The Lost (Celestial Blues, Book 2) - By Vicki Pettersson Page 0,60

“Because they can’t get clean due to the withdrawals, yet they can’t live long if they don’t get clean.”

“Nothing clean about this drug,” Kit agreed, glad to see he wasn’t dismissing it outright. Feeling steadier, she cleared her throat. “And what about you? How’d you spend your night?”

“Not shooting lighter fluid and drain cleaner into my veins.”

“That’s a relief,” she replied, keeping it light.

“Not flirting with a bunch of greasers at a burlesque club, either.”

Kit stilled at that before she caught the twinkle in his eye. “That would be a different cause for worry,” she replied, voice steady as she shoved the memory of Dennis’s unexpected flirtation out of her mind. “But you saw Ray DiMartino again?”

Grif nodded, his frown returned. “He had nothing. Said his father’s old files were clean, probably picked through both before and after the FBI moved in. Claimed there wasn’t even anything on Mary Margaret’s case, or the work I did on it.”

“And Sal DiMartino’s second wife, Barbara?” Kit asked, because that’s what Grif was really after.

He shook his head. “Ray doesn’t know where she is. Doesn’t want to find out, either.”

“I’m sorry, Grif,” Kit said, and sighed. She’d like nothing better than for him to get a handle on his past, just as she had with her parents. After all, that’s what the living did.

Grif shrugged. “It’s okay. He gave me another lead. Al Zicaro.”

Squinting, Kit searched her memory. “I know that name.”

“You should. He once worked at your paper.”

Kit snapped her fingers. “Old loony Uncle Al!”

Grif lifted an eyebrow.

“Pet name around the paper,” Kit explained quickly. “He was always seeing, or inventing, some conspiracy theory about the local mob. My aunt said he was as nutty as they came.”

“Doesn’t make me hopeful about getting any good juice outta him,” Grif muttered.

“Where is he?”

“The Sunset Retirement Community,” Grif confirmed.

“Hmm.” Kit settled against the sofa. “Sadly, I’ve never met my loony uncle.”

Grif tilted his head. “You’d go with me?”

“Of course. I love a good conspiracy theory. They always contain at least one or two kernels of truth. According to my dad, Zicaro had a pack-rat memory. Ask him the right question, and we might actually get the answers we need.”

And then Grif could bury them along with the memory of his death, his first life, and—yeah—his first wife.

“Thanks, Kitty-Cat.” And Grif said it so softly that Kit knew he was aware of what he’d cost her last night. It was still there, between them, but maybe if she left it unvoiced, it, too, could get tucked away.

“But talking to DiMartino couldn’t have taken up your whole night,” she said instead.

He reached for Kit’s mug and sipped. “Mary Margaret is out early.”

Kit held out a hand and he passed the coffee back. “Then we should visit her, too.”

Grif’s expression went wide at that, like he was opening to her, and there was wonder in his eyes. The look should have comforted her . . . and would have, moments earlier. Instead, for some reason, it made her want to pick up her coffee mug and smash it against the wall.

So, when her phone buzzed, she took the opportunity to gain a little distance, and reached for it, causing Grif’s outstretched hand to fall away.

Kit put down the mug, then smiled, reading the text. “It’s Dennis.”

“And?” Grif said, sidling up beside her.

Kit put a hand on his chest, preventing him from drawing in closer, though his gaze remained fixed on her lips. “One of the kids from Naked City survived, Grif.”

His eyes opened wide.

“Jeannie Holmes,” she said. “And her mother has given us permission to go see her.”

“Right now?”

Kit shook her head. “Not until ten.”

“Good.” He relaxed again. “Because I can think of a better use of our time just now.”

And wasn’t now all they really had? The past was gone, Kit thought, as Grif’s arms came about her. The future unknowable. And possibility lay between them like a pair of dice waiting to be tossed. Kit didn’t know if Zicaro or Mary Margaret, or even the elusive Barbara DiMartino, had the answers that would forever put Grif’s mind, and Evelyn Shaw’s ghost, to rest.

But right now Grif was leaning Kit back, looking at her like she was a natural wonder, and making her want to open as well. It was a good emotion, and it was what she’d really been waiting for throughout the night.

“It’s nice to have you home, baby,” she whispered into his mouth.

Grif slipped one strong knee between her thighs. “I’m not quite