Page 62 of Fire Dancer
I hated unsolved mysteries. I craved clarity. And I was desperate to track down Stacy — for her own sake, and to disprove Ingo’s crazy suspicions so I could go back to seeing things positively. But I couldn’t.
Or could I?
I looked at the decanter, then the contest flyer. The address listed was a PO box, but what about La Puebla?
The gears in my mind turned in a way Ingo would not approve of. But, heck. The plan hatching there made sense. And I had been so eager to check on my glass project that I’d come to the hot shop two hours early. Plenty of time to pop out for a quick…er, errand, then pop back again. An errand that could give me peace of mind on two counts: Stacy, and my chance of winning that contest.
Ingo, I knew, would shoot down the idea immediately. But Ingo was paranoid and overprotective.
Also, he wasn’t around to talk some sense into me.
Before I could talk myself out of a perfectly good idea, I packed the decanter and glasses carefully, locked up the shop, and started driving.
Twenty-five minutes later, I blinked at the cameras at La Puebla’s security checkpoint. Two were aimed at my dusty orange Subaru, while a third was slowly pivoting over from adifferent angle. A big, burly security guy lumbered out of the guardhouse, chest thrust forward.
“Good morning,” he growled.
Talk about mixed messages.
“Good morning!” I chirped, going fordumb blondeinstead ofamateur sleuth.
He waited for more, then sighed. “Do you have an appointment?”
I nodded cheerily. “Yes. Well, no. Sort of.” I lifted the box on the front seat. “I’m here to deliver this rushed order.”
“Delivery?” He snorted.
The wind shifted, bringing me a whiff of his scent. It was musky. Woodsy. Bear-y, in other words.
I did my best not to flinch. The guy was a bear shifter, like Ingo’s suspects in the death at Gunnery Point.
I nodded. “Stacy said she needed it before Friday.”
I watched carefully, but I couldn’t catch a flicker of guilt light his expression. No denial when it came to Stacy being associated with the place either.
“Well, you can leave your delivery with me.”
I shook my head. “I’d love to, but I have to demonstrate it all. Can you just call Stacy over?”
He shook his head. “No can do, lady.”
Damn the man — a master of neither confirming nor denying anything I said.
The camera on my right whirred, and the zoom lens extended.
My skin crawled. Here I was, making myself a subject of interest. On the other hand, my cover story was pretty damn watertight.
A little like theTitanic.
I forced myself to give the camera a cheery wave.
“Here’s the thing,” I said loudly. “Stacy said the boss would like my design, and that he needed it ASAP.”
By then, my throat was dry. What if Stacy turned up now to deny that, and I got us both in trouble?
The guards weren’t buying it, but I must have succeeded in piquing someone’s curiosity, because a phone rang in the guardhouse. A second security guy answered it, frowned at me, and shrugged. After hanging up, he waved to the first guy.
“Let her through, Hal.”