Page 99 of Rage

“Thank you, but I can’t stay,” I say amicably.

Bending slightly, she sets the tray on the desk. She’s pouring water over ice when her hair shifts and the tattoo at her nape comes into view. I only catch a glimpse before her hair falls over it again, but a spark of recognition stings my brain. A crown in blue ink. I’ve seen a similar tattoo recently, but where?

“Thanks, Lucy. That’ll be all.” Wingate clears his throat. “You can call it a day if you’d like.”

“Of course.” Her smile is toothy, but only adds to her charm. “Don’t work too late.”

He clears his throat again.

“’Night.” The young woman smiles at me as she starts toward the door.

As I make eye contact with her, a dozen details strike my brain at once. She’s too young to be working here. Trying too hard to look older and impress in a way that’s not quite appropriate.

Having recognized her accent, I smile back at her. “You’re Amish,” I say enthusiastically.

She stops and looks down at me, her eyes widening as if I’ve noticed something I shouldn’t have noticed. “How do you know that?”

“I can tell by your accent,” I say. “I used to be Amish.”

“Oh. Um.” Looking uncomfortable, she glances at Wingate and back to me. “Well, I’m not Amish anymore.”

Keenly aware that Wingate is watching the exchange, that he’s impatient for her to leave and wishing I’d shut the hell up, I lean back in my chair and try to keep it light.

“Which church district are you from?” I ask.

“Lucy is from the Pittsburgh area.” Wingate looks at his watch.

I’m still thinking about that tattoo and I remember where I saw it before: Angelica at The Cheetah Lounge. And suddenly I know it’s relevant and important.

I move to keep her talking. “How long ago did you leave the fold?”

The young woman swallows hard, her eyes flicking to Wingate again, then back to me. She’s growing increasingly nervous. As if she’s talking about something she’s not supposed to talk about. “A few months.”

“I know it’s not easy to do.” I send a hapless smile to Wingate. “She’s very brave.”

“Well…” Her eyes flick from me to Wingate and back to me.

Holding on to my smile, I turn my attention back to the young woman and switch to Deitsch. “If you’re in trouble, I can help you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But she responds in Deitsch.

“I know what that tattoo means,” I tell her, still in Deitsch.

Subconsciously, her hand goes to her nape and she fingers the tattoo. “I have to go,” she whispers in English.

Spinning, she strides to the door and then she’s gone.

I grin at Wingate. “I hope I didn’t embarrass her too much.”

“She’s a new hire.” He doesn’t return the smile. “An intern, actually. Still learning the ropes, I guess.”

A beat of silence and then his cell chimes. “Sorry,” he mutters. Frowning, he taps the screen a couple of times and then sets it on the blotter. “What did you want to talk to me about, Chief Burkholder?”

I pull out my cell, scroll until I find the photo I’m looking for. “I’m wondering if you can identify the woman in this photo.” Keeping my voice neutral, I lean forward and turn my phone so that he can see the screen.

Wingate slips on his reading glasses and leans forward, his brows knitting. “Well, there’s Samuel Yutzy. Hmmm … I don’t recognize the woman.”

“She’s wearing a uniform like the servers here at the club.” I indicate the photo with my index finger. “You can just make out the logo on that umbrella.”