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8:00 p.m.
Leo’s Tobacconist
Oak Grove Road
Homewood
Sadie slid onto the nearest stool and ordered a sparkling water.
Falco’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly.
“What?” she demanded. “You think a zebra can’t change its stripes?” The glass of water landed on the counter in front of her, and she picked it up and sipped the fizzing liquid.
“Glad to see you’re taking your health seriously for a change.” He ordered a beer. “What’s up with the yellow Bug? You get a new car or something?”
“I borrowed it from a friend. Mine’s in the shop. Didn’t Devlin tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Clearly Devlin was off her game as well. “I had a little fender bender. Now can we please stop talking about me? Do you see our target?”
The place was packed. The owner’s death hadn’t slowed patronage at all. Sadie leaned from one side to the other, surveying the tables as well as the length of the bar.
“Doesn’t look like she showed up,” Falco said.
“Oh well.” Sadie sipped her water. “I guess we wasted our time on this one, pal.”
Sadie knew where McGill lived. She’d wait her out if necessary.
Falco propped his forearms on the bar and leaned closer to her. “What’s going on with you, Cross? I thought you wanted to help find Walsh’s killer?”
She blocked out the background noise of conversation and clinking glasses. “You wouldn’t have this lead if not for me. I submit to you that’s evidence enough of my interest in solving the case.”
Maybe it was just all those photos from the girl’s bedroom—the Alice that looked so much like Isabella—and going to the school that had Sadie off balance. Fact was she was having a little trouble keeping her shit together. Other voices were whispering to her as well.
Voices she didn’t want to hear. She’d searched for the truth all this time, and now she couldn’t bear to hear it. She couldn’t shake the damned voices. There was a time when she’d had meds that sent the panic and the voices away, but then she’d realized she might never remember the rest of her past unless she allowed all those haunting voices and images to come as they would. In retrospect, maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea.
Here and now those damned voices were driving her crazy. She couldn’t stay focused. Could barely sit still.
“There’s Vandiver,” Falco said, drawing her attention back to the crowded room.
George Caldwell, the man in charge tonight, had already told Falco that McGill hadn’t shown up so far. Hadn’t even bothered to call, leaving him shorthanded. Explained why the guy was huffing and puffing and all red faced trying to keep up with customers’ orders. Two other waitresses floated around the room. They could be clones of McGill.
Vandiver walked around with a tray, taking discarded glasses and empty peanut and pretzel bowls. He wore his typical jeans and sneakers,but the shirt was classier than usual, and his hair was slicked back into a ponytail. He smiled at customers as if he was glad to be here.
Had to be whatever drug he was on. According to McGill, Vandiver—Lucky, as she called him—hated his job.
Sadie scanned the place again. Still no McGill. Frustration nudged her. Or maybe it was worry. Nah. She never worried. Except she couldn’t help wondering if her visit to McGill’s town house was the reason she was now missing. If the woman was actually in any way related to the drug business, someone might have been watching her and her place. Particularly with Kurtz and Walsh dead. The cops weren’t the only ones needing this case wrapped up.
Any time a high-profile situation potentially involved the local drug supply, even the bad guys wanted closure.
Bastards.
If something had happened to her ...
Sadie shook off the thought. Sipped her water. Wished she’d ordered something stronger.
“Lucky, my man,” Falco said as the younger guy passed.
