The flight was long, but Business Class was worth every penny that Clarence Wiedman had spent on it. It made her realize that she should be getting paid for this gig. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of that before. Still, the Kanes always paid their debts, and if not, Veronica would have to live with the satisfaction of closing the Duncan Kane chapter of the saga of her life once and for all.
She'd snoozed for a few hours, but now she was wide awake. A look around her told her that everyone else was asleep or trying hard to be. One row up and across the aisle, Veronica could make out the dim light of an electronic device. Even the flight attendants seemed to be stowed away for the time being.
She dragged her carry-on bag from under the seat in front of her—she'd opted to check the stun gun and studded purse in with her luggage—and pulled out her chapstick. She wasn't sure if it was dehydration from hours on end of recycled air or if she just needed to do something with her hands. She was nervous. She wasn't sure what they'd find waiting for them in Australia. And even more, she wasn't sure what she wanted to find in Australia. And she wished she'd pressed CW for some answers back in the dorm. She was honestly a little surprised that Duncan had been down under all this time. The plan they'd set in motion had put Duncan on a path from California to Baja. From there he'd made arrangements to fly to Toronto by way of Mexico City. Duncan had insisted that he take over things from there. He hadn't even told her his next destination. She'd assumed he'd head to a place without extradition to the United States. Apparently, not.
It had been important for him to not involve his parents. So how had Wiedman gotten in the middle? And how much did he know?
She turned to glance at her travel companion again. He was sleeping soundly, a line of drool across his cheek. Veronica supposed the answers would have to wait. Fighting boredom, she remembered the paper she'd planned to outline before Wiedman had turned her weekend upside down. She once again dug into her bag, extracting her laptop and spilling a few other items in the process. With a slight roll of her eyes, Veronica unbuckled and bent down to retrieve the items. A hairbrush. The purple rollerball pen she took everywhere. The photograph.
Oh, the photograph.
Veronica dropped the other items into her bag but took in the photo for a moment. It was one of only a few things she'd taken from her Neptune life up to Stanford. A few photos—one from Sophomore Homecoming, one of her with her dad and Backup, and the strip of four shots of her, Wallace and Mac that had been taken in a photo booth on the pier the night before she'd left for Stanford—and a Hearst hoodie she'd stolen from Logan's hotel suite one morning when she'd gone for a jog. At least she hoped it had been Logan's. Suddenly Dick Casablancas' face flashed before her eyes and Veronica cringed a bit. She'd burn the hoodie when she got back to Palo Alto.
She didn't know why she'd impulsively grabbed the Homecoming picture off her dorm room mirror when she'd thrown some things together for this trip. It had been staring at her, taped to her mirror next to the other photos. It was her favorite, with Lilly's boobs hanging out juxtaposed with her own prim and oh-so-pink, prom dress. Duncan's smiling face, and Logan's. It was more than a photo of the best time of her life. It was a symbol of normalcy. It was a symbol of all she'd moved to Stanford to have again. And it had worked. Until now. Now it was a symbol of why she was going to Australia. Because she'd let go of everyone else in that photo. And this was the final step. Duncan. If she could close that chapter, maybe she really could move on, slam that book closed once and for all. She studied all their faces one more time in the photo—so innocent—and then slid it back into her bag and pushed the whole thing under the chair in front of her.
Now wasn't the time for nostalgia. She had a paper to outline and then an ex to track down.
"It's about time," Wiedman said as a black Lincoln Navigator stopped in front of them both.
Veronica looked up at him from where she sat on her duffel bag, sipping on a watery cup of crappy rental car office coffee. She winced in disgust with every pull, but least it was keeping her awake.
"Real subtle, CW," she told him, indicating the car. "We'll blend right in."
"It isn't my intention to blend," he replied, throwing his bag into the open back of the SUV. "I intended to be comfortable."
She couldn't deny that it did look comfortable. "Two-hundred-fifty kilometers, huh?" she asked. "Will we need to find a place to stay when we get there?" she asked.
