“You got somethin’ in your eye, blondie?” she asked with a hand on her hip.
I sighed and pulled out my badge and identification. “Will you please let the sheriff know that I’m here.”
“Sheriff don’t take no meetings on Saturday.” She leaned forward and sniffed the air. “You been drinkin’?”
I wanted to slam my forehead against the desk. “No ma’am.”
She pointed a long red fingernail at Shannon. “She been drinkin’?”
I looked at the woman’s name tag. “Miss Claybrooks, is it?”
She put her hand on her shelf of a hip.
“Please call the sheriff.”
Just then, the heavy metal door behind her slid open, and the sheriff stepped into the lobby. “Detective McNamara, glad you could make it!” He held up the white cardboard box in his arms. “I was just about to leave this with Ms. Claybrooks for you.”
I was glad he didn’t. She’d probably put me through a stress analysis test before giving it to me. I took the box from him and tucked it under my arm. “Thanks, Sheriff.”
He nodded. “I hope it’s helpful.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you have any luck meeting with the Bryson family yesterday?”
My shoulders slumped. “No. I spoke with the mother on the phone, but she wasn’t interested in talking to me. I left my number with her in case she changes her mind.”
The sheriff shook his head. “It’s a terrible thing they went through.”
I nodded. “I completely understand.” And I did.
He noticed Shannon behind me. “Is that…?” His voice trailed off.
I took a step to the side. “Sheriff, this is my friend, Shannon Green.”
He reached out his hand toward her. “Yes. The weather girl from channel four.”
She shook his hand. “Morning traffic,” she corrected him. She straightened her posture and saluted him. “Get the green light with Shannon Green, WKNC Asheville!”
My eyes widened. Sheriff Davis laughed. Shannon started giggling.
“I watch you every morning,” the sheriff said. He reached over and squeezed my shoulder. “So, you’re close with this fine young man, then?”
She batted her eyelashes up at me. “Quite.”
The sheriff looked at me. “Well, maybe you can help me convince him to take a job here in my office.”
I heard her suck in a sharp breath. “That would be wonderful.”
Oh boy.
I laughed to avoid saying anything inappropriate. “That would be something.” I looked at my watch. “Well, Sheriff, I’ve got to check out of my hotel by noon, so I need to get moving.” I gestured toward the evidence box. “Thanks again for making me copies of all these reports.”
He stuck out his hand. “I hope it helps, Detective. I’m sorry your time here wasn’t as productive as you’d hoped.” He pumped my fist a few extra times and eyed me carefully. “Think about my offer.”
I nodded. “I will, sir.”
The sheriff tipped an imaginary hat toward Shannon. “It was lovely to meet you, Ms. Green.”
She beamed at him. “You too, Sheriff.”
As we walked back out to her tiny sports car, she looped her arm through mine. “So, you might move here?”
I squinted up toward the sun. “Don’t count on it, sweetheart.”
She leaned into me. “What about just to visit?”
“I don’t have much time these days for a social life,” I told her, and it was true.
If I was correct about the contents of the box under my arm, I now had eleven dead girls to find.
TWO
THE WAKE COUNTY Sheriff’s Office was bustling like usual when I walked in on Monday morning with my coffee in one hand and a stack of case files in the other.
The morning receptionist, Margaret Barker, was typing at her computer. “Morning, Detective.”
“Morning, Marge. How’s the grandbaby?” I asked as I passed by her desk.
“Spoiled already. Did you have a nice weekend?” she asked.
I still wasn’t sure. “It was definitely interesting.” I turned and pushed the interior office door open with my back. “Have a good day.”
“You too,” she said over the white rim of her glasses.
On the other side of the door, as I turned around, someone slammed into me. Hot coffee sloshed all over the front of my new tan pullover. “Ah, damn it,” I muttered, holding my arms out and looking down at the milky brown puddle around my boots.
“Sorry, Nate!” It was our IT guy, Ramon Edgar. Ramon reminded me of a Weeble Wobble with a soul patch. He had an incurable case of acne that had scarred his face, and he had gauges in his earlobes. He lived in his grandmother’s basement and spent his free time playing World of Warcraft. How did I know? Because it was my job to know useless information about people.