Page 12 of Crosscurrent
“In Haven Cove? Is there a person here whose name you haven’t heard yet?”
“Maggie’s been the smoothest orientation I’ve had in three departments. She likes you. That counts for a lot but not for everything. She also mentioned that you and Sawyer and a few other folks have a kind of operation going,” Vega added.
“Operation’s a generous word. Mostly it’s Gabe’s business cards and a foundation grant and a basement we keep meaning to repaint. Sweet & Sawyer Investigations. Which sounds bigger than it is.”
“Most things named Investigations sound bigger than they are.”
“You’d know.”
“I would.” Vega let the silence sit. Cara let it sit back. “Sawyer was helpful out at the bluff Wednesday morning.”
Of course, Maggie told her.
“He loves that spot. He says there’s good light at sunrise.”
“Good for what, is the question.” Vega set her mug down. “My question to answer. Not his. And not yours. Just to be clear.”
Cara felt that one in her sternum. She exhaled slowly and rose, meeting the other woman’s gaze. “Of course. I’m all about clarity. Excuse me. I need to help Diane close. Anytime you’d like to come by, Chief, the coffee is here. Cinnamon rolls are on Wednesdays.”
“Wednesdays. I’ll write it down.”
Vega stood, too. She wasn’t tall, just a few inches over Cara’s five-six, but she moved taller. She set her tray on the bus-rack by the front door and tucked her mug into the dish bin like a person who’d once worked in food service.
At the door she turned back. “Thank you, Ms. Sweet.”
The bell dinged. The woman headed out into the fading light without a backward glance.
Cara stood at the two-top for a full ten seconds before she remembered to breathe.
Still wrangling the buttercream, Diane whistled. “There’s certainly some energy there.”
The bell rang again before Cara had finished wiping down the two-top. Piper rushed in, a mini hurricane in all its glory.
“I left my laptop downstairs.” Piper was halfway across the front room before Cara registered the words. “I was helping Janelle with her AP US History group project — primary-source database stuff, you would not believe how slow the Library of Congress is — and I left my whole life on the prep counter.”
Piper hit the basement door, keypad, thumbprint, gone.
Cara watched her disappear and let out a half-second breath she hadn’t known she was holding. That kid moves through this building like she lives here. Which she did, in every way that counted.
Piper resurfaced with the laptop in two minutes and her mouth running again. “Did you know somebody at HCPD got patched through to a federal office today? I bet it’s about that body at the Overlook.”
Cara’s wiping cloth stopped against the table edge.
“Mariah Cabrera’s aunt works dispatch in Tillamook County. She didn’t catch which agency. Cool, right? I mean probably boring. But cool. Anyway, I have to jet. Janelle’s mom is making lasagna. I don’t want to be late.”
And she’d just been clearly warned to stay far away from this case. She resumed wiping. “Your SAT results come Saturday, right?”
Piper rolled her eyes. “Saturday, yes, Mom-but-not-Mom, I know.” Backpack over one thin shoulder, she headed for the door.
“Drive safe,” Cara called after her.
“Always.” Piper waved and left.
Cara stood with the wet cloth. Two pieces of intel in an hour. Neither one an accident.
She dimmed the main lights. The alarm panel waited for her with its usual contempt; Diane could set it in six seconds. It took her, the woman who could pick a lock in ten seconds, three tries.
Agent the cat curled up on his bed in the corner, clearly amused. Or disgusted. Or whatever cats thought about human behavior. If they thought about it at all.
