Pretties in Pink

3. Hallie

3

HALLIE

“Apart from the hair, which may or may not be Vonnie’s, the evidence is all circumstantial,” I said to Dan as we rode back to Blackwood’s headquarters. Even though we were in Dan’s Camaro, I was driving because only people with a death wish climbed into a car with her behind the wheel.

“It is, but there’s still something I’m not getting.”

If that was the case, then I also wasn’t getting it.

“Like what?”

“Statistically, who’s most likely to murder a child?”

Finally, a question I could answer. “A parent.”

“Or somebody they know. And who’s way down the list?”

“A stranger.”

“Exactly. So why did the cops jump to Micah Ganaway so fast?”

“The parents were out that evening, so they probably had an alibi. We need to look at the babysitter?”

“Yeah, we need to look at the babysitter. Did you babysit as a teenager?”

“Didn’t everybody?”

Although most folks at Aspen Meadows had seen childcare as an unnecessary expense. Why pay someone to watch a kid when the kid could watch TV instead? Learning to cook dinner had been a rite of passage for every tweenager who lived there. But in the suburbs nearby, parents saw the benefits of hiring a babysitter, and I’d picked up steady work from the age of sixteen. Mostly, it had been easy money, but I’d never forget the day I assumed responsibility for Satan’s twin daughters—one ran out the front door, one ran out the back door, and when I tried to find them, they snuck inside, locked me out, and turned the sprinklers on.

“Ever invite a boy over after the kid went to bed?”

“Once or twice.”

“What if Vonnie’s babysitter had a friend? Add it to the list. Also relatives—uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents. Find out if there’s been animosity between them and Vonnie’s parents, or whether any of them have a record. Check into finances too. Remember that case in the UK where the mom faked the abduction of her own kid to make money from the publicity?”

I’d listened to the podcast, horrified. “Yup.”

“There’re some sick, sick people out there. We need to talk to the cops too.” Dan grimaced. “Micah’s right: Duncan is an asshole. Try Prestia first.”

“He’s okay?”

“I’ve never crossed paths with him before, so maybe he’s new? Whatever, he can’t be worse than Duncan. And here’s another angle to try—could Micah have been framed? Not long after I started at Blackwood, Duncan got caught planting a baggie of heroin on a kid at a traffic stop, and hair’s easier to get hold of than dope.”

“How does he still have a job?”

“Because the whole damn department was corrupt, remember? Now it’s more like half-corrupt, but I still don’t trust those cops as far as I can throw them, and I’m pretty short and also not great at pitching.”

“Are you sure I can’t go back to investigating corporate fraud? I’m good at that.”

Dan patted me on the arm. “Have faith in yourself, sister. Enjoy the challenge.”

“What I’d enjoy is a week in the Caribbean.”

“Then let’s make a deal. Prove who did this, one way or the other, and I’ll strong-arm Emmy into lending you her private island for a week.”

Good luck to anyone that tried to strong-arm Emmy into anything, but I didn’t doubt that she’d agree to Dan’s terms. She might be an actual freaking assassin, but once you got past the potty mouth, the prickly outer layers, and the fact that she could shoot a man in cold blood without flinching, she was weirdly nice. And her island was rumoured to be a tropical paradise. Seeing as I was saving to eventually buy my own home, my finances ran to “three stars in Virginia Beach” rather than “billionaires’ playground,” so Dan’s offer was a damn good one.

“I’ll speak to Prestia.”

“Attagirl.”

“Can I interest you in our pre-weekend special? Any grande coffee and a muffin of your choice for half price.”

Friday special. It was a Friday special. Why couldn’t people just say what they meant? But I did like the idea of a chocolate muffin.

“Sure, why not?”

Since our meeting with Micah, we’d had two small breaks. The first came when Fenika told me that she had indeed uploaded the photos from that day to her brother’s cloud drive. As I waited for my order at the Grindhouse, Blackwood’s Cyber team was combing through every image for clues that might help us.

Of course, every silver lining had a cloud, and that cloud had been the bruise on Fenika’s cheek. She’d tried to hide it, but it was the size of a nickel and the shape of Texas. Kids could be so cruel. When news of Micah’s arrest came out, it hadn’t taken long for Fenika’s peers to start with the name-calling and worse. Once again, she’d begged Knox and me to take her home, but we couldn’t. I’d wanted to, but we couldn’t. Knox was going to speak with Cal, see if there was a way to get an advocate appointed for Fenika in her family’s absence.

The second break? When I searched online for Detective Prestia, I’d recognised the oh-so-serious man staring back at me from the “Meet our newest members” post on the police department’s social media feed. He’d been ahead of me in line when I picked up Emmy’s coffee on Tuesday. I confess he’d caught my eye because he was hot—and as Dan said, even if a woman wasn’t available, that didn’t make her blind—but now that I knew he was a cop, any appeal he might have had vanished in a heartbeat. Why were the pretty ones always pricks?

