Spooky said, “To take a dump. Excuse me, I have to use the can.” She closed herself into a stall.
Meghan didn’t think it likely that Spooky had delayed bodily functions on her account, but since Kit wanted them to wait in here anyway, she didn’t object to this part of the drama. In fact, she was glad they’d get the business of meeting each other over with, without Kit hovering protectively in their midst as some sort of referee.
“How did you recognize me?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t your big ego like to know?”
“I recognized you because Kit has told me about you,” Meghan said. “I don’t think there’s anyone else he cares more about than you.”
“He cares more about his dead dog.”
Meghan didn’t say anything for a moment. “I was sorry to hear about Molly. She had been with Kit for a long time.”
“She was old. Older than me.”
“When she died, it must have been hard on you, too.”
“You know what I’m not going to do? I’m not going to sit on this crapper talking to you about my dog, okay?”
“Okay.”
Spooky faked farting sounds.
“Charming.”
“Isn’t it, though? I fart all the time. Maybe you should find somebody else to take you to California, because I’m probably going to fart all the way there. You’re probably too prissy to fart.”
“Most of the time, good manners do keep me from doing that when I’m around other people, but I can see that manners don’t matter to you at all-so get ready, because if we’re all going to be so free about it, that car’s going to smell like the bean factory’s company picnic.”
She heard a little snort of laughter from behind the stall. It was quickly suppressed, but Meghan figured she had made some progress.
She waited in silence, then heard Spooky say angrily, “You can’t fix him, you know.”
“Kit? I don’t think he’s broken.”
“He’s crazy.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Shows what you know.”
“He makes mistakes, that’s all. He told me you were thirteen.”
“I am.”
“Could have fooled me. Aren’t you a little old for potty humor?”
“You tell me, bean eater. And he is crazy.”
“Why do you live with him, then?”
“Craziness runs in our family.”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but Kit isn’t crazy. He has problems, but who doesn’t? He’s not like everyone else, but I think that’s why I like him.”
“Do you love him?”
“You won’t talk about Molly in here, I won’t talk about what I feel for Kit. Maybe another time.”
“Shit. You do love him.”
Meghan didn’t answer.
After several minutes, Spooky said, “I knew you were Meghan, because he has pictures of you.”
Meghan was surprised by this and was glad Spooky couldn’t see her face.
“You’re prettier now,” Spooky said, then added quickly, “but don’t let it go to your head. It probably makes other women hate you.”
“A few I don’t worry about. Maybe I should meet everyone in bathrooms. They could get to know me without seeing my face.”
“You should work at a place for the blind.”
“I have.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Cool. What was it like?”
“I enjoyed it.”
“So if you don’t want to be judged by your looks, maybe you should go back to work there and leave those of us in bathrooms alone.”
“I meet more people this way. Not everyone is blind-at least, not literally. But sooner or later, everyone has to-”
Spooky laughed. “Hand me Kit’s note. There’s no TP in here.”
“Come out and get it.”
Another woman entered the bathroom then, and Spooky came out of the stall. She washed her hands, then took her jacket from Meghan. “This doesn’t mean I like you.”
“I wouldn’t want it to be that easy.”
“Let me see the note-please.”
Meghan handed it to her. Spooky’s eyes widened as she read it. She shot a look of pure rage at Meghan. “You didn’t tell me! He could be in trouble! You stupid bitch-”
“Spooky-”
But she evaded Meghan’s grasp and ran out of the room.
Meghan hurried after her but hadn’t taken more than two steps from the bathroom when Frederick Whitfield IV grabbed her by the arm.
“Sex with young boys in bathrooms, Meghan? Even I wouldn’t have guessed it.”
Spooky heard him and turned just in time to see Meghan move back, bend, and then twist, throwing Frederick off balance. With another quick motion, she sent him head over heels, so that he landed with a loud whump on his back. He rolled to his stomach, winded, and tried to get to his feet, but Spooky ran forward, asked, “Are you all right, sir?” and landed both knees in his back.
“Go!” Meghan shouted, and they both ran out of the restaurant.
Some restaurant patrons saw a woman and a boy run out of the Peak Experience. A few more saw the man who followed them, sometime later. The hostess, seating a couple who had just arrived, heard about it when she came back to her station and wondered if she should call the sheriff. She decided to give Mr. Logan a few more minutes to settle his problems privately.
Kit was driving up the service road to the restaurant when Meghan and Spooky came charging toward him. He braked hard, and Spooky yelled to Meghan, “Get in the front seat!
“Turn around!” Spooky shouted as she got in back, but Kit was already turning the wheel as they slammed and locked their doors. He stepped on the accelerator, leaving Frederick Whitfield IV in a cloud of dust.
The women cheered.
He slowed a little, then eased onto the main road. “What exactly did you two do back there?” Kit asked.
“Oh man!” Spooky said, laughing. “Meghan kicks ass!”
He smiled, then said, “Okay, but do I need to send a check to the Peak Experience to pay for the damage?”
“Let Freddy pay for it,” Meghan said, catching her breath.
“He’ll have a hard time doing that,” Spooky said, holding up Frederick Whitfield IV’s wallet and a set of keys to a Bronco.
“Spooky…”
“I said I wouldn’t rob anyone in the women’s room.”
“Spooky,” Meghan said, “kicks ass.”
Spooky frowned, then said, “Just because you can fight-”
“-doesn’t mean you like me. I know. Likewise, I’m sure.”
Kit sighed, then drove a little faster.
22
Palos Verdes Peninsula, California
Tuesday, May 20, 8:01 P.M.
Alex Brandon stood a few feet from the edge of a sheer drop to the Pacific Ocean, one member of a tight circle of coroner’s assistant, deputies, and crime lab workers who surrounded an aluminum-framed litter-and the tarp-wrapped corpse within it. After some struggle, and a climb that Alex would have envied them otherwise, the technical rescue crew had brought the body up from the cliff. They had wisely refused the earliest suggestion made to them, that they just haul it up on the rope left by the killers. It had taken a little time to rig a separate set of ropes and the litter.
Some distance away, the press and a few rubbernecking members of the public were standing at barriers closely guarded by sheriff’s department deputies. They’d get a better view of the proceedings at home-a television news crew in a helicopter had already taken footage of the litter being pulled up to its present location.
“Detective Brandon?” Alex turned to see one of the uniformed deputies approaching them. “The FBI agent is here.”
“Bring him on over,” Alex said. He turned back to the coroner’s assistant. “Can you wait for a moment, until he joins us?”
“Sure.”
The sheriff, Alex had learned, had made certain concessions to the FBI in an effort to counter some of the criticism he had received from the local press. Lieutenant Hogan believed that their fearless leader had apparently out-negotiated the director of the FBI in superb style by agreeing that until any federal jurisdiction over the cases seemed warranted, he would generously give copies of all earlier reports to the FBI and would allow an FBI liaison to work with Alex and Ciara on any new cases.