Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set

Chapter 23

Sophie nearly jumped out of the booth when her cell began to vibrate.

She glanced down at the caller ID—Stu Frank.

It took her a moment to place the name—a semi-shady private investigator she and Grant had used once or twice. If she remembered correctly, Stu was ex-law enforcement. Six or seven years ago, he’d been thrown under the bus over a scandal involving several detectives and an ill-advised beat down of an errant CI. Even during their limited contact, she’d hated working with him. The man radiated an intense skin-crawling aura.

What the hell could you possibly want?

She answered quietly with, “Really not a good time, Stu.”

“I’ve got something for Grant, but I can’t get a hold of him.”

“I’m his partner, not his mother.”

“Be that as it may, you’re still the closest thing to a mother he’s got. Now I have some info on this crazy-urgent request he hit me with this afternoon. I’ve been trying to call him, but he’s not picking up.”

She felt her interest prickling.

Said, “When did he say he needed this by?”

“Two minutes ago. Six p.m. He was adamant. I’ve called five times, and it’s been straight to voice mail. This house got something to do with a hot case or what?”

She didn’t know how to answer that, so she just said, “Yeah.”

“Is Grant with you?”

“No, but I’m going to see him later.”

Through the window, Sophie watched the headlights of what looked like a Crown Vic whip into the parking space beside the black van.

“What do you want me to do with this file, Sophie?”

She opened her purse, dug out her wallet, threw a ten spot on the table.

“Where are you right now, Stu?”

“Cafe Vita in The Hill.”

She slid out of the booth.

“I’ll meet you there in twenty,” she said.

She met Dobbs at the entrance.

“Outside, Art.”

They stood in the drizzle.

“What’s the word, Sophie?”

Art didn’t exactly look like a law enforcement badass with his receding hairline and burgeoning paunch, but the threadbare JCPenney suit belied a damn good shot and one of the best detectives Sophie had ever worked with.

“Talbert, Seymour, and a John Doe are seated at one of the booths by the window. Stay on them.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I just got a call about Grant.”

“I thought he was sick.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“He in trouble?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll call you.”

“I had a reservation at Canlis tonight for me and the wife.”

Sophie was already moving across the sidewalk toward her TrailBlazer.

“I owe you one,” she said over her shoulder.

“Yeah you do.”

“Text me when they move. I’ll be in the city.”