“What are those two detectives doing?” she spat. “Probably out at donut shops or diners, flirting with the waitresses.”
“They’re both married, Amy. Happily,” I told her.
“So? Men who look like those two do? They probably step out on them.”
Boy, she did not know Hank and Eddie.
“You know, I’ve kept in touch with them,” I thought it safe to share. “And they have not lost interest in Diane’s case. They just need to, you know, track down one of the suspects so they can interview him. The thing is, frustratingly but not surprisingly, he’s not feeling like being found.”
“Well, get this,” she demanded. “Lieutenant Nightingale has a brother who’s a private investigator and from his listing on Yelp, he’s really good at it. I bet Hank Nightingale will light a fire under himself if I hire his brother to do his job for him.”
Hmm . . .
I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
“How about you let him do what he’s got to do without interference?” I suggested.
“I want the man who hurt my daughter to pay, Rebel,” she clipped.
I shut my mouth.
“I want my husband to have closure, so he can . . . whatever it is he needs to do,” she went on.
I said nothing.
“I lost her, now I’m losing him and I’m barely surviving losing her. How will I survive if I lose him?”
I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. “You’re not gonna lose him, Amy.”
Lying again.
Maybe.
Totally going straight to hell.
Amy pulled her hand from mine, looked away, took in a breath, and I prepared for it.
Then I got it.
“I miss her,” she told the wall. “I miss those stupid volleyball games. I miss standing at the finish line in the freezing cold after she’s run some race to raise money for fibromyalgia or breast cancer or whatever then taking her to brunch. I miss her trying to convince me we’d be the perfect team for Amazing Race and scheming how to make the best video so they’d take us.”
She looked back at me and I had to press my lips together at the stark longing in her eyes.
“I miss my baby girl. I miss her, Rebel. I miss her,” she whispered.
I reached out again, took hold of her and whispered back, “I miss her too, Amy.”
Her voice was broken when she announced, “I can’t do this without him.”
It was time to jot a chat with Paul down on my list of things to do.
I’d have to catch him sober.
Or close to it.
Shit.
“How about I find a time to talk to him?”
She brightened.
Oh yeah.
Lunch at Amy and Paul’s had not been a good idea.
Shit.
“He doesn’t listen to me. He barely looks at me. But I think he’d listen to you,” she said.
I wasn’t so sure.
But for her, for Paul, and for Diane, I’d try.
“Maybe breakfast, Sunday?” I suggested. “You guys can come over, you step out, we’ll talk.”
She nodded. “I think . . . yes. No time wasted. Too much time has already been wasted.”
She was right.
I still feared this would be a waste of time.
But for her, for Paul, and for Diane, I’d try.
“Okay. We have a plan. Now let’s just eat these amazing-looking paninis and then I have to get back to work.”
She drew in a ragged breath and forced some curiosity into her, “Work?”
“A little video. It’s kinda confidential,” I lied. “But it’s fun.” Another lie (mostly).
Her face fell.
She wanted her mind turned.
“But I met a guy.”
She brightened again.
God.
Why did I tell her I’d met a guy?
“Really?” she asked, genuinely interested.
Damn.
“Yeah. He’s . . .” I smiled at her (that was genuine too). “He’s really cool, Amy.”
“Yes?”
I smiled bigger at her and leaned her way. “And he’s a really good kisser.”
And for once, that was the truth.
Though it wasn’t the truth, it was the truth.
Rush Allen could kiss.
And he could take a tease.
And he could listen, be gentle, be firm without being a dick, and he didn’t run a mile when Essence told him her Woodstock orgy story.
The kiss was the best.
But the Essence thing said a lot.
Amy giggled a little, it wasn’t much, but I’d take it.
We chatted minimally about Rush.
We avoided chatting about why Paul was not at work or the fact he had not returned to his panini.
And we ate our paninis chatting more about Essence and Diesel, Molly and Maddox’s commitment ceremony, what dress I’d wear to their festivities and then what kind of dress I’d wear when I was nominated for an