City of the Lost (23 page)

When I walk in, Mick’s polishing the bar, and that stops me in my tracks, my mind slipping back to another time, another bartender. I indulge the stab of grief and regret for two seconds before walking over and taking a seat at the bar.

Mick sets the rag aside and puts a steaming mug of coffee beside me, along with sugar and goat’s milk from under the counter. He doesn’t say a word, as if this is no grand gesture but just common hospitality.

I pour in the milk.

“So,” he says. “Abbygail.”

“I hear you two were involved.”

He nods and begins folding the rag, meticulously.

“I’d ask if you want a lawyer present,” I say. “I know cops realize that’s wise for any interview. But I’m not sure where we’d find one.”

He gives a short laugh at that. “Oh, there are plenty here. I think it’s the most common former occupation.” His lips quirk. “Surprisingly.”

“Or not.”

A shared smile, and he nods, his gaze slightly downcast. Not submissive, just quiet and contained, neither overly friendly nor unfriendly.

He sets the rag aside again. “I’m not blocking. Just working up to it. I’ll tell you everything. It just … isn’t easy.” He takes a moment, then a deep breath, and says, “So … Abbygail. I would say what a good kid she was. Tough, strong, sweet, generous, all that. But everyone’s going to tell you that. So I’ll just say they’re right.”

“Good kid…” I say.

“Yeah.” He rubs his mouth. “That’s not a slip of the tongue. When she arrived, she was nineteen. We started seeing each other a year later. I was twenty-five, and the youngest guy here. Which is why people thought we should give it a shot. Beth and a few others.”

“Eric?”

A sharp laugh. “Uh, no. Definitely not Eric. He knew Abby wasn’t ready. He didn’t try to stop us, though, because she wanted to, and I…” He rocks back on his heels. “This is going to sound shitty, but I gave it a try because she wanted to, so I thought I should. We were friends, and I wanted her to be happy.”

Which doesn’t sound shitty at all. It sounds sweet. But I understand what he means, that he feels bad about dating someone he wasn’t romantically interested in.

He continues. “We went out for a couple of months. I can give you dates if that helps. It just … it didn’t go anywhere.”

“So you were lovers for two months.”

“Uh, no. When I say it didn’t go anywhere, that includes sex. With her background, I just couldn’t … It felt wrong. Like I was taking advantage. It was dating. High school stuff, because that’s what she was, detective. Inside. I don’t mean she wasn’t smart or mature, just that she never had the chance to grow up in a real way. It was like she skipped her teen years, and in Rockton she got them back. Which is one reason it didn’t work. There might have only been a five-year age difference, but I felt like a creepy old man.”

“And the breakup?”

“Mutual.”

“I hear you got together with Isabel about a month later.”

“Yep.”

“Was there any tension there? With Isabel and Abbygail?”

He gives me a real laugh for that. “Not at all. Abby knew I was checking out Isabel even before she and I got together. She’d tease me about it. When Abby and I broke up, she’s the one who told me to go for it with Iz. She liked her. They liked each other. Iz…” He rubs his mouth again. “Isabel doesn’t exactly wear her heart on her sleeve, but Abby’s disappearance hurt her as much as anyone.”

My nod must not look entirely convincing, because he says, “You’re wondering how they could get along, right? The bordello madam and the former teen prostitute? I know what you think of Isabel, but she really believes she’s doing the best thing for the women here. No, not believes.
Hopes
. She wants to do the right thing by the women here and…” He studies my look. “And you really don’t want to hear that. Anyway, Iz used to talk to Abby about her experiences, advice on how Isabel could run a safe establishment. But those talks…? You know what Iz did before she came here, right?”

I shake my head.

“She was a psychologist. She counselled Abby. Not officially. It was just talking. But it wasn’t just talking, if you know what I mean. Iz wanted to help, and Abby needed help, so they talked, a lot.” He picks up the rag and begins folding it again. “Which is the long-winded way of saying there wasn’t tension between them.”

“Was there tension with anyone? For Abbygail?”

“A few of the guys. I can give you a list. But it’s a short one.”

“The sheriff says she didn’t get bothered that way.”

“Guys were mostly respectful. But a few came on to her. She’d never tell Eric, or he’d go after them and then she’d feel like she’d tattled and overreacted. You know.”

