A Marked Man by Stella Cameron

body to an impossible length and looked as if her dark markings were Egyptian, including the kohl-like lines around her eyes.
    No doubt the health department would have something to say about a cat in a café, but several of the patrons crooned, “Irene, baby, Irene, cher,” so he guessed the cat was a fixture.
    Irene baby curled her lip at every would-be friend, and she wasn’t smiling.
    “You called,” Spike said.
    Max looked at him quickly. “I called you back.”
    Spike gave a slow smile and nodded. “Is that the way it went? Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, then I’ll tell you what’s on mine.”
    Playing it cute wouldn’t earn him any points with the sheriff, Max decided. “Michele Riley is on my mind. I’m hoping you invited me here because there’s good news.”
    Wazoo brought Spike’s coffee, glanced from one man to the other and slipped away quickly, but not before the cat gave Max a narrow-eyed stare. “This isn’t what I wanted to tell you,” Spike said. “We don’t have any leads, Max. All we have is what you told us. She had dinner with you and your brothers and afterward you drove her back to the Majestic. You saw her inside. And she disappeared.”
    “We both know that didn’t happen,” Max said. He stared outside again. He hadn’t driven away from the hotel until the lights went off in the hall. What the hell could have happened to Michele? “She went into the hotel. If there was—I don’t know, an attack—why didn’t Gator and Doll and their boy hear? Why isn’t there evidence of a struggle?”
    “You tell me.”
    Max’s skin tightened. “Come again?”
    “I said, you tell me why there’s no evidence and no one heard anything. I’m fresh out of ideas and, unlike you, I never saw the woman at all.”
    Max frowned. He caught Wazoo’s eye and pointed to his cup, more because he needed whatever thinking time he could buy than because he wanted more coffee.
    Wazoo came with Spike’s bowl of gumbo in one hand and a carafe in the other. She set down the bowl and filled both coffee cups. “Be right back,” she said, her eyes making a swift study of their faces. “You got trouble,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Big trouble. I keep smelling somethin’ real bad.” She sniffed the air and returned to the counter.
    Max didn’t meet Spike’s eyes. First Annie passed out in front of him and came around begging not to be burned, then Wazoo talked about smelling something bad—like burning, maybe? If he was the type to run, he’d already be on his way, but running wouldn’t stop the madness.
    Carrying corn bread and a dish of honey butter, Wazoo returned and this time she slid into a seat at the table.
    “You’re deserting your post,” Spike said.
    She snorted. “No such thing, lawman. I’m right here and I got real good eyes.”
    “I think I see someone back in the books waving for you.”
    Wazoo gave Max a pitying look. “They know where to find me, not that I’m any book expert. The reading group’s at the back—they answer anyone’s questions—makes ’em feel important and suits me. This Michele, they sayin’ she come lookin’ for a job at Green Veil. That place used to be called Serenity House, y’know.” She disentangled the cat and sat it on her lap where it rested its nose on the table and switched its green-gold gaze between the men.
    “We know what the house was called,” Spike said. “But thanks for the reminder.”
    “She’s dead, that one. I know what I see.”
    “Who’s dead?” Max shot back at her. “What do you see?” If she said something about fire, he might lose it.
    “It isn’t that easy,” Wazoo said. “I can’t turn it on like a picture show. Gotta wait for stuff to come clear, but that Michele ain’t with us here no more.”
    “You shouldn’t play around with things as important as this,” Max said. He prickled all over.
    Spike spooned up gumbo, chewed vegetables and managed to appear