Free The Big Keep: A Lena Dane Mystery (Lena Dane Mysteries) by Melissa F. Olson Page A

me at the same time, and jogged over. Today he was sporting faded jeans – probably the same ones –and a dark green windbreaker. His face brightened when he saw me.
    “Hey,” I said brightly. “You want a ride home? I can give you some progress on your case.”
    “Sure.” He headed towards the car.
    Whoa, it wasn’t actually that easy to snatch a minor, was it? “Won’t someone miss you? I mean, do the teachers watch to see if you ride off with strangers?”
    Nate shrugged. “Maybe with the other kids, the bus drivers will notice if they’re not there. But I take the city bus sometimes, ‘cause the route is shorter, so they’re used to me not showing up.”
    “Okay.” I walked around the drivers-side door, and we buckled ourselves in. We had to wait in a line of traffic to exit the parking lot, and Nate was the first to speak.
    “So, um, not that I don’t appreciate the ride, but how come you picked me up instead of calling?”
    “Well, you don’t have a cell phone, and I felt kind of weird calling your house while your stepfather is trying to rest.” And I didn’t want to go home. Again. “Plus I was running around town anyway, so I thought I’d just swing by the school. Is that okay?”
    “Yeah, it’s great.” He bounced a little in his seat. “To be honest, I kind of hate the bus.”
    I grinned at him. “Yeah, but it’ll be all the sweeter when you finally get your driver’s license, right?”
    His face closed down. “Yeah, I guess.”
    I mentally berated myself. We didn’t know where Nate would be in two years, much less if he’d have a car to drive. Nice one, Selena. We finally pulled out of the bus line and were on our way.
    “So anyway, I think I’ve got a lead on your biological father.”
    “Yeah?” Nate perked up.
    “Yeah. I tracked him down through some talent agencies. His last known address in in Los Angeles. I think he went out there to try to be a screenwriter.”
    “So, is that it? Do you know how to reach him now?” His voice was eager, with a thin edge of desperation that I tried not to feel.
    “Not quite yet. Nate, I think I’m going to have to fly to LA. I need to interview the agent he worked with, his neighbors, that kind of thing.”
    “Okay. That’s totally cool, I mean with the money and whatever. Do what you gotta do.” I glanced over. His shoulders had slumped again, head turned to face the window, and my heart sputtered a little. This kid couldn’t get a break.
    “Nate, do you have anywhere you need to be right now? I mean, do you need to get home to your stepdad?”
    He shook his head. “Not really. He has trouble sleeping at night because of his meds schedule, so he’s usually napping now. Why?”
    I turned, pointing the car’s nose downtown, and grinned at him. “I think we should make a quick detour. Do you like comic books?”

    We stopped at a little sub shop on 18th street, and a half-hour later I lugged a bulging grocery bag into Great Dane. Nate trailed behind me with a four-pack of fountain drinks. It wasn’t quite five, but the crowd had thinned out for the dinner hour: I saw a handful of teenagers in the Marvel section, and several grown men scattered around D.C. and the trade paperback shelves. My dad grinned at me as we walked in, and I headed over to the counter and leaned across to kiss him on the cheek, surrendering the food.
    “Hi, Daddy. We come bearing early dinner.”
    “Hey, Firecracker,” he responded, his pet name for me. “Thank you – but who’s ‘we?’”
    I moved aside so he could see Nate behind me, and the boy shyly stepped forward, offering the drinks like an apology. “Hi, Mr. Dane,” he said quietly.
    “Dad, this is Nate. He’s a client.”
    “I see, I see.” He took off his reading glasses to inspect Nate. My dad is a thin, reedy man, with white hair and a neat matching white mustache. He was wearing his standard uniform of khaki pants and red suspenders– over an Incredible Hulk T-shirt. I think I