Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

T he next couple of days were not full of sound and fury, but they still signified nothing. Luke and I kept looking into Melissa's murder, but without much vim or vigor. Luke was convinced it was a one-off and the killer long gone, but I still had my suspicions of Sid, although that could have been wishful thinking. Rose and Poppy kept working on the shop, Poppy blowing up every now and then but generally keeping it together; Rose's suitors kept showing up with gifts and offering to help her look for the money or, if it was Harvey, gold; and Rowan Masters kept wandering around town asking questions and getting few answers and flirting with Rose when I wasn't there. His weird car was becoming omnipresent, driving in and out of town.

The good news was Rose had blown off Rowan's invite to the Wok Inn. Along with almost every other male who crossed her path.

And Rose and I had a come-to-Jesus talk.

"You got a lot more out of Dottie because I was there," she had said when we got back to Oddities.

"Yes," I said. "I just don't know why."

"Because you think banging on something and waving your gun around is the way to go. And sometimes it is. But not in most normal human interactions."

"Well, I haven't had a lot of those, Rose."

"Which is why you need me."

I'd looked at her then, annoyed because she was right. "Okay, so what were you doing in there that was so different?"

She shook her head. "You couldn't tell?"

"I knew you were doing something, but I couldn't figure out what."

She sat down at the kitchen table then, and I sat down across from her and realized that this was something we did, the kitchen table talk. I wondered if she did it with Poppy, too.

I wondered how I'd been here long enough to have habits with Rose.

I wondered why I liked it.

"Listen to me," she said. "If you want to convince people to give you something—money, information, whatever—you have to establish a reason for them to do that. And the best way to do that, your gun notwithstanding, is to get them on your side, so that giving you that thing is part of the relationship you establish."

"Is this psy-ops?" I said. "Because?—"

"It's the basis for the con," Rose said. "You make the mark like you, you make the mark feel she's smarter, better than you, you give them something so they'll understand that it's a giving relationship, and then you ask for what you want in a way that's good for the mark, too. So I told her I believed her that she wasn't helping with the kidnapping, I told her that she was too smart for that, and then I asked for what she knew because she knew more than anybody else in town. And she wanted to tell me, to prove that what I said was true."

"That sounds complicated."

"It's a lot more complicated when the dumbass you're with pulls out a gun," Rose said. "Stop doing that. It gets in my way."

She was probably right, but I was too damn tired and too damn sick to think about it then.

I slept a lot during the next few days, trying to get rid of the cold I'd gotten in the river, and when awake kept my eye on everybody, grateful that the killer had not kept on killing. Although I was thinking we could spare Rowan. Maybe a few others like Sid and Harvey and Lionel and Geoffrey who also were after Rose every chance they got.

Rose didn't get any more weird texts, so that was a plus.

After those three days, my chest was better, but I still had that cold and my head was stuffed up. Rose kept pushing hot tea and chicken soup on me as if that were the cure, and it did warm me up. As did she. Whatever trouble my detour into Rocky Start had given me, it had also given me Rose, and Rose was worth everything.

And now it was Friday. The plan had been for me to already be on the Appalachian Trail by now, tromping through the early morning frost. Instead, here I was, lying naked in bed with a naked Rose sleeping soft against me under a very thick, warm comforter. I can't say I was feeling too bad about that. I was mostly recovered from my trip down the river but not completely, so the smart move would be to stay in bed with Rose and rest. Or wake Rose up and not rest. Or go for my morning hike with Maggs, avoiding rope bridges that could be sabotaged.

I opted to remain in bed and rest and wait for Rose to wake from slumber, so the entity that oversaw my life saw fit at that moment to buzz my cellphone, indicating a text message. Maybe Rose's creepy stalker had hit the wrong number? Because I used burners and the only people who had my number were those I had contacted. Which was a very, very short list, so I pretty much knew who it was.

I fumbled for it on the nightstand and peered at the screen in the dark.

MARSHAL

COME QUICK

MY FIELDS

Pike hadn't signed it "Festus," which meant he wasn't in a playful mood, but on reflection, he was never in a playful mood. Which meant that there was an emergency in Pike's marijuana fields, so I kissed Rose's naked shoulder, considered continuing on to her other naked parts, and then sighed and slid out of bed. Duty called.

I pulled on my clothes, which were conveniently located on the floor. Maggs was lying at the foot of the bed and briefly looked up at me as I tiptoed past her, then lazily stood up. I waited by the door for her to join me, but instead she did her long stretch and then hopped up and took my spot, which was still warm, even resting her head on my pillow.

I didn't even bother to shake my head. It would be a wasted gesture. Plus, I would have left her there anyway. I didn't want Rose to be alone, what with killers and creepy texting guys lurking.

I went downstairs, careful in my socks on the wooden stairs. My boots were on top of the dryer where the secondary warmth had kept them dry. I pulled them on and then made some instant coffee to go. It was just before dawn and not a creature was stirring. Except me.

I checked my pistol, made sure there was a round in the chamber and it was on safe, and tucked it into my waist holster under my jacket. I grabbed the keys from the hook by the door for the Pathfinder parked out back and set out to find out how my day was going to go.

I was not optimistic.

* * *

I drove across the bridge over the Little Melvin River, past Betty Baumgarten's cottage and its garden and her support llama, Fernanda, who stared at me balefully as I went by, then over the single-lane bridge that was in the National Forest. The one where Norman had ambushed Poppy and Darius, which had led to his demise at my hands. I was accumulating memories in Rocky Start, some of them not bright and cheerful.

Then I took a right at the split in the road.

Pike owned several acres outside of Rocky Start where he cultivated cannabis. He'd cleared out the last crop and blown out the irrigation system last week. He was waiting next to his old pickup truck off a narrow dirt road in the forest. I pulled in behind him.

When I reached his side, he simply pointed.

Thirty feet away, seated in the middle of the field, was Sid Quill, looking passed out with his head lolled to the side and his back against one of the trees that dotted the area to provide concealment for the pot crop from overhead discovery. He was dressed in his usual shop attire without the addition of the nasty lab coat. His glasses were perched on his nose. In his lap was an open bag of Cheetos, his lips were stained orange, and there was the cold remnant of a joint dangling from the left side of his mouth. There was white powder smeared underneath his nose and on his face.

There was also a piece of cardboard on his chest that read: "Closed—Owner Dead," exactly like the one on Melissa's door, probably the same one that Sid had put there.

Except the joke was over: Sid really was dead.

So much for my prime suspect.