Ten

Tuesday, September 3

GABE MCGUIRE DIDN’T LOOK ANY HAPPIER to be answering his door than Liam was to be knocking on it. The same could not be said of the two ten-year-olds in the living room. They sported one parent each, a mom and a pop. The kids looked wide awake and wired for sound. Their ’rents each held a phone like they had their attorneys on speed dial.

The house looked less massive from the inside than the roof had indicated from the road. The main feature was floor-to-ceiling windows that went from wall to wall, cathedral ceilings over a hardwood floor, and a lot of mix and match furniture that had only the maximum amount of stuffing in common, including the dining table, if wood could be stuffed. There wasn’t a screen in sight except for the phones everyone was holding, which Liam found mildly surprising. “Explain to me, please, preferably in words of one syllable, why I am here,” he said.

McGuire looked over his shoulder. “Who’s that?”

“This is Jo Dunaway, with the Anchorage News. She’s a friend of the family.” It had been impossible to keep her out of the pickup, and Wy had been no help.

“A cop and a reporter,” McGuire said. “If this isn’t just the cherry on my day. Could you wait right here while I leg it out the back door?”

“You called me,” Liam said. “I can go home any time.”

McGuire’s shoulders raised on a sigh. “Ms. Dunaway.”

“Mr. McGuire.”

“This isn’t a story.”

Jo gave him her best T-rex impersonation. “I’m just here with friends.”

When she moved McGuire saw Wy and brightened. “Ah, you brought the hot pilot, too. You’re forgiven. Good to see you again, Ms. Chouinard.” He smiled at Wy and Wy smiled right back.

McGuire was trying to be polite and Liam wasn’t so far gone he didn’t recognize it but he still bristled. Nobody flirted with Wy but him. He didn’t need Jo Dunaway grinning like the Cheshire Cat all over her face, either.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Liam tried not to glare. “You gave me to understand that this wasn’t a social call.”

“It isn’t.”

“So? I’m here because…?”

“Well, you, specifically, are here because the Blewestown PD say they won’t respond to anything outside of the city limits. They say that’s for the troopers to handle. A direct quote from whoever answered the phone and took down my name and in particular my address.”

Liam thought of Chief Armstrong’s polite but obdurate attitude over lunch earlier that day. “Okay. Fine. What requires any law enforcement presence outside the city limits at ten at night?”

McGuire looked across the room. “All yours, Kyle.”

Upon closer inspection, Kyle, the skinny kid with the bright gray eyes and dark hair, looked a little the worse for wear. His hair stuck up in sweaty wads and the sides of his face were scratched and oddly shiny. His left ear might be a little lopsided, too, and the collar of his T-shirt was irregularly stained a dark brown, as if he’d been bleeding on it and the blood had dried there. He looked around at his audience, clearly enjoying the attention, and puffed out his insubstantial chest. “I found a body!”