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“Why don’t you come here?” I asked. “The place is stocked. I saw some pumpkin bagels in the fridge. Jeremy’s upstairs anyway, and?—”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re at a hotel.”
“No, Mason got us a house-share for the weekend.”
“Sounds romantic.”
It was for a minute. Inner Bitch said what I was thinking but not saying myself. (That’s what Inner Bitch always does, come to think of it.)
“Doesn’t matter,” Christy said. “You should come to me.”
“But why?” I moaned.
“Because the club is empty, and I have a borrowed key and I might’ve found a clue.”
“Okay. How long should the place be empty?”
“Two hours, so hurry your asses up.”
I flung back the covers and got up. “We’ll be there ASAP.”
My bulldog moaned as if she knew that meant she had to wake up, too. So did my cop, but his was more playful. He got up, pulled on a Terry robe. “I’ll wake Jere.”
We took high speed showers, both vehicles, and the dog. Jeremy wanted to drive himself in case we needed to split up after. He and his Firebird followed us right into the closest fast food-drive-through, where I ordered massive quantities of caffeine and empty calories. About halfway through the still-too-hot cuppa Joe, I sort of blinked into awareness of the world around me.
Mason was driving. He’d devoured his McBreakfast and was nursing his java. He was starting to come more fully online after only three hours of sleep. Oh, he could snap to full on, sharp-as-a-tack super cop mode in 0.3 seconds, if necessary. But until it became necessary, he tended to take his time. He and Myrtle had that in common.
She was sitting in the center of the back seat, with her doggy-seat belt harness in place. She was right in the opening between our bucket seats and wore a big smile. There were few things she loved more than riding in the car. I reached back and pet her head, and she rubbed against my hand.
“I haven’t told Christy any details about that dream,” I said completely out of context when we pulled into the club’s driveway.
I could imagine the mechanisms in Mason’s brain cranking to life, connections firing in search of meaning, finding it. “Are you going to?”
“Only if I think she needs to know.”
Christy was waiting outside the front doors when we pulled up, and she waved us around to the back of the building. Jeremy followed us around in his car.
“Like we wouldn’t have thought to put the cars out of sight,” I muttered.
“Yeah,” Mason said, because he was always on my side.
We parked and got out. I unbuckled Myrtle, kissed her face, and unwrapped a fresh, long-lasting chewy treat from the glove compartment where I always kept a few. She’d nosh on that treat the entire time we were gone. The car was in the shade, and we left two windows cracked for a fresh breeze. It was cool enough that the A.C. wasn’t necessary.
Jeremy got out of his car and came to join the huddle, hands in his pockets, not saying much.
“Hey Jere,” Christy said, and she gave him a sisterly hug. “How are you doing? You okay?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”
“It’s not. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s about you.”
He met my eyes briefly, because that was word for word what I’d said, and I knew he disagreed.
Christy was wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie with The Sapphire Club’s stained-glass mermaid windows on the front. Her short dark hair was wet, and she smelled of chlorine.
“You’ve been in the pool already?” I asked when I hugged her hello.
“I came in early to practice. The others were here waiting. They knew I wasn’t Misty, and they knew she had a twin, so they called me on it.”
