Page 4 of Crime Lab Cold Case (Pacific Northwest Forensics #2)
“I think we’re safe today, but all bets are off tonight.” He steered her toward the entrance to the Fantastic Café, its blue-and-white awning over the door faded from too many rainstorms.
The restaurant buzzed with activity, and he put his lips close to her ear, that rose scent tickling his nose. “I see a waitress clearing off a table by the window. I’ll grab that while you get in line to order.”
“Sure.” She shuffled to the back of the line, the color on her cheeks heightened.
Had he gotten too close? Too familiar? If he hoped to get any information out of Natalie, he’d have to find the right balance with her. She was skittish and falsely friendly at the same time.
He reached the table just as Wendy scooped up her tip. “Can I stake a claim to this table, Wendy?”
“It’s all yours, Michael. Any of the gang with you?” She stood on her tiptoes and surveyed the line at the counter.
“Nope. Someone from another agency doing some work at the lab.”
“Drop your coat, and I’ll make sure nobody sits here…or steals your coat.” She patted his arm. “How’s Ivy?”
“She’s good, thanks. My sister is still here.” Some people in town had eyed him with suspicion this past year, but never Wendy. She had his back.
As Wendy walked away, he shed his coat and placed it on one of the chairs at the table. Then he joined Natalie one place away from the counter.
Pointing at the menu posted behind the registers, he asked, “See anything you like?”
“Do you recommend the tuna melts? I haven’t had one of those in a hot minute.”
“Everything’s good here. I’m having the turkey club and homemade potato chips, which are way better than the fries.”
“Sold.” When it was Natalie’s turn, she placed their order and held up the plastic number the cashier gave her. “You can put this on the table. I’ll get our drinks.”
“Root beer for me. Just the plain stuff, no vanilla or cherry or whatever else they have.” He held out his hand. “Do you want me to take your bag back to the table?”
She clamped her arm against the bag, pinning it to her body. “That’s okay. I’m used to lugging it around.”
He watched her thread her way through the line still queuing up at the counter before turning toward the table. She had an edginess to her. He knew a lot of cops who displayed wariness. He figured the FBI must be the same.
He set the number on the edge of the table and sat on the chair next to his coat. As he pulled some napkins from the dispenser, Natalie returned with their sodas.
“You weren’t kidding about that soda machine. There were flavors I never even heard of.” She put his paper cup in front of him, along with a straw. “Plain old root beer.”
“And how about you?” He tapped the side of her cup with his straw. “Did you take a walk on the wild side?”
“Plain old Diet Coke for me, but I might do a refill with the Zesty Blood Orange flavor.” She hung her bag on the back of the chair next to her and sat in the one across from him.
They spent the next few minutes poking straws into their drinks, grabbing napkins and chatting about the weather, but Michael had no intention of wasting this lunch on small talk. He needed answers from Special Agent Brunetti.
Once their food arrived and he gave her time to eat, he held up a potato chip. “Was I right?”
“So good. Everything is.”
“You know—” he wiped his hands on a napkin and balled it up in his fist “—we had that heated moment in the conference room when I accused you of accusing me, but I never did get around to asking you why you were in the forest at night in the first place. On that trail.”
Natalie swallowed her bite of food, covered the bottom half of her face with a napkin and then took a sip of her drink, each movement measured and precise.
Michael could see the wheels turning in her head.
She repeated, “On that trail.”
“It’s called the Devil’s Edge Trail. If you keep following it deeper into the woods, it ends with a drop-off into a canyon. Really dangerous at night if you don’t know the terrain. Why were you there?” He took a big bite of his sandwich, as if her answer was only of mild interest.
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and snapped her fingers. “That’s why it looked so different from the picture. I was on the wrong trail. I was trying to find the Bright Star Trail.”
He decided to employ her delay tactics, and took his time patting his mouth with a napkin and sipping his root beer. “Bright Star is the opposite direction. Why would you be taking that trail…or any trail at that time of night?”
A potato chip snapped in her fingers, and she dropped the pieces onto her plate. “One of the cold cases—Lizzy Johnson. Hikers discovered her body on Bright Star. After flying all day, I got restless and decided to check out one of the scenes.”
At night? He left the words unsaid and shrugged. “Yeah, opposite direction from that campsite.”
A smile twisted her lips, and her dark eyes drilled into him. “I guess I could ask you the same thing. What were you doing on Devil’s Edge Trail at night?”
Unlike her, he didn’t feel any need to lie. She already knew his wife had been murdered and that he had been the prime suspect for a while. He pushed away his plate and folded his arms on the table. “I often go to Devil’s Edge at night, although not as often as I used to.”
Her nostrils flared, as if she was sensing danger, but she pursued it. “That specific trail? Why do you go there at night?”
“That’s where my wife was murdered.”