The Wedding Guest (Alex Delaware #34) - Jonathan Kellerman Page 0,49
her to wear Fendi. I mean something that awesome, you don’t just throw it on. Even if you are crashing. You’re…appreciating.”
Her eyes clouded. “Even if she was crashing, she was respecting us, honey. It wouldn’t have even hurt us, one more person, some drinks, guacamole. Right?”
“Right,” said Garrett without conviction.
“Really, honey. What’s the big deal? I’m feeling so, so sorry for her.”
She returned her head to his shoulder.
I said, “When you find time to honeymoon, where you planning on going?”
Baby said, “Some island, maybe the Grand Caymans. My dad told me there’s a beach you can play with stingrays, they’re super sweet.”
Garrett said, “Supposedly.”
“They are, honey. I saw a video, they’re like these big portobello mushrooms and you can hold them and pet them.”
I said, “Sounds fantastic.”
“I think so, too.”
Garrett said, “Long as you stay safe.”
“Don’t worry, silly—and it’s us, not me. You’re going to try it, too.”
No answer.
“Ho-ney.”
Garrett removed his glasses and sighted through them. “Okay.”
She kissed his cheek. “My brave man.”
He recrossed his legs.
I said, “So no plans to go to Europe.”
“That would be awesome, maybe one day,” said Baby. “It’s far and there’s not always sun and I need sun.”
“Ever been there?”
Dual head shakes.
I said, “Paris is pretty great.”
“You get to go to Paris?” said Baby. “On like an international case?”
“Just a vacation.”
“Well, lucky you, Mr. Policeman. Yeah, my mom says the same thing. About Paris. She’s always trying to get my dad to go back, they haven’t been in a long time, he just wants sunny places.”
Garrett allowed himself a half smile. “Hence, the Grand Caymans.”
“I know, hon, I just love it when the sun touches my skin.” Drawing a palm down a sleek arm. “When it first hits you, it’s so—it’s like a big…golden kiss. ’Course you have to wear sunscreen, my dad doesn’t, one day he’s going to get something.”
She gave Garrett’s arm a gentle punch. “You’re going to wear sunscreen, Mr. Forgetful. I don’t want that big brain of yours cooking.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I’ll do it,” said Baby. “I’ll slather you.” Tweaking his chin.
Garrett’s attention to his lap took on renewed intensity.
“Sweetie,” said his wife.
He fidgeted, made a grab for her hand, held it tight.
I said, “I’ve also heard Eastern Europe’s pretty good.”
“No. Never heard that.” Letting go of her hand, he stood and fooled with the placket of his shirt. “Got to wash up.”
“Sure, honey.”
He headed toward the rear of the apartment. Dark hallway, more wrapped gifts.
When he was gone, Baby said, “Washing up means he needs to pee. He’s like that, a real gentleman.”
CHAPTER
18
I drove to Pico, hooked a right, and drove west.
Milo said, “Ol’ Gar tightened up when you mentioned Poland.”
“He did, indeed. Where’d he go to college?”
He checked his notes. “Berkeley.”
“Eight years ago, he would’ve been twenty-one, twenty-two and still enrolled. Maybe they had a Warsaw exchange program.”
He googled. “They have one now—the history department…contours of existence…otherness…Europeanness…Jesus, when did they stop using English? I’ll try to find out if the same deal was going on eight years ago.”
He made a call. “Voicemail, but they’re always switching on and off, some sort of safety thing.”
“Who?”
“Little birdies.” Closing his eyes, he sat back.
A mile later: “How far east, Muslim places? She’s cute but no genius. And I got the feeling ol’ Gar knows it. Think it’ll last?”
“Who knows?”
He laughed. “Another classic evasion from the master. What about her bipolar comment? She was a different person, just now.”
I said, “Everyone tosses out diagnoses with no clue, blame talk shows. What I saw at the wedding was a young woman traumatized by having her dream day blown to bits. The stress level drops, she relaxes.”
“Baby’s really a sweetheart?” he said. “Guess it fits what Tomashev said, her standing up for him in school…okay, another try at the avians. I’ll switch to speaker but don’t let on you’re here.”
A sleepy-sounding male voice that I recognized said, “Yeah.” His unnamed source at Homeland Security. For years he and Milo had been trading info, each of them claiming outstanding debt.
“Sturgis.”
“I can read.”
“I need a—”
“Obviously. What?”
Milo read off Garrett Burdette’s name and birth date.
“What’s he suspected of?”
“Nothing unless he was in Poland eight years ago.”
“Something’s going on there? We haven’t heard that.”
“Nothing political. A murder.”
“You think he did it in Poland eight years ago.”
“He might’ve gotten ideas from a psycho named Skiwski who did it eight