she was still struggling to understand.
“He’s OK. He’s sitting up and talking, Nola,” Nadine said urgently. “His color looks normal. He’s fine.”
Nola nodded, sipped her water, and smiled to show Nadine that she, too, was fine. She wasn’t, though. There would always be more trace. It was inescapable. It was starting to seem like she didn’t find it but rather that it found her.
___________
Nadine had some mystery books in her desk that she wanted to return to Nola—Nola sometimes felt like a lending library, with her father, Nadine, and Mrs. Lafferty all holding membership cards—so Nola went back to the station with her friend to get them. Detective Commander Dalton was returning to the ugly grey building at exactly the same time, and he held open the door for them. “Ladies.”
Still shaken but putting up a good front, Nola was about to exchange a “private joke” look with Nadine to remind her of their conversation over lunch when she caught the expression on his face. Serious, and unhappy, as if an unpleasant task awaited him. “Nola, this is good timing. Are you on your way to the courthouse or can you spare me a minute?”
“My afternoon case was settled out of court. I can spare you quite a few of them.”
“Good. Can we talk in my office?”
Nadine had obviously caught the tone of his voice and glanced at Nola, who telegraphed back her own anxious uncertainty before heading to Dalton’s office.
“Lunch at the happy kitchen?” he asked, pulling out a chair for her.
She nodded, wishing he didn’t feel the need to make small talk to lessen the blow of whatever he was about to say.
“Love their green-chili enchiladas.” Then, perhaps remembering who he was talking to—Nola liked to get to the point—he seated himself behind his desk and did indeed get to the point. “I understand you’ve been in contact with two people closely connected with the Culver Bryant case.”
She didn’t ask how he knew that. If Nadine could find out who Grayson was dating, Dalton could find out who Nola was talking to in her spare time. “Yes. Lynette Veesy and Grayson Bryant. Both of them initiated contact with me.”
“What was the purpose of that contact?”
His voice was calm and neutral, but it was hard not to feel like she was being interrogated. “Lynette Veesy asked for my help in finding Culver Bryant. I made it clear what my arrangement was with this department and emphasized that I would be obligated to report any relevant information.”
Dalton nodded. “And Grayson Bryant?”
Nola swallowed hard. She wondered if he’d heard it; it had sounded deafening to her. “He contacted me for . . . personal reasons.”
Dalton said nothing for a moment, doing that detective thing, she supposed, where they wait for you to talk yourself into a conviction. Finally, seeing that she wasn’t going to elaborate (what in the world could she say?), he continued. “You were very certain Grayson Bryant was connected to murder in some way. Very certain. I don’t take your certainty lightly.”
She supposed there was a compliment there, but it was being greatly overshadowed by implied accusation, skepticism, and doubt. But there was no easy explanation she could give him that would dispel any of that. “I was certain that I detected trace on Grayson Bryant. I wasn’t wrong. I simply had never experienced that before. I’ve since learned that trace can be detected on certain people, though it’s extremely unusual.”
“We’re actually lucky Grayson Bryant had a complete alibi and so was not treated as a primary suspect. You probably heard that infamous quote attributed to me a couple years ago?”
She knew the one he meant. He’d said it right after rumors began to circulate that he’d soon be the next chief of police: “If there’s one thing I hate worse than a criminal getting away, it’s an innocent person being accused.” Dalton’s enemies—and you didn’t get that
“He’s OK. He’s sitting up and talking, Nola,” Nadine said urgently. “His color looks normal. He’s fine.”
Nola nodded, sipped her water, and smiled to show Nadine that she, too, was fine. She wasn’t, though. There would always be more trace. It was inescapable. It was starting to seem like she didn’t find it but rather that it found her.
___________
Nadine had some mystery books in her desk that she wanted to return to Nola—Nola sometimes felt like a lending library, with her father, Nadine, and Mrs. Lafferty all holding membership cards—so Nola went back to the station with her friend to get them. Detective Commander Dalton was returning to the ugly grey building at exactly the same time, and he held open the door for them. “Ladies.”
Still shaken but putting up a good front, Nola was about to exchange a “private joke” look with Nadine to remind her of their conversation over lunch when she caught the expression on his face. Serious, and unhappy, as if an unpleasant task awaited him. “Nola, this is good timing. Are you on your way to the courthouse or can you spare me a minute?”
“My afternoon case was settled out of court. I can spare you quite a few of them.”
“Good. Can we talk in my office?”
Nadine had obviously caught the tone of his voice and glanced at Nola, who telegraphed back her own anxious uncertainty before heading to Dalton’s office.
“Lunch at the happy kitchen?” he asked, pulling out a chair for her.
She nodded, wishing he didn’t feel the need to make small talk to lessen the blow of whatever he was about to say.
“Love their green-chili enchiladas.” Then, perhaps remembering who he was talking to—Nola liked to get to the point—he seated himself behind his desk and did indeed get to the point. “I understand you’ve been in contact with two people closely connected with the Culver Bryant case.”
She didn’t ask how he knew that. If Nadine could find out who Grayson was dating, Dalton could find out who Nola was talking to in her spare time. “Yes. Lynette Veesy and Grayson Bryant. Both of them initiated contact with me.”
“What was the purpose of that contact?”
His voice was calm and neutral, but it was hard not to feel like she was being interrogated. “Lynette Veesy asked for my help in finding Culver Bryant. I made it clear what my arrangement was with this department and emphasized that I would be obligated to report any relevant information.”
Dalton nodded. “And Grayson Bryant?”
Nola swallowed hard. She wondered if he’d heard it; it had sounded deafening to her. “He contacted me for . . . personal reasons.”
Dalton said nothing for a moment, doing that detective thing, she supposed, where they wait for you to talk yourself into a conviction. Finally, seeing that she wasn’t going to elaborate (what in the world could she say?), he continued. “You were very certain Grayson Bryant was connected to murder in some way. Very certain. I don’t take your certainty lightly.”
She supposed there was a compliment there, but it was being greatly overshadowed by implied accusation, skepticism, and doubt. But there was no easy explanation she could give him that would dispel any of that. “I was certain that I detected trace on Grayson Bryant. I wasn’t wrong. I simply had never experienced that before. I’ve since learned that trace can be detected on certain people, though it’s extremely unusual.”
“We’re actually lucky Grayson Bryant had a complete alibi and so was not treated as a primary suspect. You probably heard that infamous quote attributed to me a couple years ago?”
She knew the one he meant. He’d said it right after rumors began to circulate that he’d soon be the next chief of police: “If there’s one thing I hate worse than a criminal getting away, it’s an innocent person being accused.” Dalton’s enemies—and you didn’t get that
Similar Books