"It's all taken care of," he said dismissively. He held a hand out and motioned to the bag she was sitting on. "Let's get this show on the road," he said.
She stood and stepped aside to let him retrieve it. He tossed it into the back and pressed the button on the trunk door so that it closed itself. Then Veronica climbed into the passenger seat. It was beautiful. Real leather seats and a premium sound system. Having a budget did have its perks.
Wiedman punched the desired information into the car's navigation unit and pulled out of the parking lot in the direction of the indicated route. It took Veronica a few miles to not catch her breath every time he made a turn or changed lanes. He was driving well. It made her wonder how many times he'd driven on the left side of the road.
Veronica had held her tongue for long enough. The plane ride had been painful. The wait for the rental car had been torture. Now that they were alone, she wanted to be caught up. It was already Sunday morning in Australia. She was well aware that she would gain a day back when flying home, but all hopes of being in class Monday morning were diminishing by the second.
"So are you going to spill or do I have to tip you over?" she asked her would-be partner-in-crime.
She thought she saw his lip tip slightly up at her comment, but she wouldn't let it go to her head. This wasn't a social engagement. She wasn't here to make new friends. Or renew old foes.
"It is my understanding that Duncan has been living in Mollymook since shortly after he left for Neptune. He called me for a...favor—"
"What kind of favor?" she interrupted. "In Neptune, no one does anyone any favors."
Clarence Wiedman remained silent for a moment. Too long.
"Listen, if you aren't going to—"
"I took care of the Aaron Echolls situation," he told her.
"As in…" Veronica paused for a moment, letting that sink in. "Oh, wow." She turned to look out the window to hide her reaction and to sort out her own thoughts. It wasn't that she didn't think Wiedman capable of murder. She knew better than that. But Duncan…it was hard to conceptualize, but it did make sense.
Veronica flashed to the memory of Aaron Echolls locking her in a fridge and lighting it on fire. She remembered his taunts in the elevator of the Neptune Grand Hotel. She was glad he was dead. For her sake. For Logan's sake. For the sake of Lynn's memory. Hell, for society's sake. A quick death was more than Aaron Echolls had deserved.
Wow.
She kind of wished she hadn't asked. And, now that she thought of it, that she'd told more people—or any people for that matter—her current location. She had just jet-set halfway across the globe with a murderer and hadn't bothered to clue anyone in. The note she'd jotted down for Natacha explained a last-minute trip to see a distant relative visiting San Francisco. She was getting rusty. Veronica quickly pulled out her phone, sending her father a quick text with the name Mollymook and a vow to explain later.
But she was stuck on Aaron... Wow. Veronica shook her head. Mentally putting a pin in that matter to process later. She had to keep her eye on the ball.
"And you did this out of the goodness of your heart?" she asked her companion.
"Oh no, I did it for a shitton of money," Wiedman replied. "And it was what the bastard deserved. Long overdue, if you ask me."
"No argument here," she told him. "So after all the trouble I took to get Duncan quietly out of the country—"
Veronica heard a faint, " Knew that was you," muttered from Wiedman, but she ignored it.
"—Jake and Celeste know where he is."
"Only Celeste knows anything," Wiedman corrected. "And she doesn't know where he is. When Duncan contacted me with the job, I went to Celeste."
"Naturally," Veronica scoffed. She'd always known who really wore the pants in the Kane family.
"She consented. She had terms. Duncan was to check in with her, through me, monthly in exchange for an income."
"A money trail," Veronica asked, confused. She thought they were smarter than that.
Wiedman shook his head. "The money is given to my discretionary fund and funneled into an account in Mollymook under the name Phil Dale."
Phil Dale. The name sounded familiar, but it took Veronica a moment to place it. Realization dawned on her, and Veronica let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, Donut," she sighed, using Lilly's nickname for her brother. "You were never one for originality."
