other when they’d argue and Nick recalled it as being cute. Petty. But cute.
“OK, Detective. If it’s that important, I’ll see you at eleven,” he finally said. Hargrave did not answer and simply hung up.
Chapter 15
Elsa met him at the door. Always vigilant when her Carly was away, she had watched for the sweep of headlights coming into the drive. Nick checked his sleeping daughter and then got out and opened the back door. He slipped his hand under Carl’s legs and as he lifted her from the seat she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and lay her head on his shoulder, her eyes still shut. He carried her in as Elsa held open the door: “Aaayyy, pobrecita, esta cansada,” Elsa. said.
In Carly’s bedroom, the covers were already turned down. Nick laid her in her bed, took off her shoes and watched her scrunch her body into the pillows and heard her exhale contentedly. He bent to kiss her forehead, then turned out the dimmed lamp and started to leave.
“Good night, Daddy.”
Nick turned back.
“Faker,” he whispered and knew her smile was there in the dark. “Thanks for going with me.”
“You’re welcome.”
In the hall, he asked Elsa to make him some coffee and then went out to empty the car. It was ten o’clock when he sat alone at the kitchen table and ate the salteñas from the cooler and sipped his coffee. Why did Hargrave want to meet with him in a seaside bar, of all places? Not in his office. Not with Joel riding shotgun. He had been rolling the possibilities in his head since the detective had hung up and wasn’t any closer to a solid guess. It was well out of character for the guy, and Nick kept running the conference-table scene through his head, trying to pick out who in that room had gotten the worst of Hargrave’s skepticism and distrust, and decided it hadn’t been him.
“You are OK, Mr. Mullins?” Elsa said, breaking the silence with her quiet voice.
“Huh? Oh, yes, yes, Elsa. I’m fine,” Nick said, shaking his head back into the present. “We had a good day. But I have to go out again.”
The housekeeper pointedly looked up at the kitchen clock.
“I’ll lock up when I leave.”
Elsa did not bother hiding her worried brow.
“It’s OK, Elsa,” Nick said. “I’m OK.”
“You are going to talk to Ms. Julie and Lindisita?”
Nick had once confided in Elsa, told her of his night trips to the cemetery. He guessed that her heritage, her acceptance of the souls and ghosts of the dead, led her to be wary, but not overtly concerned. She wasn’t going to call the loony bin to come take him away.
“You will be home to take Carlita to church, yes?”
Sunday was the one day of the week that Elsa spent with her own family since the accident. Her grown daughter and now teenage grandsons would be expecting her. She’d given so much to Nick, he would never deny her that. But he was also feeling an apprehension in the old woman’s eyes. His late nights before the accident. The heavy drinking she had witnessed afterward.
“Yes, Elsa,” Nick said. “I will be back.”
Nick let the valet park his old Volvo because it was the only way at JB’s. Nobody in South Florida puts a parking lot on the waterfront, so restaurants and bars were forced to purchase alternative spots for their clientele, and they sure weren’t giving it out for free.
Nick took the stub, walked into the restaurant foyer and immediately wished he’d taken a shower and shaved. JB’s was an upscale place and the late diners looked wealthy and hip. A scruffy-looking guy in blue jeans and a polo shirt didn’t get so much as a look from the maître d’. That was OK by Nick. He figured Hargrave for the outdoor bar and walked right on by the WAIT TO BE SEATED sign and worked his way back. As he stepped out through the glass doors, the live, the slightly sour scent of the ocean washed up into his face and although the smell of low tide was pleasant enough to Nick, he wondered how the to-be-seen people could dine with the odor washing over their food on the humid breeze. He moved toward the bar and let his eyes go first to the corners, where he knew a cop like Hargrave would have his back against a wall. He found him there, sitting on a stool, his thin back straight