Even Grady. Maybe even inevitably Grady, when Molly moved out.
Grady sighed down at his desk. He wouldn’t let it come to that. No yippy dogs, just Cairo—who yipped once in a while but mostly just barked at delivery people and cried for treats. That wasn’t as sad as an army of dachshunds, was it?
He popped his laptop open.
It took him a couple of minutes, but he finally found an address for Abbot Keyes, the low-level consultant Beckmeyer mentioned who’d worked for Christopher Gilman. Technically, the case was still open. Technically, he was doing his job.
“Everybody knows ‘technically’ is the best kind of correct.”
14.
Leda and Niki sat on the curb in front of the travel agency office, where Leda had just sent forth several rounds of advertising through all her favorite social media sites—and one fairly extensive post on Craigslist, just to cover her bases. For the sake of the business, she’d also created a Twitter account (though she was still waiting on her fancy-pants blue check mark of officialness), a Facebook page, and an Instagram account where she posted pictures that her most recent clients had sent her from their cruise. So far. There would be more pictures to come, she was sure of it.
The ladies rose to their feet when Grady Merritt’s car crawled around the corner and stopped in front of them.
“Shotgun!” shouted Niki.
Leda tried to hip-check her friend out of the way, but she wasn’t fast enough. “No fair!”
“You know the rules. Tallest person gets shotgun.”
“You’re barely an inch taller, and most of that’s because of the plastic boot.”
“Devil’s in the details,” Niki declared, popping the latch and throwing herself inside. “Hey there, Detective!”
He looked at her with muted surprise. “Hey there… Nicole. So you’re coming along, too?”
“It’s Niki. You said it was okay.”
“I did?”
“Back when you first came to the travel agency, that one time. I’m pretty sure.” She found the seat belt and buckled herself in, just as Leda was scooting into the back seat.
Looking over his shoulder, he said, “Hey, Leda. You didn’t mention—”
“I know, but you said it was okay.”
“I guess I… did?” He gave in, since possession was nine-tenths of the law and now these two women each possessed a seat inside his car. When Leda’s seat belt was fastened, he sighed, looked forward, and took the wheel with both hands. “Okay, then. So it’s a party. I hope he doesn’t mind.”
“Who are we visiting again?” Niki asked.
Leda leaned forward as far as she could, so she hovered over the gear shift, right between their heads. “Abbot Keyes. Supposedly, he got into a fight with one of the murder victims a couple of days before all the killing. Right?” she asked Grady.
“Right. He’s agreed to meet us at the university between classes. Well, he agreed to meet me and Leda.” He shot one more look at Niki. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, though.”
“Obviously it’ll be fine. Tell him I’m a detective-in-training or something.”
“I’m not going to tell him that. I’ll think of something else. How’s your foot?”
“Healing by the day!” Niki declared brightly, wiggling it around on the floor—where it rattled and thumped.
Leda said, right into the side of Grady’s face, “Tell him she’s a forensic accountant. Or a roving lab tech. Or a crime scene investigator!”
He pulled out into the flow of traffic and didn’t look at either one of them. “I’m not going to tell him that. For one thing, we’re not visiting a crime scene. For another, roving lab tech? That’s not a job.”
“I could be a pirate?”
“Maybe stop talking,” he suggested. “I’ll think of something when we get there.”
“Why are we going to the university?” Leda asked.
Somewhat wearily, he said, “Because that’s where Abbot Keyes is.”
“Why?” asked Niki. “Is he a student there?”
“Yes. He’s working on a computer science degree when he’s not roaming King County as an Uber driver.”
Leda sat back. “So I guess the consulting gig didn’t shake out?”
“Digital Scaffolding folded after Christopher and Kevin died,” Grady informed them. “Either Keyes couldn’t land another consulting gig, or he simply chose not to. You can ask him when we meet him. Wait—on second thought, no. Neither one of you should ask him anything. I will do all the talking.”
“You will do all the talking,” Leda and Niki said in unison.
Grady frowned, but he was too far along in these shenanigans to bail now. “I do the talking,” he repeated. “And if this gets ugly, or heated, or anything like that, this is the first and last time you two get to do a ride-along. Got it?”
“Got it,” they said in sync, though they sounded a bit deflated.
It was late enough in the morning that rush hour was over, but the trip to the U District still took half an hour. They made it onto campus and parked behind the University Book Store—where Abbot had promised he’d meet them in the café area downstairs. True to his word, he was there waiting when the trio came in.
“That’s him,” Grady said under his breath to Leda, his eyes flashing to a white man in his early thirties with tragic dark emo hair and a waistcoat with a pocket watch that said he visited the nineteenth century in his downtime, for funsies.
Leda tried very hard not to squeal with excitement when she whispered, “The Victorian orphan!”
Grady checked her gently with his shoulder. “Yeah, I know—but keep it to yourself.” He took the lead and approached the seated fellow at his table.
Abbot popped a pair of earbuds free, looping the skinny cords around his palm until he could stuff them into his pocket. “Detective Merritt?” he asked, rising to shake hands. “It’s been a while.”
“Good to see you again,” Grady said with a smile. “And thanks so much for taking a few minutes to talk with me. With us.”
Leda and Niki loomed behind him, grinning like maniacs.
“Us?”
“Yes, I’m sorry about the surprise third… fourth wheel,” Grady said as he pulled up a chair and urged his companions to do likewise. There were just enough loose seats to accommodate them all around the small table against the wall. “This is my associate Leda Foley, and this is Nicole Nelson—she’s… a forensic accounting student at Pacific Lutheran. She got assigned to us as a ride-along for class at the last minute, you know how it goes.”
“Sure…” Abbot said, without sounding sure at all. But he mustered a social smile and said, “It’s nice to meet you all. This is something about the Gilmans, right?”
“Correct,” Grady said. “Some new evidence has come up, and we’re making the rounds again—talking to people who worked with them, trying to take another look at the big picture surrounding their deaths.”
“Right, right. Well, whatever I can do to be of help.”