napkin and some cookies, and placed them on the table. “I baked them on Saturday. I think they might still be fresh. Or close.”
“A barista and a baker? You sure you don’t want to open your own café?” he teased her again.
“Not if I don’t have to.” She smiled and took a seat across from him.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” Pedone finally got to the point.
“I have new neighbors moving in across the street.” Colleen was fidgeting with her spoon. “They have two children. A son and daughter. The son is twelve, and the daughter is a little younger than Jackson.”
“Well, that should be a good thing for him. Having other kids on the block, right?”
“Here’s the thing.” Colleen went straight to the heart of the matter. “The kid was in trouble. He stole a motorcycle or moped or something. They knocked it down to shoplifting and sent him to a facility where he would be scared straight.”
“I’m familiar with the program. Surprisingly, if you get the kid at the right age, and he’s essentially not a bad kid, that often works. After a year of probation, we rarely see them again.” Pedone took a sip of his coffee. “This is good.”
“Thanks,” Colleen said, and continued, “Is there any way to know if he is a good kid who had a lapse in judgment? I know the records are sealed and all.” Her voice drifted off.
“That’s true.” He looked up at her and realized she was concerned about it. “But that doesn’t mean people can’t remember what happened.”
“I’m not following you.” And she wasn’t.
“Let’s just say someone has a conversation with someone who is familiar with the incident. There is no law saying that you can’t speak about it. You simply cannot have access to the legal documents; therefore, the information cannot be used against the person in any way, such as keeping the person from employment et cetera.”
Colleen gave him a sideways look. “Interesting. That makes sense because the real-estate agent had no problem telling me.”
“Exactly.” Pedone helped himself to a cookie. He took a bite. “I can attest that these are still fresh. And delicious.”
Colleen thought she might be blushing and got up to fix another cup of coffee. “Are you ready for a refill?” she asked over her shoulder.
“If you don’t mind, that would be great. Thank you.”
“Would it make you feel better if I ask around? See if anyone has any recollection? Obviously, I can’t access his jacket.”
“Jacket?”
“Police lingo for a file on someone who has a record.”
“Aha.” Colleen ran her wrists under cold water. “If you wouldn’t mind, and if it doesn’t get you into any trouble, I would appreciate it immensely.”
“Let me see what I can ferret out for you. I know you’ve been through a lot and have a rocky road ahead of you. You don’t need to be worrying about something else. You have his name?”
“Yes, it’s Randy Gaynor. I don’t know if it’s Randolph or not.”
“The name Randolph would be enough to put anyone in a bad mood,” Pedone joked.
Colleen laughed at his joke. “Oh, I cannot thank you enough. You are so right. I’m trying to keep it together for Jackson’s sake, and I almost unraveled the other day when the real-estate agent told me about the kid.”
Pedone initially resisted the temptation to take her hand, and he was delighted when she touched his. “You have no idea how grateful I am.”
“I haven’t done anything yet,” Pedone said, leaving his hand under hers.
“You have done more than you think.” Colleen realized that she had kept her hand on top of his for a tad longer than she probably should have and pulled it away. “Really. The night of the incident, the Taser, and your kindness.” She started to get choked up. “It has meant a lot to me.” As hard as she tried, she could not stop the tears from running down her face.
Pedone picked up his napkin and handed it to her. As much as he wanted to wipe her tears away, he thought that might be just a little too personal.
“Thanks.” She sniffled. Then she let out a big sigh and dabbed her face.
“Any time,” Pedone said. He was getting a little uncomfortable. His first reaction would have been to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be OK, but he couldn’t. It would be unprofessional, and how did he know if things really would be OK?
He finished his coffee and decided