“Faythe, are you okay?” my father asked gently.
I made myself take a long, deep breath, and my hand went still on the pump. “No. Fortunately, we have another lead. There’s another stray who might know where Eckard took Marc, but I’m gonna need Michael’s help finding him. Will they let him answer his phone during the trial?”
“I’m sure he can take a break.” He paused, and I heard Owen clacking away on a keyboard in the background. “Let me know what you find out.”
“I will.” I hung up the phone and plugged the hole in the mattress, though it was only half-inflated. “Hey, Dan?” I called, heading down the hall toward the living room.
“Yeah?” He sat in a chair in front of the open front door, patiently installing a new dead bolt with a flathead screwdriver.
“Are you sure you don’t know where Peter Yarnell lives?” It would be so much easier if he did, and we could leave immediately, instead of having to wait for Michael to dig up an address.
Dan sat up and met my gaze, the screwdriver held loosely in his lap. “I’m sure. It’s not like we get together to play poker or anything. I’ve only met him a couple of times. But he’s definitely the one you want. His scent’s right here.” Dan pointed one callused finger at the knob on the outside of the door, and I knelt for a whiff.
Sure enough, the faint scent of yet another stray clung to the aluminum knob, though I smelled it nowhere else.
“He must not have touched anything else,” I ventured, glancing around the living room and kitchen at all the things that didn’t carry his scent.
“I’m guessin’ he broke in and saw that we’d already cleaned up, then hightailed it outta here.”
I nodded, already distracted. “Thanks, Dan.”
The stray’s head bobbed in acknowledgment, and he bent over his work again.
I dialed Michael on my way into the kitchen to check on the enchiladas. The phone rang in my ear as I opened the oven door and flipped on the tiny lightbulb. And while I closed the door and took a chilled soda from the fridge. And while I popped the seal and gulped from the can. And still the ringing continued.
Just when I thought Michael’s voice mail would pick up, he answered his phone and snapped softly into it, “This better be important, Faythe. We’re in the middle of a hearing.”
Oops.
“It won’t take long.” Since I’d already interrupted him anyway…
“Fine. Hold on.” His shoes squeaked on the Di Carlos’ stone floor and a door closed. Then his voice gained its normal volume. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, just about everything.” I set my can on the counter and lifted the chewed-up pencil, which had somehow made it back into the empty dish drainer. “The short version is that Marc’s still missing, and Kevin Mitchell’s mixed up in it somehow.” I exhaled slowly, and tapped the eraser end of the pencil on the faded Formica. “I don’t think he has much time left, Michael. It’s twenty-nine degrees outside, and we don’t know how or where he’s injured, but we know he’s lost a lot of blood.”
“I’m so sorry, Faythe….” he began, but I cut him off, tears standing in my eyes.
“He’s not dead, Michael. And I need your help to find him.”
“What can I do?” That was my big brother. Always ready for the bottom line. But this time his voice was pinched with concern, which warmed my heart just a little bit, and I forgave his lack of faith. I loved it that the rest of my family loved Marc as much as I did.
“Do we have anything on a stray named Peter Yarnell?” We kept track of as many cats in the free zone as we could, to make our job easier, and because Michael kept the records, he always had the most up-to-date information.
“Hang on and let me check my spreadsheet.” His footsteps echoed on the floor again, and another door creaked open. “Who is Peter Yarnell?”“He’s the stray Kevin sent to Marc’s house this morning, to dispose of the bodies. Which we’d already done, of course. I’m hoping, since he’s obviously in on this, that he’ll know where Eckard took Marc.”
“Okay, just a minute.” Springs groaned softly as Michael settled into a chair, probably in front of the laptop he kept running all day, every day. “Um…yes. As of May of last year, Peter Yarnell was living in Gloster, Mississippi.” His fingers tapped rapidly over the keys, then he spoke again, before I could ask. “That’s about half an hour from Rosetta.”
