less than a quarter of an hour later, though, his leg stopped bouncing. His head came up. He finished the brownie, chasing it with a few swallows of coffee.
“Sandwich?”
Auggie nodded. Then, with a washed-out smile, he said, “Not the peanut-butter-and-onion, unless you’re trying to punish me.”
Theo ordered two of the tuna sandwiches, which came on croissants, and which were accompanied by kettle-cooked potato chips. By the time they’d finished eating, some of the color had come back into Auggie’s face.
“Thanks,” Auggie said.
Theo shrugged. “Headaches are tricky, and concussions only make things more complicated, but no food or drink will always make them worse.”
Auggie stirred his coffee. He spoke without looking up, but his voice was firm. “What’s the most likely reason someone took a shot at Nia? You told Detective Somerset several possible reasons, but I want to know what you think is the real one.”
“I don’t know about real, but the most likely is that she knew something.”
Auggie nodded. “That’s what I think too.”
“But that doesn’t mean—”
“It means I’m still a target, and so are you Theo. I’m not trying to be stubborn. I wish I could say I was doing this to help Orlando. I wish I could say I was doing it because I cared about justice, or because it was the right thing. But I think we have to keep going, or whoever did this is going to come after us.”
Theo worked his jaw. His throat was dry. “I won’t let anything happen to you again.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” Auggie offered a tiny, wry smile. “Let’s go back to the beginning. Why would someone kill Cal Reese?”
“Drugs.”
“Lender told us it wasn’t drugs.”
“And you believe that psycho?”
“He hasn’t lied to us. Not . . . not really. He’s always been clear about what he wanted. Even if he didn’t tell us why he wanted it, we knew what his goals were. He didn’t get upset when we started looking into Cal’s death. He got upset when we messed with one of his dealers.”
“So you do believe him.”
“I think, as far as it matters, we should assume he was telling the truth. Honestly, if it was drugs, I don’t even know where to start. The White Rabbit? Jesus. Let’s leave that to one side for a moment.”
“Ok.” Theo drummed on the table. “The most common motive is money. Or jealousy.”
“Jealousy?”
“I didn’t want to say anything, but I guess we should talk about it. Hasn’t Orlando’s behavior seemed strange to you?”
Auggie dropped the coffee stirrer. His gaze came up, and he locked eyes with Theo. “Orlando did not do this.”
Theo put both hands flat on the table. He studied the particleboard between his fingers.
“He didn’t.” Auggie’s voice rose. “He did not, Theo.”
“This is why I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re damn right we’re not going to talk about it.” He raked fingers through his hair. “Money. Fine, let’s think about money. Who might have wanted money from Cal?”
“Ignoring the problem won’t make it go away.”
“Don’t you dare do that. Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m a fucking kid.”
Theo let out a slow breath, but he couldn’t stop himself from balling his fists.
“That’s your strategy whenever you don’t like what I think.” Auggie was breathing rapidly, and the only color in his face came from red blotches. “You throw that in my face because you can’t find a way to argue with me legitimately.”
“When you act like a kid,” Theo said deliberately, “I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But that’s not what I was trying to say.” He gritted his teeth, but the next part escaped him, and he looked up. “And you’ve got your own strategy too, Auggie. Whenever I say something you don’t like, whenever my opinion is different from yours, whenever I skate within a mile of sounding like I’m passing judgement, you scream your head off about how I treat you like a kid. How the hell is that fair? It’s not my fault we’re different ages. It’s not my fault I have different ways of thinking about things. Some of that’s just personality, but some of it’s the fact that I’m ten years older than you, and I’ve grown out of—”
“Fuck you.” Auggie wiped his eyes. “And I’m not crying; my eyes are watering because my head hurts.”
The girl was playing with the sound system, the music skipping from track to track. What was the right style of music for a public argument with a much younger man you had