them to clean the table top until it shone.
Satisfied, she ran the cleaning supplies back to her desk, helping herself to a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge on her way past.
She sipped it slowly while looking out the single window of the interrogation room at the Haber’s elm tree across from the fire station. The elm’s nearly bare branches twisted in a way that made it look like it was in constant motion, though of course the only movement it actually made was at the microscopic pace of its growth. A classic example of the fact that things weren’t always what they seemed.
“Hello?”
Garrett Sanderson’s voice brought Grace out of her reverie.
“Thank you for coming in again, Mr. Sanderson.”
“Please, dear, it’s Garrett,” he said.
When she looked up at him, he gave her a wolfish wink.
“ A good glass in the bishop’s hostel in the devil’s seat… ” he said in a sing-song way.
Grace studied him calmly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was thinking of the treasure that was here before.”
“Is that from a song?” Grace asked.
She knew full well it was Edgar Allen Poe’s Gold Bug . In high school, Grace had been a horror junkie. She moved through Poe and Lovecraft, and into King and Koontz, devouring all the books the librarian threw at her. Finding out she actually lived next to werewolves had been the coolest moment of her formative years.
“A book, actually,” Garrett replied, his tone dipping just to the border of condescension.
Perfect. Let him start off with some false confidence.
“Oh.” Grace wrinkled her nose a bit for good measure.
He sat down gracefully with a pleased look on his face. Once again, he held his cane like a scepter next to his elegantly crossed legs.
Grace smiled back, with practiced guilelessness.
“That is such an interesting cane.” She leaned forward to examine it. “What’s the carving at the head?”
“A wolf.”
“A silver wolf.” Grace nodded. “Does it have any special meaning?”
“It means I can walk without assistance, which isn’t always easy, especially when the weather is foul.”
Okay, so he wasn’t going to play nicely. Grace couldn’t help but think back to how fast the man from the amphitheater had been.
“What exactly is the nature of your injury, Mr. Sanderson?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to your investigation,” he said brusquely.
Grace waited. She was learning that with Garrett Sanderson, the trick was to stay neutral, and let him fill in the blanks.
“Forgive me,” he said almost immediately. “It is an old injury, and I don’t really like to talk about it.”
Grace nodded sagely.
“Fair enough. Do you know Lilliana Atwater?”
Sanderson exhaled through pursed lips.
“Oh dear,” he said. “I suppose this was bound to come out. I should have told you straight away.”
Grace’s heart lurched and she fought to keep her face a mask of calm.
Was he going to confess?
Could it really be that easy?
“I have had some involvement with Miss Atwater,” he said, recrossing his legs.
Nothing was ever that easy.
“What kind of involvement?”
“Romantic,” Garrett said, tenting his fingers over the knob of his cane. “Although that part is over now.”
Again, Grace clamped down her instinct to ask a follow-up.
Garrett rewarded her by spilling, as she had hoped he would.
“I started seeing Lilliana when I first came to town,” he began. “I didn’t know anyone, and she was a bit of an outsider herself, so we connected. Maybe it was her southern hospitality. In any case, it ran its course, or so I thought. When I started spending time with Ms. Epstein-Walker, Miss Atwater wasn’t what you would call agreeable. She started calling me at all hours of the night. I had to block her number. She even started following me around, spying on me, if you will.”
Grace heard Lilliana’s voice in her head, He didn’t know I was there, because I was in the storage closet.
“I was with
Satisfied, she ran the cleaning supplies back to her desk, helping herself to a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge on her way past.
She sipped it slowly while looking out the single window of the interrogation room at the Haber’s elm tree across from the fire station. The elm’s nearly bare branches twisted in a way that made it look like it was in constant motion, though of course the only movement it actually made was at the microscopic pace of its growth. A classic example of the fact that things weren’t always what they seemed.
“Hello?”
Garrett Sanderson’s voice brought Grace out of her reverie.
“Thank you for coming in again, Mr. Sanderson.”
“Please, dear, it’s Garrett,” he said.
When she looked up at him, he gave her a wolfish wink.
“ A good glass in the bishop’s hostel in the devil’s seat… ” he said in a sing-song way.
Grace studied him calmly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was thinking of the treasure that was here before.”
“Is that from a song?” Grace asked.
She knew full well it was Edgar Allen Poe’s Gold Bug . In high school, Grace had been a horror junkie. She moved through Poe and Lovecraft, and into King and Koontz, devouring all the books the librarian threw at her. Finding out she actually lived next to werewolves had been the coolest moment of her formative years.
“A book, actually,” Garrett replied, his tone dipping just to the border of condescension.
Perfect. Let him start off with some false confidence.
“Oh.” Grace wrinkled her nose a bit for good measure.
He sat down gracefully with a pleased look on his face. Once again, he held his cane like a scepter next to his elegantly crossed legs.
Grace smiled back, with practiced guilelessness.
“That is such an interesting cane.” She leaned forward to examine it. “What’s the carving at the head?”
“A wolf.”
“A silver wolf.” Grace nodded. “Does it have any special meaning?”
“It means I can walk without assistance, which isn’t always easy, especially when the weather is foul.”
Okay, so he wasn’t going to play nicely. Grace couldn’t help but think back to how fast the man from the amphitheater had been.
“What exactly is the nature of your injury, Mr. Sanderson?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to your investigation,” he said brusquely.
Grace waited. She was learning that with Garrett Sanderson, the trick was to stay neutral, and let him fill in the blanks.
“Forgive me,” he said almost immediately. “It is an old injury, and I don’t really like to talk about it.”
Grace nodded sagely.
“Fair enough. Do you know Lilliana Atwater?”
Sanderson exhaled through pursed lips.
“Oh dear,” he said. “I suppose this was bound to come out. I should have told you straight away.”
Grace’s heart lurched and she fought to keep her face a mask of calm.
Was he going to confess?
Could it really be that easy?
“I have had some involvement with Miss Atwater,” he said, recrossing his legs.
Nothing was ever that easy.
“What kind of involvement?”
“Romantic,” Garrett said, tenting his fingers over the knob of his cane. “Although that part is over now.”
Again, Grace clamped down her instinct to ask a follow-up.
Garrett rewarded her by spilling, as she had hoped he would.
“I started seeing Lilliana when I first came to town,” he began. “I didn’t know anyone, and she was a bit of an outsider herself, so we connected. Maybe it was her southern hospitality. In any case, it ran its course, or so I thought. When I started spending time with Ms. Epstein-Walker, Miss Atwater wasn’t what you would call agreeable. She started calling me at all hours of the night. I had to block her number. She even started following me around, spying on me, if you will.”
Grace heard Lilliana’s voice in her head, He didn’t know I was there, because I was in the storage closet.
“I was with
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