Free Gray Ghost Murders (9781101606070) by Keith McCafferty Page A

snapped shut the box and placed it on the coffee table. He waited, listening to the crickets rubbing their legs together outside the cottage. He supposed he should feel like a fool for falling for another of Winston’s lies, but whatever the reason for his being lured here, it had to be more interesting than the simple recovery of a fly box. And he
was
interested.
    Sean realized, as he took a sip of his whiskey, that he had been leading a largely pedestrian life since the previous summer. He painted pictures and he guided anglers. The day-to-day provided a living, albeit a tenuous one sans health insurance and proper sleeping quarters, but it didn’t elevate his heart rate. The bodies on the mountain engaged his fascination, but Martha Ettinger had made clear that his involvement would remain marginal. The one case of investigation he had taken on since the spring had not tested his abilities. He’d solved it with two gallons of gas and a knock on a door. Waiting for Willoughby to explain, he remembered that day.
    The client, a trust fund hobby architect named Garrett Anker, was very grateful to discover that his one-night stand had not resulted in a progeny he would be obligated to support. The one-night stand was very happy to inform Stranahan that she had flushed the entire incident from her mind, right down the toilet with the blue strip of her pregnancy test. Why hadn’t the bastard called her himself if he was so fucking worried? Stranahan didn’t have the heart to tell her that his client had forgotten the woman’s name, along with where and how he’d met her. All Anker had given Sean to go on was something a friend had said about seeing him, Anker, outside the Molly bar with a “skank” who was wearing a pink sweatshirt with puppies or maybe kittens on it. The friend had noticed the sweatshirt only because he suspected it concealed a pair of “swinging hoochie mamas.” Anker did recall that the trailer where the woman led him must have been right by the railroad tracks. The trains thundering by literally shook the bed. It had seemed erotic enough at the time, right until she threw up into her toilet. The gagging had made his own gorge rise and he had stumbled out the door to vomit on the grass. From there he could see some lights from a restaurant that looked like a log cabin. It was the only business in the town. “It was nowhere, man,” Anker had said. “I don’t know how the fuck I drove myself back.” Sean had thought: Logan, the Land of Sirloin Steakhouse. The second trailer door he knocked on, a woman opened it. She had bloodshot eyes in a smoker’s face, the pupils shrinking as she peered skeptically at Stranahan or maybe just at the daylight in general. She said, “Was it you?” Then: “No, I don’t get that kind of luck at two in the morning.
    â€œWell, shit,” she had said. “You drove all this way. Come in. Take a load off.” Stranahan had declined the offer, though it looked like the friend had been right about the hoochie mamas. She could have held up a bank with them.
    â€œSean, you seem to be somewhere else.” Willoughby peered at him with his eyebrows arched.
    â€œI was thinking about the amnesia of alcohol. When I was an investigator, I found I could make a living off it.”
    â€œWhat exactly did you investigate?”
    â€œWrath. Greed. Sloth. Pride. Lust. Envy. And gluttony.”
    â€œAh, the seven deadly sins.”
    â€œWhat sin is it that caused you to seek my help?”
    â€œAvarice or envy. Possibly both.”
    â€œWhy don’t you tell me about it? And why the mystery? You could have called. I’m not hard to find.”
    â€œQuite right, maybe I should have. But I didn’t know your name until yesterday. And then when Kenneth suggested that we engage your services, I felt I needed to ascertain your suitability for the club. If you agree to help us, it would mean