The Stranger You Seek - By Amanda Kyle Williams Page 0,99
as sweet. It was hands down the most fun I’d had in a while. Grady told me he’d lived here all his life and only traveled as far as the Lowcountry in South Carolina, and I was beginning to see how this might happen. He loved his mama’s fried chicken, had two sisters who beat the hell out of him growing up, talked about walking home from church knowing there would be homemade banana cream pie, a staple to this day, he said, at his parents’ table on Sunday. He liked to dance, and if I’d stay, he promised to show me how much. He liked to kiss too, he told me, and wanted to know how I liked it. His gold-flecked brown eyes were steady on me. I liked his mouth too. And then he did it. He leaned over the table and pressed his lips to mine just as my cell phone played Rauser’s ringtone.
Rats!
“Goddamn Buckhead waiter that served Brooks that night never showed,” Rauser said.
I looked at Grady and he looked back, a long, knowing look. He might be a small-town boy, but he was clearly aware of his own charm. And in the most unpretentious way. His hair in the midday sun was like fire. He folded his arms over his chest and I saw his shirtsleeves tighten against his biceps. Good Lord!
“Guy’s illegal. Took off,” Rauser said. “I think his employer knows where he is. I let him know we’re not interested in the guy’s green card or what the restaurant reports. I’m looking for a goddamn murderer here, for Christ’s sake. Thinking about a public plea in case someone else saw Brooks out that night. What if he was out with some woman and the killer got to him later, after she left the hotel? Then she’s still out there, the last person to see him alive, and she might know something. But there’s family involved here, you know? I mean, his wife and kids, they’re suffering already. I don’t want to humiliate them. It’s just gotta be a last resort. Hello? Street? Are you there?”
I glanced at Grady. His grin widened. “I’m listening.”
“News channels are trying to help by running pictures of the rental car Dobbs was killed in, plate number, pictures of Dobbs. We’re just hoping someone will step up and say they saw him somewhere. Doesn’t anybody look up from their fucking BlackBerrys anymore? Where are you? I got stuff to tell you.”
“I’m on the way back. I wish I had more for you.” I looked at Grady. “Rauser, let me call you back.”
“Somehow I’m getting the feeling I won’t be able to complete that survey tonight,” Grady said. “Shame too. You could have had all this.” He gestured like Vanna White to the service station and the parking lot, that big smile never fading.
“Rain check?” I asked. “Reality just called.”
Grady walked me back to the car, opened the door for me, and gave me a formal bow. “Real nice meetin’ you, ma’am,” he said, and waved as I drove away.
I punched in Rauser’s number. “You okay?”
“Uh-huh, sure,” Rauser answered. “Four homicides linked to Wishbone in this city. I’m doing just fine. And it’s not like the other shit stops just ’cause we got a serial, you know? Had a guy walk into an equipment company this morning and shoot three people. We been showing Charlie’s picture around and guess what? He looks familiar to everyone. Bastard rides around the city all day every day. He’s so visible we can’t make an ID stick, but I can connect Charlie to three of the victims now—Dobbs, Brooks, and Richardson—so we’re slowly building our case.”
“Wow, that’s huge, Rauser.”
“When will you be back? Can we just sit down and talk through some of this stuff?” I opened my mouth to answer, but Rauser said, “Oh shit. Hang on, okay?”
I turned on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard and followed Grady’s directions toward the four-lane. I thought about Grady’s lips.
“Keye, I got something to tell you.” Rauser sounded calm now. Bad sign. He could get real still when things turned nasty. “There was a bomb scare two hours ago at the Georgian. Plain package came in. No return address. No postage, nothing. Looked suspicious. Bomb squad took the call, got the package out of the hotel, secured it, and it didn’t detonate. It wasn’t a bomb. But it was addressed to you, Keye. And, well, there was a severed penis inside.”