Page 70

“Those ghost hunts and ghost walks were always as much social gatherings as fieldwork.”

“That’s the truth.”

They reached the front door, Archie turned the deadbolt, and opened the door. He glanced at Beau—glanced again.

Beau’s eyes were dark and serious as his gaze found Archie’s. So dark. So serious. Archie’s heart skipped a beat.

What was that look about? Was Beau—?

He did not want to be wrong.

He was not sure he wanted to be right.

At random, he said, “Any leads on the hit-and-run driver?”

To his astonishment, Beau laughed. “Oh, I recognized the driver. That was Wendell Pendleton.”

Archie’s jaw dropped. “Mr. Pendleton? You mean our eleventh-grade American Lit teacher? The Let’s-Just-Assume-I’m-Always-Right guy?”

“Yep.” Beau’s expression was sardonic. “The same Mr. Pendleton who used to stuff the school creative writing zine with his godawful poems.”

Archie’s astonished gaze locked onto Beau’s, and just for an instant they were grinning; Archie remembered Beau’s mercilessly funny renditions of Mr. Pendleton’s more florid literary efforts.

Beau sobered, said seriously, “Yeah, but it’s actually not funny. In fact, this time it’s his license. He’s a menace on the road and has been for years. I should have dealt with it sooner. You could have been killed tonight.”

True. That potentially dangerous leniency sounded a lot like the old soft-hearted Beau Archie had once known. The guy he had believed was too kind to be a cop.

Beau moved past him and stepped out onto the porch.

Archie gazed at Beau’s face in the golden haze of the porch light, and felt another of those painful washes of past and present, the reality of this hardened, slightly cynical Beau slowly but surely diluting the soft, shadowy contours of that funny, kind boy who had privately agonized about disappointing people, of not living up to all their plans for him.

He wished…

It didn’t matter.

Too late now.

“Good night.” Archie said.

Beau drawled, “Don’t forget to lock the door, Special Agent Crane.”

Just like that Archie’s moment of nostalgic melancholy evaporated.

He said evenly, “Call me that one more time in that tone of voice and I’m going to deck you, Langham.”

Beau’s head snapped back as if Archie had attempted that very thing. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“You worked hard enough for the title—”

“I sure as hell did, but that’s not a compliment and you goddamn well know it!”

“The hell.” Beau was as close to flustered as Archie had ever seen. “It wasn’t—I’m not—”

Archie said fiercely, “You think I don’t have regrets?”

Once again, Beau seemed taken aback. “I know you have regrets. We both have regrets. I was trying to be funny.”