Payne comes over and grabs her by the arm, pulls her out of the chair, starts dancing with her. She says, “No thanks, really,” but then he’s got her pushed up against the wall, his mouth pressed up against her ear, saying, “It must be tough, huh, Candy? Eldon gone, no one to meet your needs,” and then everyone’s hootin’ and hollerin’ and turning up the music and then she’s on the floor and she can’t stop them and they’re holding her down and someone says, “Whoa, remember these? Haven’t seen these since you were onstage, what the fuck we got you up here doing the books for?” And they go one after the other, all except Leo, who’s off in the corner, sounds like maybe he’s whimpering, until finally Gary tells him to go downstairs, have a piece of pie or something. The Doobie Brothers sing, “The rain that fell upon my stone, Like tears you cry I shared alone.”

Afterwards, they’re very quiet. Someone says maybe they should get Candy a cab.

The next day, she doesn’t come to work. She hurts.

The day after that, Gary comes by the apartment. She comes to the door holding Katie. He’s got a “Come Back to Work Soon!” card he bought at the drugstore, and there’s cash in the envelope. It’s $110. This is the part Miranda can’t figure out. A hundred, maybe, but what’s the extra ten for?

He says the guys are sorry, they got carried away, but they really need her back soon, you know? She’s so good and all. But if she wants, take an extra day. He won’t dock her pay or anything.

And she goes back.

And works with them.

And pretends to get over it.

Because she’s not done yet.

Not by a long shot.

CHAPTER 17

17

I PUT MY TOILETRIES into my bag, zipped it up, and bounced down the stairs. I had a lot on my agenda. Grab a cab to meet Sandler of the health department, hit the car rental agency, drive to Canborough to see what I could learn there, then head further east to Groverton. I was doing a last-minute check. Cell phone? Check. A map? Check. The photo of Trixie from the Suburban? Check. A bit of cash? I checked my wallet. Forty-eight dollars. Check.

I had a go for liftoff.

I slung the strap of the bag over my shoulder, opened the front door to leave, and came face-to-face with Detective Flint.

He had his fist suspended in midair, or mid-knock, and I guess we both surprised each other, taking half a step back.

“Detective Flint,” I said, catching my breath.