Crone's Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars Page A

that…”
    “She’s all over the news,” my friend
returned, shaking his head as well. “The Gateway Club Telethon, all
kinds of charity events… You know, anything with a cause and a
donation jar.”
    “I’m sorry, Ben,” I barked the words. “But I
still don’t know who she is. Now, would you please quit trying to
make me feel stupid, and just clue me in?”
    “Jeezus, Rowan,” he blurted, still shaking
his head. “That was Brittany Larson.”
    I looked back at him, stunned as the name
sunk in, and my brain made the connection. “You mean…”
    “Yeah, I mean Brittany freakin’ Larson,” he
replied. “The goddammed mayor’s daughter.”
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER 6:
     
     
    B en was busy going over
the turn of events with some other detectives when Lieutenant
Barbara Albright arrived. She strode purposefully out of the
elevator, headed straight for the door of the enclosure and whipped
the door open with a swift yank.
    Her low-heeled pumps were clacking out a
determined cadence across the concrete decking of the parking lot
as she started for the opposite end of the structure. I almost wish
I’d had a camera on hand to catch the look on her face when she
glanced to the side and saw me sitting on the stairs.
    She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at me
as her lips drew into a thin frown. After a brief pause, she
unbuttoned her jacket and marched toward the stairs, coming to a
halt in front of me and placing her hands on her hips.
    “Would you mind explaining just exactly what
it is that you are doing here, Gant?” She spat the words more as a
demand than as a simple question.
    She was slight but still altogether imposing
just given her attitude. Her appearance placed her somewhere in her
mid fifties even with her shoulder length hair having turned
prematurely white. She was dressed in a dark grey pantsuit that
looked like it came from an upscale department store. Felicity
probably could have taken one look and spouted off the name of the
designer, but as for me, well, all I knew was that it looked like
money was involved.
    Her hands, strategically placed to reveal
more than just a glimpse of her sidearm, now pushed back the folds
of the double-breasted jacket. I’m sure it was an intimidation
tactic, probably something learned by all cops, but I had been
around this sort of thing far too much. The sight of a gun on
someone’s hip was old hat to me.
    As in my past dealings with her, she was
coming across as the mother that every kid on the block was afraid
of, and she wasn’t planning to do anything to change that opinion.
If nothing else, I would say that she was trying to bolster it.
    As usual, the gold cross was suspended from a
chain around her neck, obvious against the white background
provided by her blouse. The breast pocket of her jacket held her
badge case, shield flipped outward and prominently on display.
    “It’s really a simple matter of being in the
wrong place at the wrong time, Lieutenant,” I answered with forced
civility as I rose to my feet.
    I was mutely beating back my desire to launch
into a string of unpleasantries aimed directly at her. I knew such
an act would bring me nothing but trouble, but I was having a hard
time explaining that to my subconscious mind.
    “Oh, I’m sure that it is,” she remarked
sarcastically. “Go on. Tell me.”
    “Lunch,” I replied.
    “Lunch?” she repeated.
    “Yes,” I returned, pointing over her shoulder
at a group of officers near the actual scene of the abduction; in
particular, at Ben’s back. “Feel free to ask Detective Storm over
there. We were going to lunch and just happened to be waiting for
the elevator when it all happened.”
    “Storm is here, too?” she barked, turning to
look in the direction I indicated.
    “Yes, as a matter of fact…”
    Her hand came up to cut me off as she spoke,
“You wait right here.”
    “Sure,” I answered. “I’ve got no place else
to be.”
    I don’t know if she heard me or not