Page 55 of The Sin Eater
I’m jerked out of my mental state when Mo elbows me. “Dorinda says you need a librarian. I happen to know one.”
“I’m sure you do.” We’re standing at the corner of 15thAvenue and Pacific Street, surrounded by a stream of purple-decked fans, all headed for the stadium. Mo’s as tall as I am and they wear their dark hair in a short bob. Their wool Filson coat is broken in, as if they’ve been wearing it for a few years, and their leather gloves have the same patina.
“Tell me more about the project. D said something about a break-in at your place.”
I tell them our whole sordid tale, up to and including the psychic morgue tech.
That, more than anything else, catches their interest. “That’s not the kind of search I get to do every day. Do you have a date range in mind?”
“Based on the photograph we found, probably the late ’80s or early ’90s. Big hair, you know.”
“And you’re mainly interested in who she is, right?”
“Basically, yeah.”
They nod, gaze distant like they’re creating a list of search terms and strategies on the way to a football game. For the first time, I can identify why Mo and I didn’t really hit it off. They’re too damned competent. Ezra’s good at his job, and I’m in awe of his unexpected decorating skills, but dude needs somebody on his team.
Mo doesn’t.
“I’ll have to start narrow or it’ll get overwhelming.”
“I was afraid of that. I don’t want to take a whole bunch of your time.”
“Are you kidding? Helping a psychic discover the identity of a woman he saw in a vision beats the hell outa helping a high school teacher figure out if his student used AI to write a paper or fending off complaints about books that show actual queer people being queer.”
“That’s really cool of you to help.”
“Seriously, my pleasure.” They emphasize their words with a warm grin. “I’ll dive in as soon as I can.”
The light changes and as a mass, we all move into the street. “Thanks, Mo,” I say, unable to stifle my relief. “But hey, now it’s time for some football.”
“Go Dawgs,” they drawl. In anyone else, I’d hear sarcasm. For Mo, it’s as good as a cheer. Ashley says something to Dorinda that involves waving her hands for emphasis. She’s got nails like talons painted deep maroon flecked with silver, so of course I have to give her shit for wearing WSU colors to a Huskygame. That round of teasing carries us all the way into the stadium.
The game is great. The Huskies win, thirty-one to nineteen, and while it’s always a good thing to beat one of our California rivals, we beat USC a couple weeks ago, which makes this one doubly sweet. Mo and Ashley grab the light rail at the stadium, which leaves Dorinda and me walking home alone.
It’s not sunset—yet—but it’s dark enough that most of the cars we pass have their headlights on. Dorinda’s walking close to my elbow, so I drape an arm around her shoulders. Feeling mellow, I ask, “Wassup, sis?”
“I know you think you could distract me with a little football, but as your older sister, I do need to express my concern.”
Irritation zaps me. So much for mellow. “What now?”
“That guy. Ezra. You can’t be serious.”
“We already did this.” I slide my arm off her, putting a little space between us.
She’s got her hands shoved deep in her pockets and her hood pulled up so that I can’t get a good look at her face. “It’s a vibe, Damon.”
“A vibe?”And now irritation heads right to anger. “You’re joking, right?”
Grabbing my elbow, she forces me to stop—or tries to anyway. “You can’t believe his whole ‘I had a vision and needed to see the picture for myself bullshit,’ can you? He probably just wanted an excuse to come over and get into your bed.”
She’s a little behind me now and anger has me walking pretty fast. “Shit, you must have had one too many beers, sister.” She starts to protest but I talk over her. “You know what? I don’t care if he was making shit up. I happen to think he was telling the truth, but even if he was lying, it doesn’t really matter. He’s hot, he’s entertaining as hell, and I... I like him, so you can—”
“When it comes to the people you date, you have the worst judgment ever.”
She’s full-on angry now, and I do not want to deal with that. “Thanks for the game, D,” I call over my shoulder, walking even faster. “See you later.”
As I stalk off, it occurs to me that that Cat person might have broken in again, which would leave Dorinda to deal with the situation on her own. Without slowing down, I do a reroute so I’m heading in the general direction of our apartment. If she gets there first, I’ll be right behind her.