Andrea closed her eyes. This was the last thing she needed. She tapped to answer. “Hey, Mom.”
“Sweetheart,” Laura said. “I won’t keep you long, I know you’re busy, but I was just thinking I could help you find a place.”
“A what?”
“You’ll need a place to live, my darling. I can go online and set up some appointments for you to look at apartments.”
A curse bubbled its way to Andrea’s lips. That would actually be a really helpful thing if not for the fact that she needed a place in Baltimore, not Portland, Oregon.
“You don’t want to make a quick decision and regret it,” Laura said. “Tell me a neighborhood and I’ll go online. It’s better to go through a broker up there, that way you have some protections.”
“I don’t know.” Andrea was desperate to get off the phone. “Laurelhurst?”
“Laurelhurst? How did you hear about it? Do other Marshals live there?”
Andrea knew about it because she’d read in Rolling Stone that Sleater-Kinney had played at a bar there. “Someone mentioned it at the office. They said it’s nice.”
“My God, I should hope so. You should see these prices.” Laura was clearly using the desktop computer in her office. Andrea could hear her typing on the clunky keyboard. “Oh, here’s one but—oh, no, it says you have to have a pet. What sort of landlord wants you to have a pet? I don’t understand Portland. Oh, here’s another one, but—”
Andrea listened to Laura’s streaming commentary about a one-bedroom basement apartment that was clearly a studio and perhaps had a Wiccan altar in the bathroom but, either way, was overpriced.
“Okay,” Laura continued. “Laurelhurst spans the northeast and southeast part of Portland. Oh, one of the parks has a statue of Joan of Arc. But these listings are so expensive, darling. You can’t just pop next door and steal peanut butter out of my pantry.”
Andrea sat on the edge of the bed as Laura started looking for cheaper areas.
“Concordia? Hosford-Abernathy? Buckman Neighborhood?”
Andrea put her head in her hand. The worst hood she had ever lived in was adulthood.
She had to stop this. “Hey, Mom, I need to go.”
“Okay, but—”
“I’ll call you later. Love you.”
Andrea ended the call. She fell back onto the bed and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. A water stain had left a brown cloud. She felt disgusted with herself for carrying on this stupid Portland charade with her mother. For two solid years, Andrea had punished Laura for being such a damn good liar. The apple had fallen right on top of the tree.
“Oliver!” Bible banged on her door. “It’s me, partner. You decent?”
“Finally.” Andrea pushed herself up. She opened the door. Bible had changed into jeans and a USMS T-shirt, identical to what Andrea was wearing. They both had their guns on their belts. Which made the tiny woman standing behind him in a navy power suit and very high heels look even more out of place.
“I gotta confession,” Bible said. “I made an executive decision to bring in the boss. Deputy Chief Cecelia Compton, this is Deputy Andrea Oliver.”
“Uh—” Andrea tucked in her shirt. “Ma’am, I thought you were in Baltimore?”
“My husband works in the area. Mind if I come in?” Compton didn’t wait for an invitation. She walked into the room. She looked around, taking in all the things that Andrea did not want anyone to see, let alone her boss. Her duffel hanging open, all of her underwear disgorged onto the floor. Her running clothes wadded up beside the mini fridge. Her backpack tossed onto the bed. Thank God her mind had been too consumed by Alice Poulsen and Star Bonaire to take out Emily Vaughn’s case file.
“All right.” Compton sat on the edge of the desk where Andrea’s half-finished egg salad sandwich was molting. “Bible told me about the farm. What were your impressions?”
Andrea hadn’t prepared for this. The fact that Cecelia Compton was one of those scary, intimidating women who clearly had her shit together did not help matters.
“Take a breath, Oliver.” Bible was leaning against the closed door. “Start with Star.”
“Star,” Andrea said. “She was really thin like the rest of them, but older, maybe late twenties. Barefoot. Long hair. Wearing the same yellow shift as the rest of them.”
“Do you think she’s been there a while?”
“Chief Stilton made it seem like it’s been at least two years. I guess you could infer something from the fact that she was in the house rather than doing manual labor on the farm. She was on a first-name basis with Wexler. Stilton says her mother lives in town.”