Chapter 12

"What?" Forrest snapped into the receiver.

"Get your ass into town. Chief Dear is making an announcement in half an hour," Magnus said. "He says it will be quick, which is good because he's messing up my afternoon rush."

What afternoon rush?Forrest almost asked. But for once in his life, he held his tongue. Then recalled what Nero had done with his tongue last night. He wanted more, which could be a problem. He'd let future Forrest solve it; right now he needed to get to the Steam Donkey.

"They found Ned's killer already?" he asked, tossing the book he'd been staring at—but not reading—to the floor. Instead, he'd been rehashing what had happened last night with Nero. Over My Dead Body landed face down, the block letters NERO WOLFE staring back at him. Yeah, he was a sucker.

It was a damn good thing he'd switched his truck to biodiesel. He'd be bankrupt driving to and from town every time he turned around. Fuck anyone who didn't like the smell of french fries.

"No. The DNA results are back from the bones Jayden Harlow found back in the fall and the ones Nick and Martin found up on Crook's Trail in January, so Dear's calling a town meeting. I guess he's doing his best to make sure that us common folk have the correct information."

Magnus liked Chief Dear, so something else must have been bothering him. Maybe he and Rufus had argued.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." He probably needed to find clean clothes to put on.

Fuck that. This was Cooper Springs, not New York city.

Racing to his bedroom, he glanced around and then pulled a pair of jeans out of the clothes hamper. He rummaged in his top dresser drawer and came up with a clean t-shirt decorated with an illustration of a T-Rex with grabby arms declaring Now I am Unstoppable across the front. After slipping his bare feet into a pair of ratty Vans, Forrest searched around the living room for the keys to his truck, only to find them right where he'd left them—hidden between the cushions of the couch.

It took a record twelve minutes for him to drive to the pub. When he arrived, Forrest swore loudly and colorfully. The parking lot was full.

Since everyone who could make it was already parked and heading inside, the closest spot he could see was at the resort. Impatiently huffing, Forrest gunned the truck further down the highway and pulled into the resort's lot, pretending he didn't see the Residents and Overnight Guests Only sign. Martin and Nick would know why he'd parked there.

After he locked up his vehicle, Forrest shivered and jammed his hands into his pockets while he waited for a couple of cars and an RV to drive by. As he started to cross, he thought he heard someone call out his name, but he didn't stop. He didn't want to miss what Chief Dear had to say. Besides, he told himself, it also could have been his imagination.

The Steam Donkey was packed with Cooper Springs citizens. After looking around, Forrest contented himself with sliding into an open spot against the back wall.

"Cooper," Dante Castone greeted him as they crowded in elbow to elbow.

"Castone. I suppose you know what Chief Dear is going to say?"

"Actually, Andre's pretty careful about what he shares with me. He just told me I might want to be here. I knew something was going on, though, because he got an early phone call and left right afterward. At first, I thought it was about what happened yesterday, but he assured me this is totally separate."

Fuck, Ned had been dead over twenty-four hours already.

"Ah," was the only thing Forrest could think of to say. He hadn't forgotten, of course. In fact, he'd been awake most of the night thinking about it and what he probably needed to share with Nero.

Nero, who he'd very nearly almost practically fucked. For the first time in his adult life, he hadn't felt an immediate need to leave. The mattress had pushed him out. The bed was too small for the both of them, and Nero had claimed he needed to get some sleep if they were going to be sleuthing today.

Across the room, Chief Dear stepped up onto the low dais where, very occasionally, the Steam Donkey hosted open mic nights and, even more rarely, talented musicians. Knowing Xavier, he was probably already working on bringing actual bands to Cooper Springs too. Critter and Mags, the two permanent staff forest service officers, stood off to one side. They'd helped to retrieve the remains last fall and in January. Forrest knew they felt a certain responsibility toward them.

Dear tapped the microphone. "Is this thing working?"

"Yes," Dante said, smirking while a few other people also chimed in.

The mic squealed. Forrest made a note to tell Xavier he needed to upgrade the sound system if he was serious about bringing music in. The crowd hushed and Forrest snickered at Mags smacking Critter when he didn't immediately stop talking to someone Forrest couldn't see.

"Good." Dear nodded. "I'm sure there will be questions, but if you could hold them until I finish, that would be much appreciated. And even then, I will only answer what I can, which isn't a lot."

