Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Gus
BY THE TIME I LEFT HOME to get Kit, I still hadn’t heard from George.
Not shocking—it had been a lot to hope for.
The drive to Ted’s wasn’t long enough to prepare me for seeing Kit again.
Or for the strained and tense trip with him down to Barrington St. When I rolled to a stop next to the sidewalk, I wasn’t any more ready to talk than I was when Kit got in, but there we were.
Turning to him, I grimaced at the determined look on his face. He reached for the door handle, and I grabbed his shoulder to stop him. “Hold your horses. We need to go over how we’ll approach Salter.”
“Why?”
“Practice makes perfect.” Soon as the words left my tongue, I regretted them. They detonated between us like a bomb, hurtling us back in time to Kit giving me that devil-may-care grin that always made my stomach flip, sure in the knowledge I was about to be led right into trouble.
“Come on, Gus,” he’d said, all sparkling green eyes and mischief. “Don’t you want to know what you’re doing when you kiss a girl? Practice makes perfect.”
Most boys probably would’ve hesitated. Not me. The warm press of soft lips and shy, curious tongues meeting had flashed heat through my core and rocked me to my foundations. A nebulous desire for Kit shaping into something sudden and real and demanding.
Over the next few years, we’d gotten a lot more practice—and not only with kissing. I could still remember him looking up at me, the same little smirk on his face as he asked, “You don’t want to go off the first time a girl does this, do you? Practice makes perfect.”
Those memories were clearly washing over Kit too—his cheeks flushing.
And damn if I didn’t want him again, every bit as bad.
All the reasons it was an awful idea drifted through my mind like wisps of smoke, impossible to grip.
The old charge sparked between us, and I couldn’t look away from him. But I had to.
The pain of losing Kit once was more than enough for a lifetime. I might never stop wanting him, but that didn’t mean I needed to keep cutting myself open. I might’ve been the one to end our relationship, but he’d slammed the door on our friendship and any chance of reconciliation.
Clearing my throat, I squeezed the side of my neck like I was soothing an aching muscle. “So, the more I think about it, the more I think you should take the lead.”
I almost smiled at Kit’s surprised, “Oh. Heck of a turnaround.”
“Yeah. I got to thinking you always were better at getting people to tell you all their secrets.” You got me to tell you mine.
“And he’s primed to spill what he knows to you.
I might be a hindrance if he’s trying to get your attention.
So, I’ll stay quiet. Just explain me away as a family friend who’s accompanying you. ”
“All right. So, what are we practicing?”
It was unfair how one measly word could send a blood-hot rush straight to my groin when Kit said it.
Almost two decades passing should’ve cooled that response.
“The questions you’ll ask. We hafta make sure you get all the relevant information.
Beyond that, anything peripherally related could be important too.
If this is connected to Ted, if Salter has something to do with his disappearance, he might not be forthcoming. ”
So, we went over a few techniques I’d had success with in the past when interviewing potential suspects and witnesses—Kit chiming in with ideas of his own—until we’d prepared as well as we could.
Then side-by-side, we strolled past a few tall brick-faced Victorian style houses, on our way to Salter’s.
Kit climbed the steps first and rapped his knuckles on the door. After a few moments, a white-haired woman appeared, her shoulders stooped with age. Her face was set in grim, unfriendly lines.
“Who are you?” She glanced between us like a frightened bird, her hand still gripping the door tightly, ready to slam a barricade between us at the slightest provocation.
Kit gave her a smile I’d never before seen fail to charm. “Hello. Are you Mrs. Salter?” She nodded hesitantly. “I’m Kit Daring.”
Her eyes went wide, and she covered a beaming smile with her hand, colour rising on her cheeks. “From the radio?”
“Yes, ma’am. Your husband wrote me a letter, and I wanted to ask him about it, if I could.”
In an instant, the pleasure on her face evaporated. Nervously, she scanned the street behind us. Looking for threats? Out of habit I followed her glance. While there were a few people milling about on the sidewalk, and vehicles trundling by, no one seemed to be paying us any attention.
“Why would Albert write to you?” Her fluttering hand grasped the small gold cross hanging around her neck and held tight.
“Well, that’s the thing Mrs. Salter. I’d love to hear what he wants to tell me. He insisted we speak in person, you see.” Kit telegraphed honesty, his face so earnest and sweet, I’d never know he was laying it on if I wasn’t aware of the plan.
Shaking her head, Mrs. Salter retreated a step. “He—He’s sick. Albert can’t talk to you.”
