The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,74
disaster that tornados inflict.
Trey came out of the bathroom, a new tie loose around his neck. “Your blouse is unbuttoned.”
“It doesn’t matter, I’m going back to the shop.”
“You’re welcome to wait here until I return.”
I shook my head and picked up my tote bag.
He nodded. “I’ll walk you down then.”
Shrugging into a new jacket, he opened the front door and disappeared into the hallway. I fastened myself up and followed him into the elevator.
“So what’s the emergency?”
He knotted the tie into a neat double Windsor. “Dylan Flint’s dead. Fish and Game pulled the body from the Chattahoochee thirty minutes ago.”
“What!?!”
The elevator dinged. Trey stepped out and headed for the parking area. I scurried to keep up.
“What happened?”
“He’d been shot, three times. Once in the chest, twice in the back of the head. Patrol located his car at the Morgan’s Fall boat ramp, keys in the ignition.”
I didn’t know what news I’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been Dylan Flint shot to death and dumped in the Hooch. I followed at Trey’s heels.
“So what are you doing now?”
“Emergency meeting with Landon and Marisa.”
“Can I come?”
“No.”
“What if I just follow you in?”
“No.” He popped the locks on the Ferrari. “I have my orders—report to Phoenix ASAP. Alone.” He paused. “This is not my decision. Please don’t think it is.”
He’d said “please” again. What was it with that word? It gave me this little frisson of intimacy, and I was suddenly very tired of fighting all the time, shadowboxing the universe.
“Will you at least call me and tell me what you find out?”
“When I can, yes.”
He didn’t start up the car; didn’t shut the door either. He just sat staring straight ahead, one hand on the wheel, the other toying with the gear shift.
I took a step closer. “What happened tonight doesn’t change anything between us.”
He listened. His eyes slanted my way, but stayed somewhere at stomach level.
“Of course you know that,” I said. “But I want you to know that I know it too.”
He frowned, but still wouldn’t look me in the face. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What?”
“Did I—”
“I heard you. I just…I mean…no, you didn’t. Everything you did was right.”
He took a beat to digest that, finally sliding his eyes up to meet mine. “Really?”
“Really.”
He hesitated, then I saw the quirk at the corner of his mouth, the almost-smile. “Okay. That’s very unusual. But okay.”
I couldn’t fight the smile. “You know what, Trey? Maybe I will stay until you get back.”
He handed me the key, all serious now. “There’s a deadbolt. Keep it engaged. I have a spare key, so don’t open the door until I get back. Not for anyone.”
Chapter 38
Back in his apartment, I remembered the number easily. I’d used it enough.
“I was wondering when you’d call,” Garrity said.
“Dylan Flint’s turned up DOA. You heard?”
“Ear to the ground.”
“Murdered?”
“Looking like. But this is real early to be speculating who or why. I do have one piece of news, however, that’ll make your little heart thump. Eliza’s girlfriend came in this afternoon.”
“Nikki?”
“Now how did you—”
“Doesn’t matter. Just spill.”
He spilled. According to Nikki, the last event Eliza and Dylan went to was the Mardi Gras party. Nikki reported that even though Eliza left with him afterward, the next morning she suddenly called off whatever deal they’d had, which pissed Dylan off royally.
“What made her do that?” I said.
“Nikki thinks it had something to do with the smacking around somebody gave Eliza late Tuesday night.”
I remembered the bruises detailed in the coroner’s report, the ones Bulldog denied inflicting. Eliza had obviously pissed somebody off that night, and if it wasn’t Bulldog—and I was betting it wasn’t—it was somebody at that party.
Garrity agreed. “Somebody who didn’t like her showing up with Camera Boy.”
“But what were those two up to?”
“Nikki had no clue. Eliza never said, not even to Dylan. The boy seemed clueless.”
“If that’s the case, why is he dead?”
“He certainly thought he knew something, and rumor has it he was gonna spill it to the cops. So maybe whatever secret he was close to was the kind of thing people get really paranoid about keeping.”
“You think somebody shot him and dumped him in the Hooch to shut him up?”
“People’ve been dumped in the Hooch for less.”
“Revenge is just a form of wild justice.”
“That right?”
“So they say,”
He exhaled. “Like I told you, ear to the ground. I’ll let you know if we find out something. But right now, all we’ve got is a dead guy who stinks of coincidence.”