Page 158 of Things We Hide from the Light

Me: No. Nash is MIA since yesterday’s visit to Biker World. And now I have to go dress up like Nancy Drew.

Zelda: I have so many questions.

The library’sannual Book or Treat event turned out to be an excuse for Knockemout to gather for Halloween-themed snacks and drinks without the chaos of trick-or-treating, which would be here soon enough.

Every October, the street in front of the library closed to traffic for one night to make room for a band, dance floor, food trucks, and, of course, a mobile bar. Library patrons bought tickets to the party, business sponsors badgered by Sloane donated the food and drinks, and the library kept the profits.

Unfortunately for me, the scents of freshly popped pumpkin spice popcorn and hard cider weren’t helping me forget how annoyed I was. Not only had Nash bailed on dinner the night before, he’d failed to deliver anything from the crime scene report.

He also hadn’t called, texted, or even knocked on my door to demand another sleepover. Which I absolutely would have said no to.

According to the Knockemout grapevine, he, Knox, Nolan, and Lucian had holed up in Knox’s secret lair office.

This was monumental because, to date, the only person Knox had ever allowed to enter such hallowed grounds was Naomi.

Of course, the grapevine also had theories about why the four unlikely amigos were on lockdown. These included the secret disposal of a body, a twenty-four-hour high-stakes poker game, or—my personal favorite—Knox had finally pissed Naomi off over floral arrangements and now he was waiting out her wrath.

But I was pretty sure I knew the truth. The menfolk were strategizing, and they’d left me out of it.

Okay, yes. I preferred to do things on my own. And yes, I didn’t love being part of a team. But I was already involved. I was the only one running an active investigation. And those four macho shitheadsstilldidn’t think to include me.

I realized I’d just crumpled the paper in my hand.

“Uh, here’s your receipt. Sorry about the mangling. Thanks for your donation,” I said, handing over the balled-up paper to Stasia. The stylist at Whiskey Clipper had just donated a jumbo-sized bag of hardbacks to the library’s book drive.

“You doing okay, Lina?” she asked, stuffing the receipt in her bag.

Damn. I really needed to work on my poker face.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

“If you’re worried about Knox and company, don’t be,” she said. “I heard they’re taking secret ballroom dance lessons to surprise Naomi at the wedding.”

I grinned. “You know what I heard?” I paused and looked both ways before leaning across the table.

Stasia leaned in too. “What?” she whispered.

“I heard they’re choreographing a flash mob dance. Something involving tearaway pants.”

“Oh. My. God. I can’twaitfor this wedding!”

A few minutes later, I was spelled from my book donation duties by Doris Bacon of Bacon Stables, who had come dressed as the Horse Whisperer.

My community service had earned me one glass of spiced wine, I decided. And once I enjoyed it, I was going to go to Knox’s office and pound on the door until the Four Dumbasses of the Apocalypse let me in.

I had just acquired my wine when a pretty blond who looked vaguely familiar stopped in front of me. “Lina? Lina Solavita? It’s Angie from high school.”

Angie Levy, the second highest scorer on my soccer team and the reason I’d started going by Lina in high school because having two Angies on the team was confusing. She was a biology whiz who drove her dad’s hand-me-down Excursion that held half the team for ice cream runs. She’d lived on Diet Cokes and peanut butter crackers.

She was older now, prettier too. Her once long blond hair was now cropped in a swingy bob. She wore jeans, cashmere, and a chonky diamond on her left hand.

“Angie? What are you doing here?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“My husband and I work in DC. What are you doing here?”

“I’m just…passing through,” I hedged.

“You look amazing!” she said, opening her arms as if she were about to hug me.