“Why were you at Casey’s old place tonight?” Dalton asks.
“What? When? I haven’t been out since dinner.”
“No?”
Phil finds the expression he wants, somewhere between annoyance and condescension. “No, Sheriff. I don’t socialize in the evenings.”
“Just the afternoons,” I murmur, and his cheeks color at that. He opens his mouth, but I cut him off with, “So you haven’t been out in the last few hours?”
“That’s what I said.”
Dalton steps forward, and Phil backs up with a snarky, “Please come in. Two A.M. is a perfectly fine time for a visit.”
“It’s not even midnight,” Dalton says.
I ease by them and lift one of Phil’s boots from the mat. It’s still caked with snow.
“You thought you could put that one past a fucking detective?” Dalton says, pointing at the boot.
“I meant that I hadn’t been out and walking around. Not that I hadn’t stepped beyond my door. One of the shutters was banging. I couldn’t see anything, though I’d like Kenny to check in the morning. I’m sure I heard a clatter.”
“On the rooftop maybe?” I say. “Santa making a practice run?”
I get a cool look for that. Then his lips purse. “Are you saying someone was at the house where you’re keeping Maryanne? Perhaps that’s what I heard—someone went to the wrong perimeter house searching for her.”
I’m about to call his bluff. Then I reconsider and nod. “Someone who spotted her when I brought her in. They got curious and snuck in for a closer look.”
“Perhaps, but I wouldn’t be so quick to write off a potential threat as mere curiosity.”
“Threat?”
“She’s a hostile. She makes people nervous. Remember how they tried to lynch Oliver Brady. If they know you have a hostile here, they might decide to do something about that.”
“Most residents don’t even know what hostiles are,” Dalton says. “Hell, they see Tyrone Cypher and think that’s what I mean. And Ty’s in town tonight, so if they decide to form another mob, they’ll just go after him. Which is fine. He can look after himself. Give his rusty occupational skills a workout.”
“Tyrone Cypher has no legal authority here.”
“I don’t mean his skills as a former sheriff. I mean from when he was a hit man.”
Phil looks at Dalton. “I realize I’m still relatively new, but I believe we may dispense with the hazing jokes. Whatever Rockton’s issues, the council would not put a killer on the police force.”
“Uh…” I say. “I know you’ve read my file.”
“You’re an exception.” He pauses. “Like Deputy Anders.”
“Given the track record of Rockton law enforcement, I suspect ‘killing someone in cold blood’ is actually a prerequisite. Except for Eric. Eric’s special.”
“In so many ways,” Phil murmurs under his breath. “My point—”
“Your point was that you think Maryanne is in danger,” Dalton says. “And it’s interesting that you jump to that rather than the more mundane explanation of a bored resident. Also interesting considering you’re the person who was trying to break into her house. Ever been diagnosed with multiple personalities?”
“Don’t give him any ideas,” I say.
“I wasn’t. Dissociative identity disorder is exceptionally rare and experts disagree on whether it exists at all.” Dalton catches my look. “We had a resident who said she had it. So I did my research. She was wrong. Had a helluva time convincing her of that, though.”
“Cultists, psychopaths, multiple personalities, hit men … Is there anyone you haven’t had here? Oh, wait. No zombies. At least not yet, right?”
“Actually…”