The door near Forrest opened to admit a few more people, one of whom was Nero. Nero caught Forrest's glance and winked but turned the other direction, squeezing in next to Tim Dennis and Xavier, who'd stationed themselves by the window. Forrest hadn't seen them when he'd arrived. Xavier waggled his fingers in Forrest's direction.

Winked at him?

The PA system crackled again and Forrest turned his attention back to the Cooper Springs police chief.

"Alright, I'm going to make this as quick as possible. Otherwise, we'll have to shut the pub down for being over capacity and we don't want that."

There were a few titters and throat clearings before absolute silence fell again as everyone in the building waited to hear what Dear had to say.

"I'm standing before you today with good news and bad news. First off, please know that the parties concerned have already been notified, so there's no reason for any of you to call or text them. Be polite. Give them time to process and grieve." Dear glared around at his audience, daring them to disobey him. "With great sorrow, I'm here to tell you that the remains found in January and last fall have been officially identified. Using DNA sampling and the hard work of genealogy volunteers, we now know their names, and Morgan Blass and Sarah Turner will be returned to their loved ones."

The crowd murmured but Dear kept talking, speaking over the rule-breakers.

"Sarah was barely seventeen when she left her home in the summer of 1988 and never returned. In the spring of 1989, Morgan Blass, aged nineteen, also disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again."

The rumble of the crowd increased. Dear raised his hand, asking for quiet. Forrest realized he was quietly grinding his teeth and tried to relax his jaw. He didn't know what other kind of evidence, if any, had been found. Would there be something that would definitively tell Forrest he wasn't wrong to think the girls could have been killed by one of his parents? Sometimes when he dreamed, there was a girl's voice, but he could never make out what she was saying.

"As I said, the relatives have been notified. Please give them—especially those who continue to reside in Cooper Springs—time to process these developments."

"Who did it, Chief? Did you figure that out?"

Forrest couldn't see who'd asked that ridiculous question, but there was always one. Dante caught Forrest's glare, grunted, and rolled his eyes in agreement.

"At this point, there are no leads," the chief responded with a great deal more calm than Forrest would've been able to muster. Maybe it was a good thing he'd decided against working in the public sector. Lavender didn't talk back, and it was known for its calming qualities. "A great deal has changed when it comes to policing and forensic science, but I like to think that every effort was made at the time of their disappearances to find out what happened. That is all the information I have for you today."

When the audience realized that Dear wasn't going to say anything further, people began filing out of the pub, heading back to their normally scheduled lives. As they passed by, Forrest heard snatches of conversations that included ideas about what might have happened to the girls, questions on whether there would be a public memorial, and the occasional and obligatory I always knew something bad had happened. Forrest headed to the bar. He needed a cup of coffee and while the stuff they served to the public was generally terrible, Magnus usually had a pot of it on the warmer.

Forrest noticed Rufus still sitting at his spot near the end of the bar, a shocked expression on his face.

"What's up? Are you okay?" Forrest asked, a little worried.

Was it possible that Rufus had known the girls and their families?Forrest wondered. He probably had. Forrest glanced around; Magnus was over talking to the chief by the stage, probably trying to see if that was really all he had to tell them.

"You look a little pale. Should I call Magnus over?"

"No thanks. I just…" The older man didn't continue, just shook his head.

"What's up? Rufus, you have me worried. I'm gonna be calling someone anyway." Finally, Rufus directed his gaze at Forrest. His hazel eyes were watery, as if he was about to cry.

"Did you know the girls?" Forrest asked. He hadn't; he and Lani had been living with their parents in The Deep around that time.

"No, no, I didn't." Rufus shook his head. "Not really, not more than a passing hello. But I always thought they'd run away to find a better life than what Cooper Springs had to offer them. Thought maybe they'd met a sailor or soldier, traveled off to distant lands." His voice broke on the last word and he stared at Forrest, his expression shattered.

"How could you have known?" Forrest asked. "How could anyone have known who the remains belonged to?"

"We could've listened to Amy Blass, who insisted her Morgan would never just leave. Same with Sarah—I think she wanted to be a veterinarian, was planning to apply at WSU if I remember right."

"Rufus, you couldn't have known it was them," Forrest insisted. His heart pinched at the devastated expression in Rufus's eyes.

"And now Ned's gone too, the same way as Ernst. Forrest, I should have known."

Forrest eyed the older man, wondering if the identity of the girls was all he was worrying over. He opened his mouth, intending to ask if Rufus thought Witt or Dina could still be alive and living in the woods. But he chickened out; it was too ridiculous. Rufus would just tell him he was overthinking, that Forrest's nightmares were thirty-five years old and had little basis in reality.

