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“She was murdered. I asked her all these questions about the Ritter killing, and now she’s dead. I can’t believe it’s connected, but then I can’t believe it’s not either.”
King jumped up so quickly it startled her badly.
“Is your truck filled with gas?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, looking confused. “Why?”
King seemed to be talking to himself. “I’ll call my appointments for the rest of the day and let them know.”
“Let them know? Let them know what?”
“That I won’t be able to meet them. That I’m going somewhere.”
“Where are you going?”
“No, not just me—you and me. We’re going to Bowlington, North Carolina, to find out why Loretta Baldwin isn’t living anymore.”
He turned and headed to the door. Michelle didn’t follow; she just sat there, bewildered.
King turned back. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m not sure I want to go back there.”
King came back and stood in front of her, his expression very stern. “You came to me out of the blue asking a lot of very personal questions. You wanted answers and I gave them to you. Okay, now I’m officially interested too.” He paused and then barked out, “So let’s go, Agent Maxwell. I don’t have all day!”
She jumped to her feet. “Yes, sir,” Michelle said automatically.
CHAPTER
25
WHEN HE CLIMBED into her truck, King quickly observed the interior of Michelle’s vehicle and could not conceal his disgust. He picked up a power bar food wrapper off the floor by his foot that still had a hunk of stale “power chocolate” inside. The backseats were full of items haphazardly strewn around: water and snow skis, assorted oars and paddles, gym clothes, sneakers, dress shoes and a couple of skirts, jackets and blouses and a pair of pantyhose still in its packaging. There were warm-up suits, books, a northern Virginia yellow pages, empty soda and Gatorade cans and a Remington shotgun and a box of shells. And that was just what King could see. God only knew what else was lurking in here; the smell of rotten bananas was hammering his nostrils.
He looked over at Michelle. “Make a note to never, ever invite me to your place.”
She glanced at him and smiled. “I told you I was a slob.”
“Michelle, this is beyond a slob. This is a mobile garbage dump; this is total and complete anarchy on wheels.”
“So philosophical. And call me Mick.”
“You prefer ‘Mick’ to ‘Michelle’? Michelle is an elegant, classy name. Mick sounds like a punch-drunk boxer-turned-doorman in uniform braids and fake medals.”
“The Secret Service is still a guy’s world. You go along to get along.”
“Just drive them around in this truck one time, and you’ll never be mistaken for anything but a guy, even if your name was Gwendolyn.”
“Okay, I get the point. So what do you expect to find down there?”
“If I knew that, I probably wouldn’t be going.”
“Will you visit the hotel?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t been back since it happened.”
“I can understand that. I’m not sure I could ever go back to that funeral home.”
“Speaking of, anything new on the Bruno disappearance?”