Wiedman turned to her, raising one brow in confusion. "Am I missing something?" he asked.
"Phil Dale? Duckie?" Veronica asked. She supposed she couldn't fault him for not being up-to-date on 80s pop culture. When Wiedman didn't respond, she elaborated. "It's from Pretty in Pink. It's an 80s Brat Pack movie. Lilly and I watched it all the time in junior high. Duncan dressed up as him for a school dance." With Meg , she added silently. Veronica swallowed past the lump in her throat. Was Meg pregnant by then? She had trouble remembering the exact timeline of events. What a freaking mess.
And that was the moment Clarence Wiedman knew that having Veronica Mars along on this task was worth all the time and effort and the convincing. And the risk. Veronica Mars had insight into Duncan Kane's life in a way that he just couldn't conceive of. He'd never even considered the alias of Phil Dale. He'd have never dreamt of the connection. In fact, he would have adamantly advised against it. But at the time it had been too late. Duncan had set himself up in Australia months before he'd contacted Wiedman to deal with Aaron Echolls.
For the first time in weeks, Clarence Wiedman had hope that there would and could be a swift resolution to this problem. Duncan could be just around the corner. He could have set this whole thing up waiting for Veronica Mars for all he knew. Clarence was impatient to resolve this matter. Not only to keep his employer happy but to get to the bottom of things. He didn't like loose ends.
Wiedman continued his story, keeping his voice even as if to sound unaffected by her revelation.
"Good to know," he told her. "I've traced the money from California to the account, but I don't have good enough connections here. I was able to ascertain that Phil Dale's account doesn't maintain a high balance." He thought for a moment. "As far as I know, only Duncan could remove the money. But it doesn't answer the question of why he hasn't checked in."
"And Mommy Dearest hasn't cut him off yet?" Veronica asked, her face twisted into an overly exaggerated frown of sarcasm. "Shocker."
Wiedman ignored her barb. "Celeste is willing to continue to fund the account if we can confirm that the money is going to Duncan or Lily," he told her. "Celeste might have been a monstrosity of a mother, but Duncan Kane was always her favorite, despite everything. She would do anything for that boy." Celeste hadn't spent time and money covering up their daughter's death because she thought Aaron Echolls was involved. It was to save Duncan. But Veronica Mars, of all people, didn't need to be told all that. It was always about Duncan.
Veronica remained quiet and Wiedman wondered how much he'd overwhelmed her. He'd just thrown a lot of information at the girl and was willing to bet she'd worked hard to distance herself from all this emotionally. Emotional distancing was key to survival in this day and age. Or maybe he'd just lived in Neptune too long.
After a moment, she spoke up.
"So where did you plan to start?" she asked, her gaze still fixed on the passenger side window, watching the coast go by.
Wiedman looked past her and over to the water. It was hard to believe he was looking at the same ocean as usual, just from the other side. For a moment, he considered sharing the thought with her, but he ultimately decided against it. They weren't friends. The conversation shouldn't stray beyond perfunctory.
"We can start with the address linked to Phil Dale's account," he told her, unwilling to admit that he didn't have much of an idea of where to go after that. He'd hoped that would be where she came in.
"Works for me," she replied, never once taking her eyes off the window.
Veronica kept her eyes locked on the coast. They'd spent quite a bit of the drive further inland, but the navigation unit said they were close to Mollymook now, and she could see the ocean in the distance. She supposed that was the nice part about driving on the left side down the coast of Australia. She'd gotten a bird's eye view of the ocean. It was truly beautiful. She could see why Duncan would choose to come here. An English speaking country would appeal to him. And he'd always loved to surf. He'd lived his whole life next to the ocean—they both had—it wasn't something one abandoned easily. Palo Alto wasn't right on the coast, but more than once during the fall semester, she'd hopped in her car with Laurence or Natacha and driven up over Skyline to the coast and all the way down to Santa Cruz before heading back to school. She loved it. It was everything she loved about the beach without any of the crap connected to it back home.