Anyhow, I figured running into him by “chance” might have a better likelihood of success than me calling to request a meeting or stalking him home, and what better way to start documenting my thoughts on the case than over coffee and carbs in a reasonably upscale café? I only hoped Prestia was a regular.

Five coffees, four muffins, three bathroom breaks, and a whole bunch of caffeine jitters later, he finally walked through the door. I’d almost given up hope. Now I just needed to convince him to talk to me without coming across like a manic i***t. Mental note: switch to decaf.

What would Dan do? Probably dazzle him with her boobs, which wasn’t a possibility for me. And Emmy would hog-tie him, which wasn’t an option either. I slipped into line behind him, pondering my options, only to get distracted by an i***t spitting on a panhandler sitting outside the window. What an asshole. The spitter, not the homeless guy. Chances were, he couldn’t help his situation, and he’d been ready with a smile and a “Morning, ma’am” when I walked inside.

There were still three people in front of Prestia. I had a spare moment.

“I’m just gonna take this muffin to the guy outside,” I called to the cashier. “I’ll pay with my order.”

Since I’d left my laptop on the table and tipped her well all morning, I figured she wouldn’t mind. And it only took a second to put the smile back on the homeless man’s face. So many people were only one paycheck away from the streets, and if Blackwood hadn’t taken me in, I might have ended up there myself.

But when I got back inside, it seemed that not everyone felt the same way.

“Why do you waste your money on people like those?” a woman seated at a table near the door asked.

“People like what?”

“Vagrants.”

“Everybody has to eat.”

And what right did she have to judge people? Maybe if she’d just gone back to her frou-frou coffee and bran muffin, I’d have left it there, but of course, she didn’t.

“You oughta be ashamed of yourself. It should be illegal.”

“What should be illegal? Homelessness?”

“Enabling those people to clutter up the streets.”

“Are you kidding me? Why don’t you call the cops and tell them to arrest me for buying a snack?”

“I don’t like your attitude, young lady.”

“Well, I don’t like yours. It’s barely above freezing, and I took the guy a freaking muffin. If you had an ounce of compassion in that scrawny body of yours, you’d buy him a hot drink to go with it. But seeing as you don’t, how about you get outta my face and shut your nasty mouth instead? Didn’t your momma ever teach you to mind your own business?”

The entire café had fallen silent. Every single head was turned in our direction. Congratulations, Hallie. A masterclass in how not to conduct an investigation.

But then somebody at the back began to clap, and a girl called, “I’ll get the guy a coffee.”

Another voice, male this time. “You should pack up your bran muffin and leave, lady.”

But the woman still wasn’t done.

“Are you happy now that you’ve caused a scene? Attention seeking, that’s what floozies like you are. Maybe I will call the police and report you for disturbing the peace.”

I felt rather than saw Prestia step up behind me.

“Ma’am, I’m a police officer, and if you do that, I’ll arrest you for filing a false report.” Prestia’s accent told me he wasn’t from around here, so Dan might have been right about him being a transplant. His voice held a hint of the south but not a full-on drawl. “And just so we’re clear here, being homeless isn’t a crime. The gentleman at the back offered you good advice, so I suggest you take it.”

She opened her mouth. Wisely closed it again, then wrapped the remains of the bran muffin in a napkin and scuttled out the door.

Whew.

Everyone in line bought something for the homeless guy—a sandwich, a bottle of juice, a cookie—and when Prestia reached the counter, he turned to me. Hoo boy. He was even hotter the second time around. Short hair the colour of molten chocolate, matching eyes with gold flecks that twinkled as he glanced at the door behind me. Kind eyes. Watchful eyes. His facial hair was too short for a beard, too long for a five o’clock shadow, but the not-quite-polished look suited him. And when he smiled… Oh, he could be in Hollywood with those teeth.

“What can I get you?” he asked.

“Me?”

“One good turn deserves another.”

Well, this was an interesting development. “Uh, a decaf latte and an apple.”

“Decaf? You drink decaf?” He sounded incredulous.

“Today, I do.”

“And the apple?”

“I already ate my weekly allowance of carbs this morning.”

Prestia gave me a slow once-over from head to toe, and that did nothing for my temperature. Forget undressing me with his eyes, he peeled me like a crawfish and tossed me into a pan of boiling water. Then his lips quirked.

“Give me a granola cup and an Americano, plus a decaf latte and an apple for the lady.” He didn’t look away from me as he spoke. “And put our homeless friend’s muffin on my tab.”

“I’ve got a table over there in the corner if you want to join me?”

“I usually get takeout.”

Another stranger spoke up, a grey-haired lady eating a pink cupcake. “No wedding ring. You should join her, hun. She’s a good one.”

Prestia’s twitching lips spread into a genuine smile, and damn, that was devastating.

“How can I argue with that?” He glanced at his watch and shrugged. “Lead the way.”