Knockemout PD usually had more important things to worry about than parking and let its citizens park wherever the hell they wanted, when they wanted, as long as it wasn’t directly on the sidewalk.
“Imma come back to that whole twin sister thing,” Grave warned, pointing his coffee stirrer at us. “But first, it’s just me in so far today, and I ain’t towed shit.”
Fuck. I shoved a hand through my hair.
“If you didn’t, do you have any idea who else would have?” Naomi asked hopefully.
Sure. I swoop in to save the day and drive her down here, but grizzled Grave was the one who got the smile and sweet words.
Grave, the bastard, was hanging on her every word, smiling at her like she was a seven-layer chocolate cake.
“Well now, Tin—I mean Naomi,” Grave began. “Way I see it, there’s two things that coulda happened. A—You forgot where you parked. But a gal like you in a town this small, that don’t seem likely.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed amicably without calling him Captain Obvious.
“Or B—Someone stole your car.”
I kissed my hour of sleep good-bye.
“I parked right in front of the pet shop because it was close to the cafe where
I was supposed to meet my sister.”
Grave slid me a look, and I nodded. Best to just get this part over with, like ripping off a damn bandage.
“So Tina knew you were coming into town, knew where you’d be?” he clarified.
Naomi wasn’t picking up what he was putting down. She nodded, all wide-eyed and hopeful. “Yes. She called me last night. Said she was in some kind of trouble and needed me to meet her at Café Rev at seven this morning.”
“Well now, sweetheart,” Grave hemmed. “I don’t want to cast aspersions, of course. But is it possible—”
“Your asshole sister stole your car,” I interjected.
Naomi’s hazel eyes sliced to me. She didn’t look sweet or hopeful now. No. She looked like she wanted to commit a misdemeanor. Maybe even a felony.
“I’m afraid Knox here is right,” Grave said. “Your sister’s been causing trouble since she got into town a year ago. This probably ain’t the first car she’s helped herself to.”
Naomi’s nostrils flared delicately. She brought my coffee to her mouth, drank it down in a few determined gulps, then tossed the empty cup into the waste basket by the desk. “Thank you for your help. If you see a blue Volvo with a Nice Matters bumper sticker, please let me know.”
Christ.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got one of those apps on your phone that’ll tell you where your car is, do ya?” Grave asked.
She reached for her pocket, then stopped and squeezed her eyes shut for a beat. “I did.”
“But you don’t no more?”
“I don’t have a phone. Mine, uh, broke last night.”
“That’s all right. I can put a call out so officers will be on the lookout if you give me the license plate,” Grave said, helpfully shoving a piece of paper and pen in her direction.
She took them and started to write in neat, swoopy cursive.
“You could leave your contact info too, where you’re staying and such, so me or Nash can update you.”
The name set my teeth on edge.
“Happy to,” Naomi said, sounding anything but.