Wiedman pulled up to a cute, pale yellow beach bungalow-type home set just a short way back from the street. He seemed to double-check the address with the GPS and then he cut the engine. It hadn't occurred to Veronica that they'd be sharing a house. She was just getting ready to tell him just how much she was not interested in the situation when he spoke up.
"Here we are. The home of Phil Dale and his daughter," CW announced.
Veronica popped erect, as a shiver ran from the base of her spine up to her skull. Duncan Kane. She was less than fifty feet away from Duncan Kane. All the hairs on the back of her neck raised. She hadn't once, throughout her nearly twenty-four hours of travel time, thought about what she was going to say to him when she saw him. All of a sudden she felt bile rise up from her mostly-empty, terrible-coffee sloshed stomach. She hadn't expected to see him so soon.
Veronica snuck a glance at Wiedman. He'd changed before the flight into slightly more casual tan pants, a hunter green LaCoste polo shirt, and a light jacket. He looked normal, put together. She, on the other hand, hadn't run a comb through her hair in a day and was sure she looked like something her pitbull had dragged in. And suddenly how she looked was important. Though another part of her couldn't care less. Duncan had left her. He'd had to, of course, but he'd left her. And now, in typical Kane fashion, he'd summoned her forth—halfway across the planet—without a word. Without a thought to what she might have been doing. Or how she felt.
She knew what she needed to do.
This is why having a destiny sucks, she told herself, rallying.
With renewed vigor, Veronica wrenched open the heavy door and slid out of the passenger seat until her feet hit terra firma. Her knees buckled a bit, whether due to exhaustion or sitting too long in one attitude, she wasn't sure, but she managed to hold herself upright. She stretched her back out for half-a-second before she slammed the car door shut and walked determinedly up to the front door of the house. She was still unsure what she would say when she got there, but winging things was her jam. Veronica gave the door three hearty knocks before remembering Wiedman, turning around to see him just one foot behind. Good. If she punched Duncan, CW could pull him back up to his feet again. For a moment she wished she'd fished the stun gun out of her bag.
The door swung open, and Veronica was surprised to find herself face to face with an older woman around her own height. The woman was a bit plump and wearing a floral summer dress.
"Can I help you?" the woman asked.
Veronica took a moment to find her voice after being so worked up. "Yes. I mean no. I mean I hope so ," she said. Shit, she really was running on empty. She widened her eyes in hopes that she looked more awake than she felt. "I'm looking for Phil Dale," she said, raising her voice at the end to sound friendly. Or hopeful.
"I'm so sorry," replied the woman. "I don't know anyone by that name."
Veronica's brow furrowed in thought. "Tall, dark, American," Veronica indicated, holding her hand up high to measure Duncan's height. "He has a sweet little girl around two years old...I was told he lives here. This is the address he sent me. Perhaps he rented the house to you?"
"Oh," the blue-haired lady explained, "there must have been a mix-up. I've owned this house for nearly thirty-five years, m'dear. I bought it with my late husband. He's been gone eight years now. We fixed the place up. It was a mess when we got it." The woman stopped her prattling and sent a weary look over Veronica's shoulder. "Do you need my help, dear?"
Veronica didn't know how to respond. She was confused until she remembered Wiedman who was still lurking behind her like a creeper.
"Oh, no. Thank you. He's with me." And just because she was tired and punchy, she added, "chauffeur," with a shrug. She heard Wiedman scoff from behind her. It made her slightly giddy. "Thanks so much for talking to me. I'm sorry for bothering you." Veronica hesitated a moment. "Are you sure you don't know a Phil Dale? Maybe somewhere on this street?" Veronica looked up and down the street both ways, hopefully.
"I'm quite certain. This is a very small down. Everybody knows everybody in Mollymook," she told her with a bright grin and a shrug of her shoulders. "G'day to you both, then," she cooed as she took a step into her house and closed the door behind her.
