Leaving Claire to contemplate the afternoon sunlight and the odds of walking home through a Morganville where Jason was still on the loose.
She took out her cell phone and called the town's lone taxi driver, who told her he was off duty, and hung up on her.
So she called Travis Lowe.
Detective Lowe wasn't real happy to be the Claire Taxi Service. She could tell because he wasn't his usual self, not at all -- he'd always been kind to her, and a little bit funny, but there wasn't any of that in the way he pulled his blue Ford to the curb and snapped, "Get in." She climbed in, and he was accelerating away even before she got strapped in. "You do know I've got a real job, right?"
"Sorry, sir," she said. The sir was automatic, a habit she couldn't seem to break no matter how hard she tried. "I just didn't think I should be walking home, with Jason -- "
"Right thought, just wrong timing," he said, and his tone softened some. He looked tired and sallow, and there were dark bags under his eyes like he hadn't slept in days. He needed a shave and a shower. Probably the shower more than the shave. "How's Shane?"
"Better," she said. "The nurse told me he was going to be okay, it's just going to take some time."
"Good news. Could've gone the other way. Why'd you try to walk home like that?"
She fidgeted a little in the seat. In contrast to the vampire cars, with their dark tinting, the glare inside of Lowe's car seemed way too bright. "Well, we tried getting a ride," she said. In retrospect, none of the explanations seemed all that good, really. She didn't mention that she'd tried both Lowe's phone, and Joe Hess's. No point in making him feeling guilty. Guiltier. "We thought with the three of us together ..."
"Yeah, good plan, if it had been any other kids. You guys, you're just trouble to the power of three. Which I'm no math whiz, but I'm betting that's a lot." His eyes were cold and distant, and she had the distinct feeling he wasn't really thinking about her at all. "Listen, I've got to make a stop. I'm running late as it is. You stay in the car, okay? Just stay in the car. Do not get out."
She nodded. He turned some corners, into a residential area of Morganville she didn't recognize. It was run down and faded, with leaning fences that were marked with sun-bleached gang sign. The houses weren't much better. Most of them just had sheets tacked up in the windows instead of real curtains.
He parked in front of one, got out, and said, "Windows up. Lock the doors."
She followed his orders and watched him go up the narrow, cracked sidewalk to the front door. It opened on the second knock, but she couldn't see who was inside, and Lowe closed the door behind him.
Claire frowned and waited, wondering what he was doing -- cop stuff, she guessed, but in Morganville that could be anything, from running errands for vampires to dog-catching.
He didn't come back. She checked her watch and found that more than ten minutes had passed. He'd ordered her to stay put, but for how long? She could have been home already if she'd been able to get the taxi, or even if she'd walked.
And it was getting hot in the car.
Ten more minutes, and she started to feel anxious. The neighborhood seemed deserted -- no people on the street, even in the bright sunlight. Even for Morganville, that didn't seem ... normal. She didn't know this area, hadn't been through it before, and she wondered what went on around here.
Before she could decide to do something really stupid, like investigating on her own, Detective Lowe came out of the house and got back in the car, after rapping on the window for her to unlock the door. He looked, if possible, even more tired. Depressed, almost.
"What's wrong?" she asked. The sheets tacked up as curtains twitched in the window of the house, as if somebody was peering out at them. "Sir?"
"Quit calling me sir," Lowe snapped, and put the car in gear. "And it's none of your affair. Stay out of it."
There was blood on his hand. His knuckles were scraped. Claire pulled in a fast breath, her eyes widening as she noticed, and he sent her a narrow glance as the car accelerated away down the deserted street. "Were you in a fight?" she asked.
"What did I just tell you?" Detective Lowe had never been angry before, not with her, but she could tell he was being pushed pretty far. She nodded and turned face forward, trying too keep herself still. It wasn't easy. She wanted to ask questions, a dozen of them. She wanted to ask him where Detective Hess had gone. She wanted to find out who lived in that house, and why Lowe had gone there. Who he'd hit, to scrape up his knuckles like that.
And why he was so desperately angry that he'd snap at her.
Lowe didn't enlighten her about any of it. He pulled the car to a stop with an abrupt jerk of brakes, and Claire blinked and realized that she was home. "You need another ride, call a taxi," Lowe said. "I'm on police business the rest of the day."
She climbed out and tried to thank him, but he wasn't listening. He was already flipping open his cell phone and dialing one-handed as he put the car in gear with the other. She barely got the door shut before he pulled away from the curb.
"Bye," she said softly, to the empty air, and then shrugged and went inside.
Michael was sitting in the living room, playing guitar. He looked up and nodded at her when she came in. "Eve went to the hospital," he said. "She must have just missed you."
Claire sighed and slumped down on the couch. "They won't let her in. Visiting hours are over." She yawned and curled up, tucking her feet under her. She ached all over, and everything seemed too bright, and not quite right. "Michael?"