"You couldn't have known anything," Forrest repeated instead, swiveling to look over his shoulder, intent on getting Magnus's attention. The publican was nowhere in sight, probably out chatting with folks still milling around in the parking area.

When Forrest turned back, Rufus's seat was empty, and Forrest spotted him making his way out the front door. Damn, the old man could move quickly. It was easy to forget Rufus still hiked the woods on a regular basis, something he'd done since he was a young boy.

The comment about Ernst bothered Forrest; he didn't want there to be a connection between the two deaths, even if Nero had suggested it last night. He didn't want Ned dead at all.

If his grandpa's death hadn't been an accident, had the same person killed them both? If so, why? And why wait almost twenty years between the two?

Forrest was tempted to chase after Rufus but decided against it. He'd stop by his or Wanda's place later and check in on him. Maybe Rufus just needed time to process the news. In the meantime, Nero Vik was lingering by the door and talking with Tim and Xavier.

Forrest scowled. He suspected Tim Dennis was a player—he was friends with Xavier, after all. Maybe he and Nero weren't a thing, but he didn't want Tim Dennis looking at him, either.

"Seriously, Forrest, maybe you should haul him off somewhere private and take care of that itch." Magnus's voice made Forrest jump.

Forrest hadn't noticed that the asshole had returned to his post behind the bar. No way was he going to publicly admit that he and Nero already been there, done that, and that, even worse, he wanted more. Wanting more wasn't what Forrest did. And Nero probably wasn't sticking around anyway.

Forrest wondered if he wanted him to.

Crap. Did he want Nero to stick around? Had Magnus seen his truck over there last night? Probably, but it was too late to fix that now.

"Fuck you. What's up with Rufus?"

"What do you mean, what's up with Rufus?" Magnus looked around. "And where is he?"

"He left." Forrest gestured the direction most everyone, including Rufus, had headed. "Seemed a bit off. Definitely shaken up by the news."

"I think we all are, aren't you? Those poor girls, up there all this time. I was in high school the same time as they were." Magnus frowned, something Forrest wasn't used to.

"Yeah, but… more shook up. I can't explain it."

Magnus stared at him for an extra beat, seemed to realize Forrest was serious, and came to a conclusion.

"Keep an eye on the bar for a minute. I'll find out what's going on."

"Me?" He looked around to see if there was someone else Magnus might be talking to. But no, it was just him. Most of the townies who'd stopped in to hear the announcement were already gone.

Magnus rolled his eyes. "Yes, you."

After untying the half apron he wore, Magnus tossed it on the bar as he came around to the seating area and headed to the exit.

"Hurry up. Can't just sit there and twiddle your thumbs."

Bemused, Forrest slipped off the stool and moved to stand behind the bar until Magnus returned.

He stood there and watched the stragglers depart, not sure what to do with himself. Now he knew why Magnus was wiping the bar down all the time; it gave him something to do with his hands.

Forrest noticed Xavier and his suspect college friend had left already, but Nero wandered over to stand at the end of the counter.

Forrest blinked.

He wanted to kiss him. In public. The realization rattled him. He'd hated him at first sight, he'd avoided him as much as possible, and now he wanted to kiss him? In public?

"What are you doing?" Forrest asked instead of performing unnecessary mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He was curious if, in the hours since Forrest had slunk back to the farm, Nero had discovered anything. Maybe he had needed to sleep; it had been well after midnight by the time Forrest had left. Nero needed to be investigating, not lingering at the pub.

Nero overtly glanced around. "The same as you, I think."

He also looked like he was trying not to smile, which both irritated and turned Forrest on. Maybe he was starting to understand why Xavier had been so fucking weird last fall when he'd opened his eyes and really seen Vincent Barone.

"Have you found anything out yet?"

"You have a remarkable trust in my skills considering you were bad-mouthing me as recently as yesterday morning."

Forrest leaned across the bar. "I'll bad-mouth you more if you want me to," he murmured.

Nero's cheeks turned red—but so did Forrest's. This kind of talk was not like him.

Finally, Nero broke the only slightly awkward silence between them. "You know, Magnus is much better at this bartender thing than you are. He at least would've asked what I wanted to drink by now."

"Fine. What do you fucking want to drink? Happy?"