“What’s the address?” I wrote on Marc’s notepad while Michael read information from his obsessively organized spreadsheet. “Do you have a phone number?”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t suggest warning him before you show up.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, Michael. What would I ever do without the benefit of your wisdom?”
“You’re welcome,” he said in response to my sarcasm. Then he read me the number.
“Thank you. Hey, while I have you on the phone, how’s the hearing going?” I asked, taking another sip from my soda.
“It’s not looking good, Faythe.”
My heart pumped harder in sympathy for Manx. I’d really been hoping for some good news to balance out the most miserable thirty-six hours of my life. “Why not?”
“Because Manx claims she killed those toms in self-defense, but they’ve already gotten her to admit she was in no immediate danger at the time. And the council doesn’t recognize any kind of temporary insanity defense.”
Which was a real shame, because most of the councilmen had considered me crazy for most of my life.
After I spoke to Michael, I called my father and gave him another update while I finished blowing up the mattress. He gave us permission to go interrogate Peter Yarnell at our earliest convenience—the very words I’d been hoping to hear.
In the kitchen, I opened the oven and pulled out both trays of enchiladas, setting them on top of the burners. Then I grabbed a pile of paper plates from an upper cabinet and a handful of mismatched forks from the top drawer. “Lunch!” I yelled, pulling three more sodas from the fridge. Footsteps stomped toward me from all directions, and in seconds the three toms had converged around the stove, scooping sloppy servings onto flimsy paper plates.
“Eat quickly,” I ordered, pleased to hear my father’s no-nonsense tone coming from my own mouth. “We’re leaving for Gloster in ten minutes.”
I filled the guys in while they shoveled huge bites of chicken, cheese and tortilla into their mouths, and I picked at my plate, only actually eating when Ethan frowned at me or nodded at my food.
Then I put on my steel-toed boots and led the way to Parker’s car, a foam cup of coffee in one hand.
Twenty minutes later, we drove into downtown Gloster, past a row of quaint storefronts and several residents ambling down the sidewalks, presumably to or from work at one of the local businesses. After another mile and a couple of turns, Parker stopped at the first—and only—gas station we saw to ask for directions to Peter Yarnell’s street. We found it quickly after that, and slowly cruised past house after house in the calm, middle-class neighborhood, in search of the address I’d written down.
It turned out to be the last one on the block, before the street ended in a dead end and a rough circle of asphalt. Yarnell’s house blended perfectly with the rest of the neighborhood. Redbrick with black shutters. Tall windows; small, neat lawn. The two-car garage was closed, but parked in front of it was a conservative dark blue SUV.
Looks like Mr Yarnell’s home. He’d probably taken the day off from some white-collar pencil-pushing job to clean up Eckard’s mess. Too bad for him…
Parker turned around in the circle, then parked on the edge of it, facing the house. “What’s the plan?”
“I knock on the door and flirt my way inside. You guys stand out of his line of sight, then follow me in. And try not to look too thuggish. This kind of neighborhood’s probably full of bored stay-at-home moms just itching to press the panic button.”
“What if he knows who you are?” Parker asked, scanning the hushed street.
“Then we go in as quickly and quietly as possible.” Just because we didn’t see the neighbors didn’t mean they couldn’t see us.
“Who gets to do the honors?” Ethan asked, his usual smile dim beneath the weight of recent grim responsibility. He’d been picking up a lot of Marc’s former duties, including interrogation, and the strain was starting to show on him.
I do. “We’ll play it by ear.”
Ethan nodded and opened his door, letting in a frigid draft. I started to follow him, but before anyone could get out of the car, Dan cleared his throat, drawing our attention. “Guys, I don’t know Pete Yarnell real well, but I know him by sight, and he’s…a pretty good size.”
“Size isn’t everything.” I pushed my door open but remained seated. “Anyway, compared to me, you’re all huge, and I’ve never had any trouble taking Ethan down.”
My brother’s expression lightened, and he stuck his tongue out at me, but Dan wasn’t done. “I don’t know if you could tell from that little bit of his scent on the doorknob, but Pete was there that night. Durin’ the ambush.”