Page 49 of Penny For Your Thoughts
Diem snagged my chin and wrenched it around to face him. The deep furrow in his brow and searching look conveyed irritation. “You’re fucking with me, right?”
“Yes, Guns. All the fuckery. I sometimes wonder about your ability to read into sarcasm.”
“So there’s no Magic Mike?”
“No. Well, there is, except we call him Jarik the Magician or something to that effect. He won’t be stripping.”
“Magician? You’re hiring a magician?”
“No. I don’t know. Aaron, the event coordinator here at Evergreen, he—”
“I know who Aaron is. Explain the magician.”
“I was.”
How had we gotten so sidetracked? What the hell had we been talking about? I glanced at the still frame image on the TV, and it came back.
“Never mind the magician. The point is, I know her.” I pointed at the screen. “She’s Aaron’s mother, and she works here as a janitor.”
11
Tallus
We spent another hour at Evergreen. Diem played the outdoor camera footage, showing our unknown kid and Aaron’s mother as they crossed the parking lot and vanished down the sidewalk, heading in the same direction.
“He goes that way every time he leaves.” Diem stopped the video and punched the eject button on the VCR. “At quarter after the hour every time. Not sure if that’s indicative of a pattern since I only have three instances, but it felt noteworthy.”
He stuffed the tape into its case and tossed it with the others. As he mucked around on the laptop, I puzzled over the timeframe.
“Maybe he had to catch a bus. They run on tight schedules.”
Diem grunted noncommittally as he tugged a USB from the laptop port and shut the computer down. “It would make sense. I’ll drive home that way. See what’s what for pick up points and what routes are nearby.”
“We should chat with Mrs. Daily. I can’t remember her first name.”
Diem agreed, and once we escaped the claustrophobic surveillance room, I steered him to the janitor’s room, where I met the woman the other day. The room was locked, and no one was around, so we inquired at the reception desk instead.
“Marcy Daily. Yes, she’s working the day shift this week. Nine to five. She’s already gone home.”
I glanced at Diem, who scratched the heavy scruff along his jaw, a look of contemplation tightening the skin beside his eyes. He muttered thanks and angled his head to the door, indicating we should go.
Outside, he stopped and peered up and around before pointing to a spot high on a lamppost where the parking lot camera was located. The sun had gone down over an hour ago, so the bright halogen light made the camera mounted a foot or two above it hard to see.
Instead of aiming for the Jeep, Diem strolled with Echo to the sidewalk at the end of the parking lot, letting her sniff the grassy verge as he glanced in the direction the boy and Marcy Daily had gone.
Diem wore his trench coat, the matching fedora tipped at an angle to obscure his face. As he paced, he lit a cigarette.
I hung back.
Before we left, I rescued the albums, ignoring Diem’s scowl and protest. Clutching them to my chest, I watched my boyfriend, but all I could see was Boone, standing beside the car with Hazel on his arm. Same broad shoulders and towering height, wearing the same hat and coat, a cigarette dangling from his lips. They shared the same bone structure, the same mannerisms—from what I could glean from pictures—but unlike Diem, Boone’s smile radiated joy and untainted mischief.
Boone, a man who’d been to war, didn’t seem to carry the same trauma as his grandson.
Diem’s smiles were always hesitant and reserved. He never gave them freely. I had to earn them, which made them special.
I ditched the albums in the Jetta, tucked my cold hands into the pockets of my coat, and followed my ornery boyfriend to the sidewalk. When he saw me coming, he flicked the cigarette into the road. Vehicles raced in both directions, their blinding headlights making it impossible to see far in any direction.
“Do you want to walk down the street and check it out?” I asked.
