiere!”
Braddock stepped forward, eyes hard with suspicion. In the same instant the dog snapped her head toward me, growl rumbling as her nose worked. Awesome. Let the bitch indicate on me. The dog, not Braddock.
Eyes on me, Rosario crouched and stroked the dog’s head. “Quiet, Marla.”
Marla. I stopped dead as the name punched through me. New York. I’d taken the subway to try and find Brian and boarded a car with what I thought was a blind man and his seeing-eye dog.
The man’s hair had been reddish-brown, just like Rosario’s, and the dog had growled at me.
It’s because you’re a pretty girl, the man had said. Marla gets jealous of pretty girls.
He’d been wearing sunglasses on the subway, which was why I hadn’t made the connection before now. It might have been sheer coincidence that we’d been on the same subway car, but there was no mistake. Same voice. Same dog. Same man. But he wasn’t blind. And now I knew he was with Saberton.