I do know. It’s exactly how I feel about telling Dalton who offered me credits for sex.

“She wanted Eric to think everything was fine,” he says. “With Eric…” He clears his throat. “I don’t like talking about her personal stuff…”

“She had a crush on him.”

He exhales. “Yeah. I’d tease her about that; she’d tease me about Isabel. I think, when she encouraged me to give it a shot with Iz, she was hoping I’d say the same for her and Eric. I didn’t. Wouldn’t. She’d have gotten hurt, and I never wanted to see her hurt.” He crumples the rag and puts it aside.

“Sheriff Dalton wouldn’t have returned her attention.”

“Hell, no. If I felt like the old guy with the teenager, it would have been even worse for Eric. Like dating your little sister.” He shudders. “Just no. I think Abby understood that. Most times. Every now and then … Well, she’d wonder, and I’d steer her away. For her own good. For his, too. If she came on to him … shit. That’d have been rough, knowing she saw him that way. He wanted to be her big brother, not her Prince Charming.”

I must smile at that, because he laughs. “Yeah, no one’s going to mistake Eric for Prince Charming. But he was
her
knight in shining armour, however much he’d hate to hear that. He’s a good guy.”

“I keep hearing that.”

“Yeah, Eric’s fans and friends are a little too quick to support him. Mainly because we know what a crappy first impression he leaves. And second. And third. How are you guys doing?”

“We had a rough start, but I’m starting to see the side that wins him fans.”

The smile grows. “Good. You two seem to be spending a lot of time together.”

“We’re working a big case together.”

“Still…” He catches my look. “Okay, I won’t play matchmaker. You’ll get plenty of that from others. So, back to Abbygail…”

“You were the last person to see her alive.”

He flinches, as if I’ve poked a wound that hasn’t healed.

“She was heading for the forest,” he says. “I was over by the woodshed, hauling logs. It was after dark, and there was no way in hell she should have been that close to the forest. She said she’d heard an animal that sounded hurt. We scoured the area together and I had no reason to think she wasn’t telling the truth, which makes me feel like a complete idiot, but honestly? Eric said don’t go into the forest, so Abby didn’t go into the forest. She’d tease and poke, but she never disobeyed him. I really did think she’d heard an animal.”

“But you didn’t find anything.”

He shakes his head. “So I walked her home. Beth’s neighbours saw us—they can confirm that. Abby went inside and everything seemed fine. Beth got home an hour later, after working late next door at the clinic, and when Abby wasn’t there, she just figured we were out, and she went to bed. I think Abby grabbed a lantern and went back. She loved animals, and if she thought she heard a wounded one…”

“It’s the only thing that would have drawn her into the forest.”

“But not far. Yes, she might wander in farther than she meant to, chasing a noise, but I can’t imagine she’d go in deep enough to get lost. Someone lured her in. I’m sure of it. Others might tell you different, and maybe they think I’m just covering my own ass because I didn’t manage to stop her. Either way, it
doesn’t
cover my ass, because I was still the last … the last to see her. I fucked up. And she disappeared.”

He goes quiet, lost in that grief, until I break it by saying, “You mentioned a list? Guys who gave her trouble?”

He snaps from his reverie. “Right. Let me get a pen.”

I pass him mine, and he writes it out and hands it to me. As I go to leave, he says, “Abby would have liked you.”

I turn and look at him.

He shrugs, a little embarrassed. “I was just thinking that. She had a lot of women here playing mother and therapist. What she didn’t have was a female friend.” He fidgets. “It wasn’t the same with me, and sometimes I think maybe if she had another girl she could have confided in, about anything…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I’m probably being silly. We all keep wondering where we went wrong, thinking we missed something, failed to give her something, and if only this or that then maybe it’d have been different. Anyway, all I mean is that she would have liked you. You’re a survivor. Like her.”

That gives me pause, but he only shrugs and says, “I was a cop, remember? I recognize the signs.”

I nod and start to go. Then I say, “Everyone presumes she’s dead. You knew her, as much as anyone. Maybe more. Is it possible she’s…” I look toward the forest.

“Still out there?” His gaze drops. “I wish it was, detective.” He resumes polishing the bar, his voice rough with grief. “I really wish it was.”

