Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (types of ebook readers txt) 📕

She grunted quietly and turned back to the fire. “There is not a lot more we can do with Greg right now until we get those records…”

I interrupted her. “Actually, there may be.”

She frowned. “Like what?”

“The DNA samples taken with the rape kit. DNA testing has come on since 2012. I think we should resubmit the semen, have it sent to Frank back at the lab, see if he can make anything of it.”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s good.”

“It will be interesting to see how Greg reacts when we ask him for a sample for comparison.”

“Yeah.” She nodded again. “Anyway, where was I going… I’ve been thinking about the shack.” She grinned. “According to Ned, they open after nine P.M., and it’s ‘not the sort of place we would want to go.’ If we turn up there looking like this…” She gestured across the table at me with her open hand, then back at herself with both hands. “…Let’s face it, we have ‘COPS’ written all over us. Not only will they not tell us shit, we’ll be lucky to get out alive.”

I frowned. “What do you suggest?”

“We don’t go as cops.”

“Undercover?”

“Not exactly. I don’t think we are authorized to conduct an undercover investigation here, so there could be problems with the legality of any evidence we gather that way. But there is nothing to stop us going along for a drink, is there?” She spread her hands. “We’re waiting on Kathleen’s records, we have some time to kill, we heard there’s a bar of local interest, so we went along in our free time…”

I smiled. “We don’t need to tell them we’re cops.”

She grinned again. “And if we are off duty, we don’t need to look like cops.”

Peaches and Cream’s mother brought out our bison steaks with a look of real satisfaction on her face, like she’d bred them, slaughtered them, and cooked them herself. She poured the wine and said, “Enjoy your meal,” as though she really meant it. We did our best.

The next twenty minutes went by in almost total silence. If you have never eaten a bison steak, it is hard to convey just how engrossing they can be. These animals live wild, they eat grass and they are not pumped full of hormones and other crap. The meat is lean and has a flavor that is hard to describe, except to say that it is beyond exquisite. In Valhalla, only Odin gets to eat bison steak. It would not be an exaggeration to say that we ate in reverent silence. The only sound that we were aware of was the crackle and spit of the fire. Occasionally we would pause to sip the wine and exchange a smile. Other than that, we focused only on the noble meat.

When the last piece was gone, we sat back in our chairs and Dehan drained her glass.

“Man,” she said, and nodded slowly.

“What did I tell you? Is that something?”

I called Peaches and Cream Sr. over and ordered a Bushmills, and Dehan had one, too. Then we sat with our chairs turned toward the fire and our legs stretched out and sipped.

“Don’t shave.”

“OK.”

“And after you shower in the morning, don’t brush your hair, just let it dry anyhow. We’ll get you a sweatshirt from the general store, and some jeans, and maybe some Timberland boots. Get you roughed up a bit.”

“What about you?”

“I look rough anyhow. Maybe I’ll get a woolen hat, and some of those gloves with no fingers. You know the ones?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You know how to roll a cigarette?”

“No.”

“OK, I’ll roll them for you.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“You did once, and you will again tomorrow night.”

I studied her face. She was smirking at the fire. She was right, though. If we were going to get any information from the crowd at the Shack, we needed to fit in, and that meant being a couple of dope heads from New York looking for some fun in Colorado. I sighed.

“But we go armed.”

“Yup.”

“And let’s be clear about our objective.”

She nodded. “You want to define it for us?”

I thought about it. “We are there to find out, A, if they had a deal with Pat to distribute and/or sell dope in New York, and B, if Kathleen came to see them on the night of…” I thought about it. It was a forty-hour journey at least. “On the night of the 8th of July.”

“Agreed.” She sipped her whiskey and rolled it around her mouth for a moment before swallowing it and sighing. “Man, that’s good. So, we’re going to have to play it by ear, but we should have some kind of basic plan.”

“Yeah, I would say our main target is the barkeep. Try and get into conversation with him. Maybe we are open to doing some business with him, selling dope back in the Big Apple. See where that leads us. Meanwhile, sound out the other customers too, see if anybody remembers either of them.”

“And if they get suspicious…”

“We leave. We don’t want a conflict on Sheriff Watson’s turf. And we sure as hell don’t want a shootout.”

We were quiet for a while. With the wine and the whiskey, and the warmth of the fire, I was finding it hard to keep my mind on the case. Dehan seemed to be miles away, transfixed by the wavering flames. The orange light bathed her face and I was struck, not for the first time, by how perfect her features were. It was a fact she seemed to be totally unaware of. I surprised myself by asking, “How are things with your Uncle Ben? He still trying to fix you up with rich surgeons?”

She gave a small, comfortable laugh. “No, I behaved so badly with