She turns and frowns. “That chalet there? Only essential services get those homes, and I can’t imagine a butcher would qualify.”
“Oh, Mathias is special. It’s his other job that’s helped him wrangle his prime real estate. He’s a spy for the council. But I’m sure you know that, which is why you were visiting.”
Silence. A long silence as the wheels turn and she considers her next move. Finally, she exhales and motions for me to follow. I hesitate until I see Dalton. With a wave, I ask him to join us. He does, and he keeps quiet as we walk. I think Émilie is going to take us to Petra’s place, but she keeps walking.
“I believe you’ll want to continue this conversation in a more private location,” she says. “It may be night, but I fear the soundproofing here may not be what we might require.”
She starts veering toward our house. I tense, hackles rising, and Storm gives a low growl, as if sensing my reaction. Dalton strides into the lead and turns toward the station instead.
Émilie sighs loud enough to make her displeasure known, but she says nothing.
Inside the station, the fire burns low. Dalton stokes it as Émilie settles into the only chair.
“I might have hoped for more comfortable surroundings,” she says.
“This is fine,” Dalton says and heads out back, returning with the two patio chairs. We settle into them by the fire, and Storm thumps down between us.
“Enough dancing around one another,” Émilie says. “Yes, I know Mathias works for the council. I would argue he’s not a spy, but a mental-health monitor. He’s very good at that. As a spy, though, he leaves much to be desired. The only time he’s interested in information-gathering is when he can use it to his own advantage.”
I keep my expression neutral. Dalton only stretches out his legs, crossing them at the ankles and crossing his arms, too. The body language is clear, and he doesn’t care if she knows it.
Émilie continues. “I was not at Mathias’s house. I truly was just out for a walk.”
“Okay,” I say.
Our gazes meet. I don’t believe her, but this conversation won’t proceed as long as we lock horns over this.
“Petra’s gone,” I say.
When her entire body goes rigid, I realize how that sounded. I should hurry on to clarify. I don’t. I pause, if only for a moment, to throw her off balance.
I continue, “We found a man in the forest, injured. He’d been the one who dropped the Danes off, and he was searching for them when they missed their pickup. He was attacked by a hostile. While I tended to him, Eric and Storm returned to Edwin’s trail. Petra stayed with me. We got into an argument.”
Those last words are the ones that truly penetrate. Émilie’s head snaps up, her eyes wide, and I know what she’s thinking. That this is the end of the story. How her g
randdaughter died.
We got into an argument.
“I confronted Petra with a theory about the hostiles and your involvement.”
This is why I am callously dragging out the ending. Because if I uttered those words “your involvement” under any other circumstances, her defenses would fly up in the proper expression of confusion. But all she’s thinking about right now is Petra. She does not react, and that tells me everything.
I continue. “Eric and Storm ran into trouble in the forest. Hostiles. I heard Storm in distress, so I took off, leaving Petra with the pilot. When we came back, she was gone. They were both gone.”
“The hostiles took—?”
“No. Petra was aware they were in the area. We had an encounter ourselves, with the same group that ran into Eric. They were in retreat. But I left Petra on full alert, in a defensive position, guarding a blind man. If they’d been attacked, there would have been bodies. All we found was a trail. It headed straight for the nearest body of water, because Petra knows how to evade Storm.”
“No.”
“No to what? Petra wouldn’t know how to confound a tracking dog?”
“No to all of this, Casey. Petra wouldn’t do that. I thought you knew her better.”
My face hardens, and I open my mouth to answer, but Dalton cuts in, his voice calm, breezy even.
“When Casey came to Rockton, Petra sought her out,” he says. “Made a point of winning her friendship. Casey was flattered, naturally. Petra cultivated the friendship of the new detective, the sheriff’s girlfriend—”