“They generally need something that has been in constant contact to be able to draw any information about the owner or their current whereabouts.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, Lanie’s generation consider the phone as vital to their life as their limbs.”
“I still don’t believe it will yield results, but I’ll put in a request to the local branch of the RWA. I believe they have a psychometrist on retainer.”
“Good. I’ll update you once I talk to Monica’s father.”
“Thanks. I’ll return the favor if we find anything new before then.”
He was being exceptionally friendly this morning, which made me wonder what the hell had happened in the few hours since I’d last talked to him. Maybe he’d gotten lucky last night.
Wish I had....
I shoved that thought away, hung up, and then tried to call my brother, but it flipped over to voicemail. I asked him to call me, then climbed out of bed, wincing and groaning for several seconds as the bruised muscles down my spine vehemently complained about the sudden movement. For the most part, I didn’t feel—or even look—my age, but every now and again, my body did its best to remind me.
I did a few stretches that helped a little, then tugged on a dressing gown and padded out of the bedroom to the apartment’s small kitchen area. After taking a couple of pain killers to help with the various aches, I investigated the fridge for something to eat but found little more than takeaway leftovers that were at least a day old. I wrinkled my nose, slammed the door shut, then put on the kettle and settled for toast smothered with peanut butter.
Ginny limped in ten or so minutes later. Much like her hawk form, she was small, brown skinned, with gold-shot, fluffy brown hair and dark golden eyes whose corners were framed with laughter lines.
“How are you feeling this morning?” I asked as she plopped down on one of the barstools lining the kitchen counter.
“Like shit warmed up.” She scrubbed a hand across her eyes. “What happened last night after I was batted away?”
“Monica went missing, presumed kidnapped, a man with no energy saved my butt, Francesca and Marnee were murdered, and Lanie picked up the younger man dancing with them and both are currently missing.”
“Well, fuck.” She frowned. “Hang on, back up—what man with no energy?”
“That is the question of the day. I never actually saw him, so—” I shrugged. “Anyway, you’ve the rest of the day off, and I have a morning meeting with the ever-pleasant Tane Ashworth.”
“Better you than me,” she muttered. “And what do you mean, you never actually saw this man? You just said he saved your butt.”
I reheated the water and made us both a cup of coffee—sadly, it was instant, because this place was not equipped with an espresso machine, let alone decent beans—then slid one mug across the counter to her. “We were surrounded by a curtain of evil darkness, and he disappeared before I could question him.”
“Well, that was inconsiderate of him.” She sipped her coffee, then nodded in appreciation. Unlike me, she was not addicted to the good stuff. In her oft-expressed opinion, I was a coffee snob, because there was no such thing as bad coffee, as long as it was hot and black.
“So, what’s our next step after your meeting with Tane? Because you and I know I am not going to sit around this goddamn apartment for twenty-four hours twiddling my thumbs.”
“And yet would be advising me to do that very thing had the situation been reversed.”
“True, as is the fact that you would also be ignoring said advice. Who do we go after first? The two men who picked up Francesca and Marnee, or the one who left with Lanie?”
“I think Lanie should be the priority right now—if we can find her, then we might get some understanding as to what the fuck is going on.” I took a sip of coffee, made a face at the bitter taste, and then added more sugar. “Jack’s in the process of grabbing the phone records for all three bridesmaids, so we—meaning you, mostly—can go through them.”
“I doubt any of the three were involved in the planning of their own murders.”
“Well, no, but at the very least they knew about Monica’s intention to sneak away from the club. There has to be some discussion of it somewhere.”
“They could have simply talked to each other face-to-face.”
I snorted. “Young people these days are glued to their phones, even when theyareface-to-face.”
“Because you’re so old andneverhave your phone glued to your hand.”
Her voice was dry, and I grinned. “I can at least hold a conversation with a stranger.”
“Yeah, but most of the time, you don’t want to.” She reached for the nearby packet of pain killers. “All that aside, record scanning is not my idea of a good time, especially when Jack can probably use one of the many AI programs available these days to run a search and get results quicker than an eyes-on by either of us.”
“It’s kind of hard to program AI when you don’t know what the keywords are.”