Veronica turned to Wiedman, ready to drop. "So much for this being simple," she said. "Now, if you don't mind, I need a meal and a bed, pronto . Not necessarily in that order."
"You're the one on a time crunch here," he told her as they got back into the car and pulled onto the highway
"And you're the one who slept more than two hours in the past twenty-four," Veronica replied. She eyed him. He kept his eyes on the road in front of him, but she knew what he was thinking. And he had a point. "At least feed me," she relented, letting out a long sigh.
"That I can do," he said. "We can't check in this early anyway. We will head farther south toward our hotel, and we can catch some food along the way."
Veronica nodded in response, too sleepy to say much more. She reached out and flipped the radio on, smiling as the familiar voice of Jackson Browne filled the car. How apropos , she thought to herself as she leaned her forehead against the window and felt her eyelids get droopy.
Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels
Looking back at the years gone by like so many summer fields
In sixty-five I was seventeen and running up one-on-one
I don't know where I'm running now, I'm just running on
Running on (running on empty)
Running on (running blind)
Running on (running into the sun)
But I'm running behind
Her stomach full of KFC, Veronica felt ready to take on the world...after about twelve hours of sleep. She was close to resorting to begging Wiedman to take her to their accommodations. She was intrigued when Wiedman didn't immediately open the car door as they made their way through the lot. Instead, he squinted against the light and his gaze swept the intersection. She let out a sigh, excited. They must be staying nearby. Sleep was imminent. It was so close she could almost taste it. Veronica followed her would-be accomplice's gaze across Princes Highway to see a nondescript brick building with large windows. It was a little dull for beachside accommodations...especially on the Kane dime, but she wouldn't protest. Wiedman, much to her dismay, then began walking toward the crosswalk on the corner.
Veronica's heart sank. "Shouldn't we move the car? Or at least get our bags?"
Wiedman shook his head. "One last stop. Then rest."
One last stop, my arse, Veronica lamented. She forced herself to hold back a whine. "Where? Where are we?" she said through gritted teeth.
Wiedman just raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the building across the street.
It was then that Veronica noticed a small blue sign with "Police" written on it in white letters which stood below a waving Australian flag.
"A police station?" she asked, confused.
"Nothing gets by you, does it?" Wiedman asked evenly.
"No offense," she told her bankroller. "But nothing about Duncan Kane has been on the up-and-up. He's a wanted fugitive. Duncan would never—"
"It's not about Duncan, Veronica," he told her. "I'm a Black American man wandering around a small town halfway across the planet. You might be a pixie blonde with fake IDs, short skirts, and falsettos…" Veronica opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "All very effective, no judgment. But it's not my world, Veronica. I won't go an hour without being noticed...reported. Some things we do your way, and some things we do mine. So...for now, we check in. We establish ourselves and our business. We pretend to ask for their help and let them think we need them. And then we get out. Subtle."
Veronica was surprised. It hadn't occurred to her how different their tactics would be. She couldn't see the benefit of going to a police station, but she realized for the first time, that she wasn't just running on her wits and intuition. She had a partner—er, travelmate?— to think about. All this thinking on little sleep was just causing tension.
"So I shouldn't wear my button that says 'I'm a PI, ask me how'?" she deadpanned, pointing to her bag. At Wiedman's frown, Veronica nodded at him. One day she'd get him to crack a smile if it was the last thing she did. "Okay, but you do the talking," she said.
Wiedman inclined his head, which she supposed was his form of solidalitious agreement. She'd have to take it. So Veronica stepped into line behind him to let him take the lead.
When Wiedman and Veronica crossed the threshold, all eyes jumped to them. Four eyes to be exact. The building was tiny, housing a small desk with a smiling receptionist at the entrance and one officer behind her sitting at a desk.
"Can I help you?" The woman behind the desk asked. She had a thick accent that Veronica couldn't place—a clear mixture of an unknown heritage and her adopted Australian home. The woman looked uneasily between Veronica and Wiedman. Veronica could only imagine what an odd couple they were to the beholder. Hell, she was half of this dynamic duo and her mind was still blown.