Nero stared at him for a minute and then began to laugh. Actually laugh. Nero had a deep chuckle that seemed to reach into the darker part of Forrest's brain and turn it off. His entire body was reacting like he was abruptly tuned into a frequency he'd never experienced before. Forrest gaped at the chuckling, snorting man a few seconds before he also started to snicker. He couldn't stop himself.

"It's not funny." Forrest struggled to get control of himself, but the more he tried the less he could stop himself. When was the last time he'd just laughed? "I make an awful bartender."

"It is funny, and you are terrible," Nero agreed while he wheezed and brayed at the same time, making Forrest laugh harder. "I thought I didn't have good people skills. I, at least, come up with good excuses before running out on guys, not, ‘This mattress is awfully small, see ya, later.'"

He paused to try and get a breath, which looked to be unsuccessful, but he kept going.

"At least I use excuses like ‘Oh, I left my game on pause, and I need to get back to the quest.' Or ‘There's a murder from 1965 that I need to help solve.' Guys love it when I use that one. Like I'm a Jessica Fletcher superhero." He mimed peering around and smashing his fingers against the keys of an imaginary typewriter.

"That mattress is too damn small!" Forrest protested quietly. "I'm not a tiny guy. I stay over there and I'm gonna need a chiropractor. You haven't really used getting back to a game as an excuse, have you?"

Those dark eyebrows waggled again. It wasn't charming. It couldn't be.

"I guess that's for me to know and you to find out."

Damn it, it was fucking adorable. Forrest didn't know what to do with himself. He never bantered with hookups, and he still wanted to hop over the bar and kiss him. Huffing, he grabbed a pint glass off the shelf, stared at the taps for a second, and then, remembering that he'd ordered it the other day, poured Nero a Tree Hugger IPA. As one does for someone one finds compelling, frustrating, and sexy as hell.

And scary too, a little voice murmured. Because Forrest could see himself breaking his own code with Nero.

"Seriously, have you really used a role-playing game as an excuse?" he asked over his shoulder.

"It was a particularly bad date," Nero said dryly. "And even a bad DD campaign was more fun than that guy."

The laughter started again. It had been several months—god, maybe even a year, not counting last night—since Forrest had been with anyone. At over an hour's drive away, trips to Olympia may have been hard to fit into his life, but they were much safer. Less chance of running post-hookup into a stranger that he had no intention of ever fucking again. This bantering shit was going to break him.

But maybe this would be okay. Forrest reminded himself that Nero wouldn't be sticking around once they figured out who'd murdered Ned.

He stopped snickering.

By the time Forrest turned back around, Nero had gotten control of himself too. Somewhat. His laughter having subsided, his shoulders still shook as Nero swiped at his eyes with the cuff of his sweatshirt. Setting the glass down in front of the other man, Forrest turned back and poured a second pint for himself, then set it at the spot next to Nero's.

Fuck it. Fuck that. Fuck finding out that some poor girls had been murdered and buried up on the mountain where his crazy-ass mother had lived and—while he fucking hoped not—she still might.

He'd just sat down when Magnus returned.

"You're fired, and Rufus seems all right," he informed Forrest. "Just shaken up by the news, I think." Plucking his apron from the bartop, he rewrapped it around his hips and secured it. "I'll check on him again once Garth gets here."

After finishing his beer, Forrest considered inviting Nero out to his house—for research only, of course. But he ultimately decided that was too much change too quickly. He didn't invite strangers into his sanctuary.

But he was considering it. Probably would do it at some point. Fuck.

For his part, Nero promised to call Forrest if he discovered anything.

Forrest scowled at this and narrowed his eyes, hoping Nero got the message that he better damn check in.

"Dude, I pinky-promise I will call you first if I learn anything. No need to try and laser me with your eyes."

* * *

Forrest hardly noticedhis drive back home, distracted by both the news Chief Dear had shared about the remains and images of fucking Nero Vik. Almost fucking. He had a very good imagination.

Passing by Levi Cruz's place, Forrest pressed on the brakes. Two cars were parked in front of Levi's house. Forrest recognized Levi's beat-up Ford but not the late model SUV. Did Levi buy a new car? He should have known, but they hadn't talked in a while.

Tattered and faded ribbons of all colors had been tied along the fence that ran along the road. They fluttered pathetically in the constant breeze, a testament to Levi's missing younger sister, Blair. Forrest was sure Levi suspected the worst. He tried to imagine what his life would be like without Lani in it and his breath caught. He couldn't do it.

