Near Miss

Chapter Nineteen: Fidget

Rhiannon's fingers flexed impatiently, curling inward and outward to the rhythm of rustling paper. She couldn't help shifting back and forth as she stood just inside the door, waiting for Greene to finish looking over the addresses outside. Beside her, Nina Morow stood motionless, her back ramrod straight and her feet touching, staring through the doorway. Still as she was, Rhiannon could see her eyes swivel back and forth as she tracked the motion of nearby cars and pedestrians.

Rhiannon was making no effort to stand still. As usual, she was fidgeting- tapping her fingers or shifting her weight or swinging her arms. Not to mention that she was still holding the sheet of paper with Lucia Valenti's phone number in her hand, scrunching it repeatedly into an ever-tightening ball. If Morow could hear the noise, she wasn't reacting. Although her fidgeting likely seemed random or unnecessary, Rhiannon always liked to think that it was very specific and very intentional, the result of her general goal to avoid Morow's stoicism. Rhiannon always thought better when she let herself relax- and, in the absence of anywhere to sit, that involved a generous amount of motion.

At the moment, Rhiannon was not considering herself to be a particularly sensitive person. She was mostly concerned with everything she had just learned from Dorian: to be specific, he had an excellent alibi.

In short, if Dorian couldn't drive a car, there was no possible way he could have been the one to hit Malachi.

It was rather convenient, of course. But, then again, Rhiannon wasn't quite as concerned with determining who had been driving the car; she was more interested in Malachi's apparent multiplicity of whereabouts. And, in that respect, Dorian had nothing interesting to add. He had resolved the matter of the RV, but apart from that nothing seemed to apply.

Was it possible that Rhiannon could get Greene to search the RV? They might find some important clue, although Rhiannon rather doubted it.

Rhiannon's phone rang.

In digging her phone out of her pocket, Rhiannon was so mortified at its outburst that she took a few moments to completely overanalyze what Morow was probably hearing. The ringtone that Rhiannon had set for this particular caller was only the most common ringtone available, the default setting heard only in deeply embarrassing situations, crowded plane flights, classical concerts, and horror movies. But for Rhiannon, it indicated a very specific person indeed.

Morow's gaze flitted from Rhiannon's face to the phone and back. She arched an eyebrow, apparently challenging her to answer it.

Once she knew Morow wouldn't be offended, Rhiannon didn't hesitate. "Hello?" she said expectantly into the speaker.

"I'm so sorry I didn't call you sooner, I just figured I shouldn't do it until I was off my shift, but it turns out I got a little break, so I'm doing it now," Eirie said breathlessly from the other end. "So, yeah, I have news. Good news. I think. Maybe."

"News?" Rhiannon countered, baffled. "What news? Did something happen?"

"Oh, no, nothing happened," Eirie dismissed. "I mean, it was just talking. Nothing actually happened. I mean, it depends on what you're actually worried about. I wouldn't be worried about it, though. I mean, I don't think it's a bad thing."

For a moment, Rhiannon felt almost paralyzed by Eirie's dithering. She had said "I mean" at least three times now, with no indication that she would change her vocabulary. Then, with a tremendous effort, she reminded herself of her ultimate goal. "Can you just get to the point?"

"What point?" Eirie said cheerfully.

Rhiannon huffed. It was a mannerism that she had picked up from Knapp several months ago, and one she had never quite been able to shake. "Well, then, why did you call?"