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As I fed the meter, I spotted Chief of Police Elena Garcia walking toward me, yawning. Her choppy brown hair had grown into more of a shag haircut that made her appear older than her mid-thirties. The dark circles under her eyes didn’t help.
“Hey, Lorelei. Heading inside?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the coffee shop. I had only planned on a quick trip to the store, but it occurred to me this could be an opportunity to get an update from the chief on the werewolves that attacked Anna. The little voice in my head warned me to leave the problem to the pack.
I ignored the little voice and joined the chief inside.
“What are you having?” she asked. “I’m torn between the new shaken espresso and my usual.”
“What’s new about the shaken espresso?”
“They infuse it with olive oil. It’s called the Grand Italia.”
I cooked with olive oil, but I wasn’t so sure about adding it to my coffee. “I think I’ll stick with a plain cappuccino.” I skimmed the prices. “Make that a plain coffee with cream and sugar.”
The chief laughed. “And I thought I was stuck in my ways. You’re even less daring than I am.”
I couldn’t afford to spend five bucks on a drink only to decide I didn’t like it. In fact, I shouldn’t be spending money in Five Beans at all, except I wanted unfettered access to the chief. It was worth the price of a cup of coffee.
I waited until we’d exhausted all pleasantries and were seated at a table by the window to kick off my interrogation.
“Hey, did you manage to catch the two men who attacked Anna Dupree?”
The chief shook her head. “Not yet. I searched the woods myself after Leo took Vaughn into custody, but the only fresh prints I saw belonged to animals, and those were large enough to make me turn back.”
Her survival instincts were appropriately placed. It seemed incredible to me that she was clueless as to the existence of werewolves in her own backyard. Then again, I’d grown up exclusively among humans, and if there was one thing I’d learned, they were masters at only seeing what they wanted to see. An affair. A troubled teen. A dwindling bank account. Humans were wired to overlook what was too difficult to acknowledge as a coping strategy to avoid pain.
“Have you ID’d them?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“The sketches weren’t helpful then?”
The chief’s ears perked up. “You saw the sketches?”
“Not personally. Vaughn mentioned that the sketch artist did a good job drawing the attackers.”
“That’s Wendy. She’s a wunderkind. I couldn’t draw a decent stick figure at her age.” The chief glanced out the window. “To be fair, I can’t draw a decent stick figure now. My only concern is I think she’s developed a crush on Leo.”
The news didn’t surprise me. Officer Leo was easy to adore. “Honestly, that could happen at any age.”
The chief smiled. “Not to me.”
“Fair enough.” I sipped my coffee. “Vaughn seemed confident you’d be able to ID them from the sketches.”
The chief sighed. “If only.”
“Would it be possible to see them?”
“I’d love that, but it isn’t possible. They were stolen before we were able to do anything with them.”
I straightened. “Someone stole the police sketches from Wendy? Was she hurt?”
“They didn’t take them from her directly. They swiped them from the counter at the station.” She ducked her head. “Which I would ask that you not repeat since it doesn’t exactly show the police department in a good light.”
“Do you think it was the attackers?”
“Seems like the obvious answer. The weird thing is, I got a look at the sketches before they were taken, and I didn’t recognize either one of the men, which begs the question—how would one or two strangers have been able to walk into the station unnoticed and steal the sketches?”
