Unspeakable by Kevin O'Brien Page B

counter one more time for Melissa. But she wasn’t there. He shook his head. “I kind of lost my appetite.”
    Ian moved to the door and held it open for Collin, but a young couple hurriedly walked in before him—without a glance at Ian. “You’re welcome a lot, dipshits,” Ian growled at them. They ignored him.
    Collin actually found himself chuckling. “Thanks,” he said, heading outside.
    â€œI’m sorry, but sometimes I hate people,” Ian grumbled, stepping out after him. “After having Al scream at me on the phone to find you—like it was my fault you were MIA—I’m not in the best of moods right now. Then again, look who I’m complaining to. I should count my blessings. Listen, I snagged a parking spot about two blocks away. I’ll give you a lift home. We can put your bike in my trunk. Sound good?”
    Collin nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” Crouched down beside his Schwinn, he worked the combination lock and unfastened the chain. Then he grabbed his helmet.
    Ian put his sunglasses back on, and they started down the crowded sidewalk together. “So who’s that Rick guy anyway?” Collin asked. He glanced over his shoulder to see if the man had followed them. There was no sign of him. “Is it a big secret? Is he dangerous?”
    â€œNo, he’s just kind of a pest,” Ian finally answered. “His name’s Rick Jessup, and when he said he wasn’t a stalker, I don’t know who he was trying to kid—you or himself. Twice, we’ve chased him off the beach in back of your grandparents’ house. We’ve caught him hanging around Skog-Strand Lane several times, too. I’ve personally sent him on his way a few of those times. I should be insulted he didn’t recognize me.”
    â€œDoes he live around here?”
    â€œHe lives in Seattle—with his wife and two kids, poor things. Three nights ago, officers caught him creeping around your rental house—the crime scene. He said he was looking for his cat. We checked with Rick’s neighbor, and the Jessups don’t own a cat.”
    â€œSo is he—like a suspect?” Collin asked.
    â€œThe same neighbor was up with a toothache the night of the murders. He was pretty sure all the Jessups were home. Rick’s Chevy Camaro was in the driveway all night. Speaking of cars, here’s mine.” He nodded at the black Honda Civic parked in front of the bookstore.
    Ian helped him load the bike in the Civic’s trunk. He got behind the wheel while Collin slid onto the passenger seat and lowered his window. “Thanks for finding me when you did,” Collin said as they pulled into the congested traffic on Front Street. “I’m glad it was you who found me, and not that big turd, Al.”
    Ian let out a laugh, but then stifled it. “Listen, can you do me a favor?” he asked, watching the road ahead. “Forget what I said about wanting to ditch him. That was really unprofessional of me. Like I mentioned earlier, I’m just in a lousy mood today.”
    â€œIs it because of your girlfriend?” Collin asked. “What’s her name? Janice?”
    Ian gaped at him for a second. “How do you know about Janice?”
    Collin figured since Ian had been pretty straightforward with him, he ought to reciprocate. So he explained about the intercom by the gate to his grandparents’ driveway. “I’m sorry,” Collin said. “I didn’t mean to spy on you guys. I was just kind of bored—and it was something to do. I hope you’re not too pissed off at me or anything.”
    With his hands on the steering wheel, Ian sighed. “I’m not pissed off, just kind of embarrassed. Anyway, for the record, Janice and I had a talk last night, and she thinks we should ‘take a break.’ So—yes, you’re right. That accounts for much of my lousy mood