Nancy pulled in a deep breath, slowly. Maybe if she could somehow calm down, she could stave off the nascent migraine, but signs pointed to a hard no on that.
The local motel didn't have a conference room, so the three of them were closed in the detective agency's small breakroom, and it was claustrophobic. Already the receptionist had come in twice to pour herself cups of coffee and grab an undoubtedly stale, sticky cinnamon bun from the cellophane-wrapped stack near the age-discolored microwave.
Usually Nancy didn't even use this set of exercises. They were basic, the kind she used when she was guest lecturing at a summer camp for middle schoolers. She had scrambled for them the night before, once she had realized that the two detectives—
That was a reach, but then, Nancy had called herself a detective with zero legal credentials when she was a teenager. The sign on the door identified this place as a private investigator partnership, and that was a bit more troublesome, because as far as Nancy could tell, neither of them could possibly be credentialed, licensed investigators, unless some bribery had been involved.
Maybe they'd made a deal with some minor deity for unbelievable luck, given everything. Because they didn't have the common sense in any hypothetical situation she had thrown at them to do anything close to the right thing.
"Okay," the blonde said, glancing from the diagram back up to Nancy. Nancy tried her best to force a credible smile. "Motel room, front exit, three people in there."
The brunette made a scoffing sound. "Easy."
The blonde nodded. "Make sure our weapons are drawn and take the front entrance."
"Both of you?" Nancy tried to sound neutral, while silently willing them to change their minds.
The brunette nodded briskly. "It'll stun them."
"You gonna... call for backup?" Nancy prompted.
"The guy we're after is in there, right? Well, we get impatient."
Nancy didn't doubt that at all. "Okay. You both hit the front, there's three of them, at least one can make it out the back. Two, if they leave one behind to hold you at gunpoint."
The blonde tossed her head. She had a mane of hair, and it was up in a messy ponytail that made her look like a wine mom with a hangover. The aviator sunglasses just completed the look. "We'll take 'em down and pick up the third or whoever around back."
Nancy came within a fraction of a second of rolling her eyes. It was physically painful not to. "It's easier if one of you circles around before the other knocks on the door."
The two would-be P.I.s exchanged a glance. The brunette shrugged. "You could try to ply your wares," she said, her voice heavy with meaning.
"Pretend to be a pro while you, what, squeeze through the bathroom window?"
"Something like that."
Nancy nearly rubbed her forehead, but she had put on enough foundation and concealer to disguise the shadows under her eyes and didn't want to rub it away. "Housekeeping?" she suggested.
They looked up at her again. "Sure," the brunette said, her tone unenthusiastic.
Maybe they just both had unacknowledged death wishes.
There was no scenario she found that they couldn't utterly fuck up. Clearing a room was a completely unfamiliar concept, apparently, and grid searches were for other people, people with time and patience. If one was abducted and still had a phone on her, their go-to was to leave a voicemail with the line open and to just give clues away.
"You mean not turning on the built-in GPS in your phone to let someone track you? In real time?" Nancy said, incredulous. "Texting someone and turning that feature on? Oh my God, to have a phone when someone's abducting you? That's... that's..." Nancy extended her arms in a speechless gesture.
"All right, smarty," the blonde said, crossing her arms. "Let's talk about what you do when you have no backup."
"That makes you more careful, not less," Nancy replied. "When you say you have no backup, local law enforcement...?"
The brunette frowned. "Bad history," she replied.
Nancy didn't doubt that. She hadn't had the best experiences previously in this state, but if these two had called cops to clean up any of their messes in the past, Nancy could imagine that their patience might have been exhausted quickly. The two "detectives" acted like they knew what was best at all times, that the universe just needed to realign to keep them safe, and so far, apparently, it had.
"The job you're in generally requires you to interact with law enforcement," Nancy said, trying to keep her voice level and even. "That must be difficult."
Blondie tossed her hair again. During their first session yesterday, when Nancy had discussed hairstyles that meant not giving an assailant a convenient handle to control their heads, Blondie had apparently decided that applied to people other than her, too. Nancy hadn't expected her to come in with a buzz cut, but even a tight French braid was an option. "Look, our last case, our last big one, we were after this total asshole trooper. We figured out he was behind some abductions, and," she waved her hand angrily, "he turns it into some crusade against him and his 'brothers.' There just ain't many good ones out there."
The brunette nodded in agreement. "We're still after his accomplice. 'Cause, again, the LEOs out here sure as shit seem to want to forget about it."
"He was one of theirs, too?"
"No, and that's the thing. Just a creepy asshole, really. We know he's still around here; his mom's buried here." The brunette shuddered. "I mean, what serial killer doesn't come back to sleep on the grave of the mom he killed."
"And then blew up the house her corpse was in," Blondie interjected, her voice raspy.
Nancy gazed at her, dawning horror on her face. "Please tell me that you weren't inside at the time."
"What?" Blondie tossed her hair again. "I got out before it blew. With the corpse." She shuddered theatrically. "Which, I didn't know it was a corpse. I thought it was a little boy he had kidnapped."
The brunette gave Nancy a nearly apologetic look. "Sorry. It's just... it's been a lot."
"I can imagine," Nancy said. "Are you saying... he sleeps on her grave? For hours?"
The brunette shrugged. "I guess?"
"So why is there no camera on the gravesite on a motion trigger and an alarm to get someone out there?"
The two detectives exchanged glances. "I mean, he just said there was no money for around-the-clock surveillance," the brunette said.
"But we wouldn't need it, if..." Blondie glanced back up at Nancy. "Good point."
Nancy came within an inch of rubbing her forehead again. Ned would absolutely flip if she intentionally set out to catch a serial killer with two well-meaning idiots who had a bad relationship with local cops. It wasn't just a recipe for disaster; it was a recipe for three unmarked graves, or more likely one big one, at the bottom of an abandoned mine, or something. Then again, if she let these two go in first, the situation would apparently just magically work itself out—and if she were their backup, she could at least catch the witness or quarry squirming out through the bathroom window.
"He?"
"A marshal. He's working on helping us catch this guy."
Nancy's eyebrows rose a fraction. Ordinarily a marshal's presence might be seen as a positive, but with these two, she just didn't know. He might just end up catching a stray bullet instead.
"I mean, apparently he's wearing this awful red wig now..."
Nancy glanced between them. "I saw a guy wearing an awful red wig just down the block this morning. At this run-down convenience store. Cracking incredibly corny jokes with the cashier."
The brunette stood quickly. "We have to check it out."
The blonde stood too, patting her gun belt. "Let's go."
Nancy rolled her eyes as she followed. Well, at least her spare bulletproof vest was in the backseat of the car... and at least her dinner plans with Ned were late enough that she'd have time to make a full statement to whatever law enforcement responded to whatever clusterfuck she was about to witness.
"All right," she muttered under her breath. "Let's see if I can meet my insurance deductible for the year in one visit. Again."