Kit’s brows drew together, voice going kindly empathetic. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Do you think he might be up to visitors tomorrow?”
Mrs. Salter pinched her lips together. “I… no. Not tomorrow. He’s not home, I just remembered. Gone away on business.”
“Gone on…?” This time Kit’s reaction was genuine. He was as baffled as I was.
“Business, yes. Sometimes they call him in, you know. He’s very important. No time for this nonsense. And I haven’t either. So… So.”
“Mrs. Salter,” I interrupted. “We were under the impression Mr. Salter retired.”
Her face flushed dark, voice rising in pitch. “You… you’re wrong. Mr. Whitman got him his job back. He told me so. I can’t talk to you. Just… just please go away. Go away now.”
The door slammed shut with finality, and we listened to the lock turn, shocked immobile. Slowly, Kit turned to face me, his eyebrows raised. I shrugged and gestured back the way we came. Out of earshot for this conversation would be better.
A few houses away, Kit burst out, “What on earth?”
“Strange,” I agreed as we walked, trying to work out my thoughts for myself before I voiced more than that.
“Very! She was lying through her teeth.” He motioned to the street behind us, talking with his hands. “And did you see the way her eyes kept darting around?”
“It’s not unusual for an elderly woman to be frightened when two unexpected men show up on her doorstep. Especially if she’s alone.”
“Granted. But why change the story then? Wouldn’t it be better if two potential intruders believed someone else was on the premises?”
“That’s the part that’s hardest to swallow. Though it didn’t seem like she knew anything about Salter’s correspondence with you, and she definitely wasn’t expecting you to show up on her doorstep. She seemed genuinely impressed for a moment before realizing you were looking for her husband.”
“True.” Kit looked pained and blew out a breath.
He noticed a raggedly dressed man begging for money and stopped to give what he could.
I followed his lead, shaking the man’s hand when he thanked us before we kept going.
The war had caused the homeless population to soar, and neither the city nor the province had been doing enough to help.
People were down on their luck through no fault of their own.
They deserved a hand up. “And who the heck is Mr. Whitman?”
“If someone named Whitman got Salter his job back, my money’s on the department store magnate. He’s not in government, but he’s got plenty of influence in this city. How does he know Salter, though?”
“Good question.” Kit was quiet a moment, then asked, “As odd as that was, this might have nothing to do with Ted, right?”
Briefly, the unfamiliar and wrong impulse to lie and offer comfort struck. I pushed it down. “It was always a slim possibility they’re connected.”
“So what now?” Kit at a loss was a rare sight. He was never a guy to follow someone else’s lead. Least of all mine. My function had always been to trail after him and try to hang on.
“Can you take a look at Ted’s address book? Make some calls to his friends? They’re more likely to talk to his brother than a P.I., and I know Ted brags about you to anyone who’ll listen.”
“Of course.” Kit glanced at his watch and grimaced.
“I’ve got to get to the brC building for a broadcast, then I’m scheduled for speeches at a couple of clubs.
If I lose my job, I won’t be able to pay my bills, let alone pay you.
As soon as I get home, I’ll make those calls.
Folks ought to be home from work by then. ”
“I’ll drop you off.”
“What exactly are your plans while I’m doing all of that?” Kit sounded suspicious, spoiling for a fight.
I wasn’t going to give him one. There was no point telling him about Mary-Alice’s family connections yet.
Not until I’d found a way to get in contact without getting their backs up.
Knowing Kit, he’d march straight up to their door, demanding answers without a care in the world that he was dealing with criminals.
Maybe it wasn’t my job to protect him from himself, but I didn’t want to solve this case for a corpse either.
“Reaching out to my contacts to see if anyone’s heard anything. You never know who could have answers.”
“What about magically?” Checking to make sure no one was listening in, Kit leaned toward me. “Can’t you try blood magic?”
Not something to talk about out here. And I shouldn’t even consider adding blood magic to the mix when I didn’t understand the charm or spell or whatever was blocking me, but I nodded anyway. “I have to make a drive down the shore to pick a couple of things up first. I’ll tell you how it goes.”
Russ was going to lose it if he found out I’d taken the risk after he warned me not to, but Kit needed me. The compulsion to do everything in my power for him was too strong to ignore.
Kit nodded and his gaze drifted, lost in thought. Reaching out, I set my palm against the back of his shoulder. “Let’s get you to the brC building so you can keep your big shot job, eh?”