It looked to Forrest like the lights in Levi's house were off. Maybe Levi wasn't home at all. Maybe he was huddled inside, grieving and yelling at the world. That's what Forrest would be doing. Had he heard the news already? Dear or Lani had probably alerted him before the announcement. Forrest hoped so.

What did you say to someone whose family member was missing and had been for months? Whose little sister just disappeared off the face of the earth? There was no Hallmark card for that. Deciding against turning into the drive, Forrest continued up the highway another mile.

Veering right onto the long driveway that ended at his house, Forrest passed by fields of Lavandula angustifolia, Lavandula latifolia, and Lavandula officinalis. Currently, they were just gray mounds but in a few months, they would be a million different shades of lavender, white, and purple.

Purple Phaze Farm was Forrest's pride and joy. He knew he was lucky; there wasn't much similar acreage this far down the peninsula. Sequim, one hundred miles to the north and often referred to as the Palm Springs of the region, was where most of Western Washington's lavender crops grew.

When Ernst Cooper died, he left the house and land to both Forrest and Lani, to which Lani'd reacted with, "Have at it. I'm not interested in dirt." They'd found her a cute cottage in town with very little dirt around it.

Neither of them cared about the small house their mother had been raised in. After all these years, it still sat empty. If any structure could be malevolent, Forrest swore that building was. Maybe it was time to tear it down and build something new in its place.

As he approached his rambler,Forrest's phone lit up. But he continued driving past the pay-as-you-go flower kiosk and parked next to the detached garage before checking to see who'd messaged him. He doubted it was Nero, not so soon.

Yes, the bus is still available.

The small frisson of excitement at the text made him feel guilty. Ned was dead, Blair Cruz still missing, and her brother Levi was losing himself to grief.

But a few weeks ago, Forrest had been driving back from his monthly browse at his favorite store in Elma. The owner called it a used bookstore, but he collected and sold everything from vinyl records and guitars to small pieces of furniture and eclectic clothing. Forrest had picked up an AC/DC t-shirt to add to his collection.

On his way back home, he'd taken a different route, one that passed by an old farmstead, and what he hadn't known he'd needed in his life had been parked right there, in front of the barn. Even better, a big For Sale sign was stuck on the side.

A custom-painted 1963 Greyhound bus.

It was love at first sight. Someone with a great deal more talent than he ever had shown had painted a luscious pink and lavender mermaid along the side and surrounded her with sea stars, octopuses, a few colorful fish, seaweed, and kelp.

The owner hadn't been home but Forrest had dared to trespass, taking a peek through the windows into the interior, which was fully restored and also gorgeous. Before leaving, he'd taken about fifty pictures of it with his phone.

On the way home, he'd come up with a bunch of scenarios to fit the bus in with the farm. He'd keep the mermaid art but have someone transform the seaweed and kelp into strands of lavender, a sea of purple flowers. Maybe Liam could do that kind of work—a true renaissance man, he seemed to be able to do almost anything.

Once they figured out what fucker had murdered Ned Barker.

Ned had seen the photos and immediately loved the bus too.

"Go for it." The mischievous sparkle in his eyes had been bright. Forrest's breath caught at the memory.

Once he was parked, Forrest texted back, offering a lower price but cash up front. Yes, he still felt guilty about being excited when Blair was missing and Ned was lying on a slab somewhere.

But then he thought of Ned's attitude and Blair's smile. If a person wanted to own a custom 1963 Greyhound bus, why not? Life was too short. A person could wake up dead one day.

Five minutes later, Forrest was the proud owner of yet another vintage vehicle. Lani would hate it, for sure. He imagined her scolding him about wasting his money, his safety, and whatever else she could think of.

It wasn't until he automatically stopped at the mailbox only to find it empty that grief turned to anger again.

"Fucking fuck you, whoever is responsible for this."

Ned Barker, Cooper Springs' happiest letter carrier, was dead, murdered. The man wouldn't be stopping in for lavender iced tea, bitching to Forrest about mailboxes being vandalized by high schoolers or sharing pictures of his grandchildren.

Forrest didn't like small kids that much, but he appreciated that something happened to previously normal adults after children or grandchildren were born. He'd enjoyed teasing Ned about how unfortunate it was that his grandkids had managed to take after him.

Angrily, Forrest slammed the front door shut behind him, hard enough that it rattled in the frame.

Someone was going to pay for this.

Without thinking too deeply about it, he punched the cell number Nero had given him into his landline. With luck, the other man would have service today.