The telephone rang, and the woman held up one finger to them. She picked up the phone and smiled at them as she spoke to the caller. "Ulladulla Police Station, how may I direct your call?"
Her smile faded. "Mr. Webster, please calm down." She waited for a moment. "The Brown boy did what to your hydrangeas?" The woman looked pained and panicked, she swirled around to face the officer seated behind her who was gesturing wildly. The man was shaking his head vehemently and making a chopping motion with his hand against his neck.
Veronica couldn't make out the clerk's silent words to the officer, but her plea was obvious by her upturned hands.
The officer pointed at the closed-doored office to Veronica's right, still shaking his head...refusing to take the call.
What an absolute shit show , Veronica thought.
"I'll transfer you to the inspector right away, Mr. Webster," the woman said, pressing some buttons on the phone. Veronica heard the phone ring in the office nearby. The officer inside picked up the phone, speaking only a begrudged, "Colt."
The clerk shrugged and then turned back to Veronica and Wiedman. "I'm so sorry about the delay. How can I help you?"
Veronica waited for a moment, surprised at Wiedman's silence. She turned to look up at him and found him smiling back at the room's occupants. Well, she supposed it was supposed to be a smile. It looked more like a pained grimace. It was quite frightening, bordering on terrifying. She'd never seen anything more unnatural on a man's face before...and being from Neptune, that was saying something.
"Is your plan to dazzle them with your pearly whites?" she whispered, a shudder running up her spine. Veronica awkwardly averted her eyes, turning to gaze at the wall next to her. There was a sheet of glass protecting a large bulletin board that was covered in patches. They featured law enforcement agencies from around the world, she could only assume from visitors, and suddenly wished she had one of her father's old ones to add to their collection.
Clarence seemed to snap out of his smile. "Yes, thank you. Hello," Wiedman pulled out a card and held it toward the clerk. "My name is Clarence Wiedman, I represent the parents of this.." he turned to Veronica, seeming to choose his words carefully… "young woman."
Veronica nodded approvingly.
"She was lured here illegally—I believe to extort her family for money—and I have been sent to retrieve her and resolve the matter."
Veronica felt her eyebrows raise, but willed her forehead to relax. Intriguing. He had a whole story planned and hadn't bothered to inform her.
"Miss Mars was inveigled here under the guise of employment. A nanny job."
Very intriguing. Veronica decided that she simply had to play along.
"Au pair!" she interrupted. Wiedman threw her a hard stare. She didn't know if it was part of the act or not—she was too tired at the moment to be a good interpreter of such things. But it was always more fun to participate than just watch. Plus she was still a bit prickly from being called a short skirt and a falsetto. "I prefer the term au pair!" she said, catching the woman's name from her nameplate. "It sounds much sexier than nanny, don't you think, Reda?"
Reda smiled, taking the bait, obviously thinking that being lured across the ocean by a mysterious stranger did sound sexy.
Wiedman brandished a pointed finger at no one in particular. "This miscreant persuaded the daughter of my client, a very wealthy Californian businessman, to fly across the Pacific Ocean to foreign lands and take public transportation all the way to Mollymook, only to leave her here high and dry. None of the information he gave her has proven to be true."
"It sounds so much more stupid when you put it that way," Veronica whined, dropping her chin to her chest in dismay.
"I'm here to ask your local police force for any information they have regarding the whereabouts of one Phil Dale, who posed as a local in this area."
At that moment, the office door flew open and a face red emerged, throwing a dirty look Reda's way as it called out, "Mr. Webster, Mr. Webster," and retreated into his office.
"I'm so sorry, sir," Reda told Wiedman sincerely. "I don't know anyone local named Phil Dale."
Veronica remembered that Duncan couldn't fake an accent to save his life. "He sounded American to me," Veronica admitted. "Maybe not a local, after all?
