13. I Know a Guy
I KNOW A GUY
MORGAN
The IHOP was exactly what she expected, and that familiarity gave her a sense of comfort. Little else since her arrival in Pine Ridge had been predictable.
She'd noted the restaurant on her first drive in. She hadn't anticipated sitting in it two weeks later, across from a man who was near the top of her unexpected list, discussing a death that had too many questions.
Patrick ordered coffee and an insane amount of food, which probably shouldn’t have been surprising. He was tall and packed with lean muscle and probably burned calories like Frank’s coal stove burned anthracite.
She wrapped both hands around her mug and waited.
“So,” Patrick said.
“So,” she echoed.
He looked at her across the table, those vivid blue eyes brimming with interest. She was interested too, but she was much better at concealing hers.
“Why is a Philadelphia MDI in Pine Ridge?” he said.
“You already know the answer to that,” she said. “I’m visiting my grandfather.”
“And?”
“And what?”
His lips curled. “I read people like you read crime scenes. And yes, I looked you up. I know you’re very good at what you do. But you’re not a very good liar.”
That gave her pause. “Why do you care?”
“Let’s just say I’m not a big believer in coincidence.
” He lifted the mug to his lips. “Fate, yes. Coincidence, no. And the fact that you just happen to be walking around a campground shortly after a body is found makes me think there’s more to this than meets the eye.
A little candor goes a long way, especially if we’re going to help each other. ”
“That goes both ways, you know.”
“Fair enough. Like I told you, I have a vested interest in paying attention to what happens around here. Just as I imagine your grandfather does. But you?” He shook his head. “I’m not seeing it. Unless your grandfather brought you in…”
“The body wasn’t discovered until after I arrived,” she pointed out.
“That’s even more suspicious.”
Her gaze snapped up only to find an amused glint in his eyes. He was teasing her! She was at a loss. No one ever teased her. She didn’t know how to respond.
“Fine,” she said finally, opting for curated truth. “I had some time off, and it had been a while since I saw Frank, so here I am.”
“How long has it been?”
She looked at him steadily. “A while.”
He looked back and inclined his head. She could practically see the wheels turning. “So your time off wasn’t voluntary, then.”
“Who are you? The Pine Ridge version of Sherlock Holmes?” she shot back.
That earned her a full-fledged grin, and it set butterflies alight in her stomach. She told herself it was the coffee on top of the Jameson.
“Fine. I was put on administrative leave,” she said finally.
“Why?”
“I refused to sign off on a ruling. My supervisor didn’t find that acceptable.”
Patrick was quiet for a moment, the amused glint fading as he appeared to really think about what she’d said. Then, he nodded. “The ruling was wrong.”
Morgan stared at him. As much as she appreciated the assessment, he didn’t know enough about her to make a call like that, and sadly, her opinion of him went down a little. “And you’ve reached that conclusion how?”
“Like I said, I looked you up. And I’ve seen your notes. You’re detailed and thorough and base your observations on facts, not conjecture. That’s not the work of someone who refuses to sign things because she's being difficult.”
“No, I don’t,” she agreed, wondering exactly what information his research had uncovered.
“See? There you go.”
“And what else have your powers of deduction revealed to you, Sherlock?”
Rather than be offended, he said, “That you, like me, can’t just walk away from something that isn’t right.”
He was two for two. Either he really was good at reading people, or he was a skilled manipulator, appealing to her core values.
She shrugged. “The evidence doesn't support the preliminary ruling as a medical event. Someone should be asking why.”
“Agreed. I was able to fill in some gaps,” Patrick said.
“How did you manage that?”
“Simple pattern recognition.” No ego, just fact. “You're good at reading scenes. I'm good at reading patterns.”
“I thought you were good at reading people.”
“That too. Same skill, different applications.”
She looked closer, as if she could read the truth in his striking blue eyes or that distracting half-smile.
She might have to recalibrate her read of Patrick Callaghan.
The charmi and easy confidence were still there, but they were sitting on top of something more substantial—an intelligent mind that was even more attractive than his physical appearance.
She decided to reserve further judgement until she heard what he had to say. If he was simply posturing, it would become apparent soon enough.
“Okay. What do you know about the case?”
