Nell’s eyes sharpened. “Do you want me to come?”
“No.” Goldie forced a smile onto her face. “It’s fine. I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably some paperwork.”
Nell didn’t look convinced. “Text me when you’re done. I’ll be here until six, but I’ll be home right after.”
“Promise.”
Nell squeezed her arm and drifted back toward the desk.
Goldie slid the note Splice had left into her pocket, took one long breath, and stood.
Chapter
Twenty
The Bellwether Municipal Justice Center was one of those low-slung buildings that tried its best to look like a mild-mannered office and failed. The inside smelled of stale coffee and despair. The fluorescent lights hummed a weary, buzzing dirge.
Detective Oseki looked as if she had been carved out of clarity itself. When she met Goldie in the lobby, not a strand of her immaculate, black hair was out of place, and her slate-gray slacks fell in perfect, deliberate lines. Even her blouse looked pressed by divine intervention. Her gaze was razor-clear, like a divination mirror that had already seen the outcome and was just waiting for the world to catch up.
Goldie immediately felt underdressed in the dusty hoodie and leggings she’d thrown on to wrangle the stacks. The fact that she hadn’t even thought to duck home to change said plenty about how off-kilter she’d been lately.
A uniformed officer strode past, broad shoulders squared and jaw set like he was auditioning for a recruitment poster. Goldie’s head tracked him before she could stop herself. Heat flared inher body, traitorous and immediate. She winced and dragged her gaze front again.
Detective Oseki’s lips curved, just barely. “Ms. Flynn. Thanks for coming.” Her voice was smooth as glass. “Let’s head back.”
She guided Goldie down a short hallway into a small, windowless room. Just a bland square box, neutral gray walls, a rectangular table with two straight-backed chairs. But the hum of the overhead light and the discreet eye of a camera in the corner, made the air feel thinner.
“Would you like a beverage?” Oseki asked.
“Coffee, with three creams,” Goldie blurted, too quickly, setting her purse down. “Please.”
“Excellent.” A nod, precise as a blade. Oseki stepped out, the door clicking shut behind her.
Goldie sat. And sat. The chair seemed to calcify under her, harder by the second. Her phone was a lump in her pocket. Was she allowed to take it out? Would it get her arrested forimproper use of electronics in a police facility?
Finally, she caved and dug it out. No signal. No one barging in with handcuffs, either, so she considered that a win.
She crossed her legs. Uncrossed them. Checked her phone again. Twirled a strand of hair until it threatened to knot. Stared at the tabletop, where someone had gouged a scatter of tiny scratches into the laminate.
The handle rattled at last. Goldie sat up straighter so fast her chair squeaked, plastering on a too-bright smile as Oseki swept back in with two paper cups.
“Coffee, as requested.” Oseki slid one across the table and took the other for herself before settling into the chair opposite. Her movements were unhurried and practiced, like a woman who always had more time than you did.
“Thanks,” Goldie exclaimed, wrapping her hands around the cup as though warmth could anchor her.
For a few moments, it was small talk. How long had she worked at the Bellwether library? Was Beltane planning always this chaotic? Had she ever worked with the city archives directly? Oseki’s questions were easy, conversational, but they had a way of circling back, like ripples around a drain.
Goldie answered carefully, leaning on her sparkle, trying not to think about Splice’s note folded in her pocket.
The door opened again and another detective stepped in. “Detective McCutchen,” he announced without preamble.
He was catalog-model good-looking, with a sharp jawline, neatly trimmed auburn hair, and gray eyes that missed nothing as they swept the clearing. But whatever throb of attraction stirred in Goldie wilted the moment she clocked the laptop under his arm and the manila file in his hand.
He gave Oseki a brief nod before setting the laptop on the table. “We need to show you something.”
Goldie’s stomach dropped.
“Perimeter camera. Grove Core. Two nights ago.” Oseki’s tone was flat, clinical.
