God. Teens really took the fictional world that seriously?
My freakin’ head was about to explode.
Officer Ferguson jumped in. “Did everyone know you and Arlette had a falling-out?”
Naomi shook her head. “And no one would’ve cared anyway.”
“Anything else you care to add?”
Another head shake.
“Okay. Thanks for your help. If we think of anything else, can we call you?” I glanced down at the paperwork and rattled off the numbers. “That’s your cell phone number?”
“Yeah.”
“I imagine it goes everywhere with you.”
“I guess.”
“Did Arlette always have her phone with her?”
“Not during school hours. She kept it in her locker because she got it taken away by the principal once and her uncle freaked out. Why?”
“Because Arlette’s phone was found in her locker. You think she just went someplace and forgot it?”
Naomi slid her arms into her coat sleeves. “Nope. That means she left school before lunch and planned to come back.”
• • •
Mackenzie Red Shirt, our next interviewee, didn’t show.
I returned to the empty conference room after a brief bathroom break, trying to sort through my notes. What would be the best way to track down Miss Red Shirt and convince her to tell us Arlette’s mystery guy’s name? I also wanted to talk to Triscell. I’d taken her vague, flustered state as a result of grief. So it surprised me to see a “No contact without permission from the tribal president” note on the file. That made zero sense.
I was lost in thought and didn’t notice that Turnbull had entered the conference room until he parked his butt on the table next to my papers.
He actually gave me a warm smile. “Great job with the friend.”
I leaned back in my seat. I hated how he invaded my personal space-and he was aware of it, so naturally he did it as often as possible. “Had you made the connection between the stake in the victim’s heart and vampires?”
“The thought had crossed my mind, but I dismissed it. I’m still not convinced there is any correlation. But I ain’t gonna write it off as coincidence.” Shay spun my notebook around to read my notes. Then his gaze hooked mine.
Damn man had the most compelling eyes. I could say that objectively, when he wasn’t annoying the piss out of me. He’d hit the lottery as far as good looks. Sporting the best of his Native American ancestry, he had chiseled cheekbones, smooth skin, and hair as black as tar worn long enough to brush the edges of his prominent jaw. His body appeared long and lean, but I’d trained with him at the gym and knew firsthand that well-honed muscles lurked beneath his casual work clothes. Add in his dazzling smile, an abundance of charm, and Shay Turnbull was a force to be reckoned with.