Wiedman groaned, though whether it was because of her interference or that he knew she was right. "No Phil Dales," Wiedman said, shaking his head wearily. "Do you know of any Americans settled here? Early twenties with a young daughter."
"Oh, no. I'm sorry," Reda insisted, her accent pronouncing the double-R as a W. She thought for a moment and then her eyes brightened. "An American did come through quite a while ago, staying for several months. But his name wasn't Phil Dale. I don't remember his name. He was an Italian-Irish American from Minnesota!"
Veronica's mind was boggled. A what?
"I only remember him because he dated a friend of mine a few times and then moved on, traveling north," Reda put particular emphasis on the last syllable as an F.
Excellent , Veronica groaned inwardly. An Irish, Italian, Minnesotan heading north. I'll get right on that.
"What about him?" Wiedman asked, pointing to the officer behind Reda, sitting at his desk reading a muscle car magazine and eating a chocolate muffin. "Could he help us?"
"I'm sorry, no. That's Senior Inspector Baggs. He only recently transferred here from Kempsey to join our South Coast Rural Crime Prevention Team."
Wiedman and Veronica both craned to get a better look at the skinny cop who didn't even bother to look up though he could clearly hear Reda from his spot only a few feet away. The only thing he was currently preventing was that magazine from collecting dust.
"Is there anyone else in charge who might be able to assist us?" Wiedman asked with a frustrated shrug.
Reda threw a glance at the open office door and cringed. "I'm so sorry, but Inspector Colt is engaged with a report at the moment, I'm afraid."
As if on cue, a voice bellowed from the office. "No, no. You don't need to come in or call anymore. You can submit the complaint online now," he told who Veronica presumed was Mr. Webster. "Did you click on 'crime'? If you clicked on crime, you should be able to scroll down and there are choices." He stopped to listen. "Yes. Click on 'Are You The Victim Of A Crime?'" There was another pause. "No, below Terrorism." Pause. "Do you see Terrorism?"
"Yes, Inspector Colt seems super occupied," Veronica admitted dryly. She didn't miss the guttural sound that came from Wiedman's spot next to her.
"Well, I guess we're out of luck," Veronica lamented, turning on her heel and giving Wiedman a hint with her eyes to head toward the door.
"Thank you for your time, Reda," Wiedman told the clerk. "We will be in town a few days trying to track down Mr. Dale. If I need police assistance, I know where to come." He motioned to her hand. "You have my card if you think of anything that might be of use to us."
With that, Wiedman turned to the door as well.
On her way out, Veronica noticed a plastic holder filled with pamphlets titled "Dealing with a Dispute" which she could only pray was intended for the public rather than instructions for the officers as they left on calls. Though, having heard Colt, she had her doubts.
Veronica held herself together through the crosswalk and almost all the way to the car before she couldn't hold it in any longer. She started laughing. "Is it me or does Duncan Kane's alias live in the freakin' Australian version of Balboa County?"
Wiedman shook his head, the corners of his lips lifting almost imperceptibly. "It's not you." He pushed the remote fob to unlock the car and climbed in, leaving Veronica to circle the car and enter on the passenger side. "It's uncanny; almost like he planned it."
Veronica didn't believe it. How could Duncan have planned that? "He couldn't have. But Inga and Reda…"
"Sacks and Baggs…" Wiedman inserted playfully.
"Lamb and Colt!" Veronica finished cracking up. "I thought I was going to lose it."
A blustering wall of noise escaped CW, and Veronica turned to see him kind of...laughing. It only lasted a brief moment, and then Wiedman settled himself. "It's funny," he said, his mask firmly back in place. He started the engine and pulled out of the KFC parking lot, heading north on Princes Highway.
Their shared moment over, Veronica's thoughts went back to impending slumber. "So, now can we—"
"Yes," he interrupted curtly as if the moment had never happened. "Now you can sleep."