Mick’s list is indeed short. Three names. One is Pierre Lang. Abbygail had mentioned getting a “weird vibe” around him. A few times in her last month, she’d had the feeling she was being followed. Not stalking, just someone following her for a short distance, watching her. A secret admirer who’d left a bowl of wild raspberries outside her door. Mick had suspected it was Lang, but he’d figured Lang was just a middle-aged guy with a crush on an inappropriately young woman, and it would end when she didn’t reciprocate.

I’m walking to the station when Kenny catches up. He comes around once or twice a day. Just pops in to see what’s going on, if anyone needs him for militia work. Today, he says he has a hot tip for me. Apparently, someone overheard Hastings badmouthing Dalton before he took off. Which is about as shocking as telling me the sun rose that morning.

I’m thanking Kenny when Isabel intercepts us and shoos him with her fingers. “Stop bothering the new girl, Kenny. I know she’s very pretty, but Eric didn’t hire her for ornamental value.”

“I had a tip.”

“Yes, I’m sure you did. Now go.”

When Kenny leaves, I continue walking and say to Isabel, “If you have a problem at the Roc, Sheriff Dalton just headed that way.”

“Sheriff Dalton?” She laughs. “That’s awfully formal. Are you and the boss not getting along, sugar?”

I look at her, and I think about my talk with Mick, and there’s a part of me that wants to cut Isabel some slack. But I get the feeling if I do, she’ll use it to her advantage, and drag me into her battle with Dalton.

I climb the steps into the station. “Is there anything I can help you with, Ms. Radcliffe?”

“Ouch. All right. That cold front isn’t for our good sheriff.” She follows me in. “Do you want to talk about what I do?”

“I don’t think there’s anything to discuss. You’ve found a way to turn a profit in Rockton. And in return, the rest of the women have to put up with being treated like we’ll all whore ourselves—it’s just a matter of finding the right price.”

“I think that’s exaggerating—”

“I’ve been here four days and I’ve still managed to be offered money for sex twice. That’s not counting the guy who told me that if I ever need extra credits, he has some ‘night work’ for me. I’ll just presume he wants me to come over after my shift and type his novel.”

“You’re young and attractive. It’s an anomaly.”

“And you know that how? Marketing research? Door-to-door surveys?” I shake my head and sit at the desk. “I can handle it. I’m sure every other woman in this town can, too, because it’s not like most of them have had their self-esteem ground into the dirt by an abusive asshole.” I look at her. “Right?”

Her reply is slow, careful. “I think that while you have a very valid point, if you could let me state my case, you’d see that we’re damned if we do and we’re damned if we don’t. This is one solution to a very serious problem.”

“That guys can’t keep their pants zipped? That if you deprive them of women, they’ll just take them? That’s a hell of an insult to the men in this town.”

She sighs. “I’d like the chance to explain, Casey. That’s why I came by. To invite you to lunch.”

“No, thank you.”

I notice Anders has come in. He’s standing in the doorway. He sees me look up, nods, and backs out with a motion that he’ll be back in five.

“There are a limited number of professional women in this town,” Isabel says. “Most of us work in menial jobs, just like we did down south. Those in higher positions should stick together.”

“I don’t choose my friends by gender. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She leaves without another word, and I return to my work.

Anders returns and sets a Tupperware box in front of me. Inside are cookies.

“I know,” he says. “For cops it should be doughnuts, but we don’t get those here.”

“I prefer cookies anyway.” I select one.

“Good, considering I probably need to score a few points after last night.” He takes a cookie and the chair Isabel vacated.

“I’m sorry about Diana,” I say. “I should have walked away sooner. You guys didn’t deserve that.”

He gives a half shrug. “I kinda did. Before you arrived, Diana and I were at the Lion, with others, lots of drinking, she seemed fun and she’s new in town and … And that really doesn’t make me sound any better, does it?” He shifts in his seat. “Diana’s having some … I’d say issues, but that sounds condescending. Cutting loose is fine, but with her it seems a little…”

“Frenetic?”

“Yeah. Which I didn’t realize at the time. So inadvertently I took advantage of the situation, and I feel bad.”

“Deputy,” Dalton says as he walks through the door, “did you come in today to talk or to work?”

Before Anders can answer, Dalton heads out the back.