She didn’t think he would be as forthcoming as he was. He told her about the property records, the ownership history, the preliminary medical event ruling that didn't hold up under basic scrutiny, the missing persons search that had returned nothing.
Those were all things that had been brought up in the online sleuthing forum, which meant he really did have some skills beneath that easy smile.
“What was he doing at that campground?” she mused. “It is—was—privately owned. Not on any public campground maps.”
“Maybe he’d been there before.”
“If so, did he know that the campground was no longer operating, or was that something he discovered when he got there?” she mused aloud. “The absence of a vehicle is significant. How did he get there? What shape were his clothes in when he was found? Most importantly, why was he there?”
Patrick turned his mug slowly. “Could be random, but I don’t think so.”
She didn’t either. “So he chose that location specifically. But for what? And who was he?”
“Unidentified. You know that.”
“Not his name, although that would be helpful. I mean, what kind of man was he?” She leaned forward slightly.
“A good death investigator looks at everything, not just the space and the body's position, but the victim himself. What he was wearing. What shape his shoes were in. Whether he was clean and groomed or not.” She paused. “A squatter looks like a squatter.”
Patrick was quiet.
“Was he dressed for the location?” she continued.
“Was he underdressed? Overdressed? Those details tell you whether he knew where he was going or was taken somewhere without preparation.” She sat back.
“How did he die? The publicized account didn’t give any details, and I don't have access to that information here.”
“But someone does,” Patrick said.
“Local law enforcement does.” She held his gaze. “Do you have any sources there? Someone you trust?”
Patrick met her gaze. “I know a guy.”
Morgan felt the corner of her mouth move before she could stop it.
His eyes widened. “Did I just make you smile?” he said.
“You did not,” she said. “I was thinking about something else.”
“Right.” That devastating grin was back with a vengeance. “I'll reach out tomorrow. See what I can find out.”
“Discreetly.”
“Always.”
She believed him, which was either good judgment or a sign that the Jameson had been a mistake.
She couldn’t believe it when she looked at her watch. Hours had passed.
She wasn't sure how that was possible. One minute, they’d been discussing the case. The next, he was asking her about her life in Philadelphia and she was telling him her life story—or at least a sanitized version of it, fit for public consumption.
“Do you like it?” he said. “Living in the city, I mean.”
She considered this honestly. “I like what I do there. The work is important. It matters. The city is...” She paused, looking for words to adequately convey her thoughts.
There were parts she liked, and parts she didn’t.
She’d spent most of her life in Philly but didn’t have strong feelings about it one way or the other.
“A good place to be invisible, I guess. There's always something happening.”
“As opposed to Pine Ridge,” Patrick said wryly, “where nothing happens and there’s no such thing as being invisible.”
“Something happened,” she said quietly. “Someone died.”
“Fair point.” He looked at the table for a moment. “Why don’t you visit your grandfather often?”
“We didn't have much contact. My mother remarried when I was young. I didn’t even know about Frank until I was in college.”
“And now?”
She thought about the bookshelves and the clippings and the way Frank spoke more with silence than most people did with words.
“He’s a complicated man. I think I’m more like him than my mother,” she said without meaning to.
Patrick looked at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. “I think so too. There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Morgan Sullivan.”
The question was, was that a good thing or a bad thing?
“It’s late. I should go.”
She didn’t silently cheer at the disappointment in his eyes. She didn’t.
“I really enjoyed this, Morgan,” he said in that deep, resonant voice. “And I’d like to do it again.”
Morgan stepped outside into the chilly but pleasant air.
“I'll think about it,” she said.
Patrick looked at her. “That’s what you said about coming to the pub.”
“I showed up, didn't I?”
He smiled. “Yes. You did.”
He walked her to her car, then held the door open for her in a gentlemanly gesture. She tried to remember the last time someone had and couldn’t. Chivalry wasn’t dead in Pine Ridge.
“Drive safe.”
“If I can drive the Roosevelt Boulevard and the Schuylkill, I think I can handle the back roads of Pine Ridge.”
“I don’t know,” he countered, that playful glint back in his eyes. “Our bears don’t care much about the rules of the road. And possums? Absolute hooligans.”
She was smiling all the way back to Frank’s.