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Walt drew deeply on his cigarette and eyed the vehicle. “You get a lot of soccer moms?”
Before she could answer, Detective Callahan stepped out, his white button-down looking wrinkled, the badge he usually wore around his neck absent, and his eyes tired, even from a distance. There was no indication whatsoever to an onlooker that Sean was a cop, and Delaney decided not to mention it.
“Evening.” Sean approached with a mixed air of formality and fatigue. “I know you’re closing up soon, but if you’ve got a minute...”
“Sure.” Delaney turned to Walt, who was busy grinding his cigarette out under his boot. “Sorry, Walt. I never got a chance to ask what you’re looking for. We can go back inside and take care of whatever you need, first.”
“Nah, it’s okay.” Walt shrugged his shoulders, wide but thin, and slightly rounded with age. He had the sort of build that probably could never keep weight on during his youth, only gaining some girth when he hit middle age and everything started to slow. “I was only checking on you. You remind me of my daughter, but she lives in Seattle, so I don’t get to see her much. This guy needs help way more than I do.” Walt eyed the minivan with a smirk. “Brother, you need to get you some new wheels.”
Sean laughed. It looked genuine, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes highlighting the bright gray of his irises, like undecided storm clouds. “I actually have an old Harley,” he said. “But I’d need to dig it out of storage.”
“You should do that,” Walt said.
Sean stuck out his hand. “Sean Callahan.”
Walt slowly extended his. “Walt.” They shook, then Walt turned to Delaney. “I can come back sometime next week and catch up.” He smiled. “See if you need my help with that Shovelhead in there. Meantime, I hope your bike turns up.”
“Thanks, Walt. Nice seeing you.” Once he’d settled on his bike and had his helmet strapped, Delaney turned to Sean. “Thanks for coming out.” She was too afraid of bitter disappointment to ask if he had any news of ’33.
At that moment, Walt revved up the Fat Boy, so they both stopped talking until he’d zoomed away with a wave. As soon as he was gone, Sean slipped a notebook and pencil from his inside pocket and jotted something down. He stuffed that away and drew a baggie out of another pocket, then bent down.
“What’re you doing?” Even as she asked, Delaney could see Sean lifting the cigarette butt and dropping it into the tiny baggie. “Seriously?” she said. “Just like on TV.”
Sean closed up the bag but didn’t put it in his pocket. Delaney didn’t blame him. “Not just like TV,” Sean said. “There won’t be a DNA hit within an hour. It doesn’t work that fast and this isn’t a murder case, so it’s not priority. But it looks like the same brand of butts we found behind your shop. I’m just going to take it along and see what I see.”
“I met Walt at the grand opening,” Delaney offered. “I barely know him. He seemed really upset for me when I told him the bike had been stolen. He also said I remind him of his daughter.” The sky was starting to get dark. “Let’s go inside. I’m about to close. We can talk upstairs.”
While Delaney closed out her register, Sean toured the shop, movements slow, brow furrowed, hands doing curious things. He went into the storeroom and was gone awhile.
Once Delaney was finished and the store locked, she poked her head back there and found Sean standing outside the door, which he’d rolled open partway. “It was like this?” he said, without meeting her gaze. “The door?”
“Yeah.” Delaney closed the distance between them and watched Sean furrow his brow. “I left it open before I went to find Wyatt. In case he came back while I was gone. Maybe two feet.”
Sean grabbed the chain and adjusted the door until the gap was a couple feet. “Like that?”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
“And when you got back, the door was just like you left it?”
“Yeah,” Delaney repeated. “I think so.”
Sean’s brows knitted and he shook his head.
“What?” Delaney rolled her shoulders back, trying to shove off the feeling that she was just an idiot who should never have been left with the care of Dad’s prized bike. She should’ve let Boom have ’33. He’d have taken good care of her and she wouldn’t be missing right now.
“I don’t know,” Sean admitted. He rolled down the bay, which squeaked like mad, and locked up. “There’s just something bothering me. Can’t put my finger on it.”
Delaney watched him examine the door awhile longer before she tugged on his shirtsleeve. “C’mon, Detective.” She tilted her head toward the shop. “Let’s go upstairs to talk.”
Sean broke himself free and followed her out of the storeroom and to the stairs, his steps a respectful distance behind as Delaney climbed up to her living space.
The upstairs always felt like a new world when she rounded the corner, even though her apartment was literally only a few yards from her shop. Downstairs was cool and crisp, smelled of motor oil and leather and whatever flowers were carrying on the summer wind, and upstairs was warm and homey, smelled of tea with honey mixed with the pine candle Delaney liked to light because Christmas tree was her favorite scent. The floor was hardwood, but the couch and recliner were soft and inviting, where an old quilt she’d found at a thrift shop and pretended was her grandmother’s was draped just so, and the ceiling fan, newly installed with blades shaped like giant leaves, offering a cool circulation of air.
Delaney gestured toward the couch. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks.” Sean took her at her word. He stripped the jacket, followed by the tie, laying both on the arm of the couch before he loosened the top button of his wrinkled white shirt. He sank to the sofa and did a sort of man-spreading that wasn’t territorial, just stretched out, like he was relieved to be off his feet.
“Can I get you anything?” Delaney walked to the window over the high-legged table that was supposed to serve as the spot she took her meals—even though she regularly ate on the couch, in front of ESPN, most often a bowl of granola cereal or a peanut butter sandwich—and jammed it closed. She hooked the rusty latch, which always stopped about a quarter inch shy, then turned back to Sean. “I still have beer in the fridge. Or water. If you need something stronger, I’ve got some Heaven’s Door I bought for my dad. He loved a good bourbon.” Delaney heard her voice drop at the end of her sentence and drew a deep breath to steady her voice. “Unless you’re still on duty.”
