“You’re not talking about the Gamble-Helmet Heist, are you?”
Ollie froze. “How’d you know?”
“Everyone knows about it.” She shrugged and looked at her parfait as she scooped up fudge and peanuts. “If it’s related to that, then whose skeleton is it?”
Ellis Mull. He’d heard Truman and Mercy discussing it yesterday, but something stopped him from saying it out loud. “Dunno.”
“Surely you’ve heard something.”
Is that what it looks like when someone bats their eyelashes? Ollie abruptly felt as if he’d been trapped. “Nothing.” He took another bite of his burger and studied the girl through fresh eyes. “What are you doing in Eagle’s Nest?”
She looked at her ice cream. “Work stuff.”
“What kind of work do you do?” Now that his brain was functioning, the world appeared crystal clear, and a murky cloud of suspicion clung to Tabitha.
“I just need to write up something. Say . . . is there a movie theater around here?” she asked with hope in her eyes.
“No. The closest theater is in Bend. What do you write?”
Her winning smile had lost some of its warmth. “Just little articles. Like what it’s like to live in a small town such as this one.”
“Usually it’s pretty great to live here. Do you have a business card?”
Now her smile vanished. “Why?”
“Because I’ve hinted several times that I want to know what you do.”
“Well, I haven’t pressured you to tell me what you do.” She thrust her chin forward and stubbornly tilted her head.
“I work in the warehouse for Lake Ski and Sports, and I also detail cars at a dealership in Bend. I’m not in school, but I take online courses and plan to start at the community college for summer session. See? It’s not hard to be forthright.” He held her gaze as he took another bite of burger, thoroughly chewed, and then swallowed. “Why do I feel like you’re playing me? I’ve got nothing anyone could want.” Except access to the police chief and an FBI agent.
Tabitha slipped a card out of her purse and pushed it across the table.
TABITHA HUFF
STAFF WRITER
THE MIDNIGHT VOICE
“You write for a tabloid.” He’d scanned the headlines in stores as a kid, hungry for information. Any information.
“I don’t write anything that’s not true.”
“I recently saw a headline about the president having seven toes on one foot.”
“I didn’t write it.”
“You have higher standards?”
“It’s a job. My pieces are factual and well written.”
“Why did you target me?” Does she know I found the body?
She stirred her fudge into the melting ice cream, watching it blend together. “I saw you leave the house where Agent Kilpatrick spent the night. She doesn’t live there, right?”
Ollie ignored her question. “You followed me? After you’d already followed Mercy to the house?” Dread crawled up his spine. Mercy and Truman were not going to like these facts.
“I didn’t get any information when I talked to the FBI agent, and I figured the police chief wouldn’t talk to me either, so I decided on a different approach when I spotted you.” She was all business now. The earlier flirtation was completely gone.
“How’d you find out about the remains?”
“I got a tip. Someone created a Twitter account just to tweet at me that they had a big story. I privately messaged them, and after hearing what they had to say, I decided it was worth a look.”
“What was in the tip?”
“That the notorious robbery case was about to blow open and reveal all the characters involved. He told me about the money bags and remains that had been found.”
“How could he have known that?”
“He wouldn’t tell me, but I had nothing to lose by poking around. I saw a chance at breaking a huge story. He said he wasn’t sharing it with any other media.”
Ollie frowned. “Why not? I’d go to the big-gun reporters, not a tabloid.”
She lifted one shoulder. “Anyway, I’ve been following you since early this morning.” She leaned forward, a sneaky gleam in her eye. “Are you following the woman in the silver truck?”
Dry bun stuck in Ollie’s throat, and he coughed. Crap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He struggled to clear his throat, wishing he’d ordered a soda.
Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Do you have some sort of weird obsession with her? She’s old enough to be your mom.”
He snorted. “That’s sick. She’s a nice lady . . .”
Tabitha raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him as she waited for the rest of his explanation.
How did she turn the tables back on me?
“There’s been some weird vandalism at her place. I’m keeping an eye out for anything odd around her.”
Tabitha stared. “You’re pretending to be a secret protector? That’s still twisted.”
“It’s not like that.” Ollie fumbled for the right words to explain. “I’m good at watching people and blending into the background . . . I used to do it when I lived—well, where I lived before.”
“You don’t blend. I noticed right away.”
“Well, it was easier in the woods.” Truth. It was difficult to be discreet in his red truck. “I know the police can’t always watch out for her, so I help out when I have some time.”
“The police asked you to help?” Skepticism filled her tone.
“No . . . I’m just doing it.”
“Still creepy.” Tabitha pushed away her half-eaten parfait, leaned back in the booth, and crossed her arms.
“How old are you?” Ollie asked, curiosity taking over his tongue.
“Twenty-two. Why?”
“I’m only eighteen. Did you really think I’d fall for your lonely-single-woman routine?”
“You’re eating with me, aren’t you?” She raised one brow.
“What are you going to do next?” he asked, ignoring that she was correct. “I don’t think anyone in Eagle’s Nest will give you information for your story.”
A slow, wide smile answered him. “People always talk. I’ll figure out the right way to approach them.”
“You’ve struck out twice now.”
“Then I’ll have to keep swinging, won’t I? Don’t worry about me.” She batted the eyelashes again. “I always come out on top. By tomorrow, that FBI agent will wish she’d answered my questions.”
Ollie set down his last bite of burger, bile burning in his stomach. “Are you threatening Mercy?”
Her laugh was forced. “Of course not. I meant she’ll wish she’d been my source.”
Ollie took a long look at Tabitha. Under his stare, she blinked several times and tried unsuccessfully to smile. “That’s my family you’re talking about,” he stated quietly.
“I happen to know you’re not related,” she snapped.
“Family is more than bloodlines. It’s also the people you choose to be in your life. I chose them.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“All you need to understand is that if you do something to embarrass Mercy or Truman, you’ll be answering to me.”
Boredom crossed her face as she turned away. “Okay, little boy.”
But a moment of uncertainty had flickered in her eyes.
Ollie stood and moved his uneaten fries and parfait back to his serving tray, his hunger long gone. “Nice meeting you.” He dumped the contents of the tray in the garbage bin behind their booth and headed for the door. He briefly regretted the loss of the parfait but realized he’d never taste one again without remembering this meal. Nausea swirled at the thought of fudge and peanuts.