what he was getting. But . . . “Seems to me what y’all are saying is, I’m arrested, tried, and convicted before I get much past ‘howdy.’”
“If the shoe fits,” Bird whispered, making Rigo wonder what kind of no-good sidewinder lay in her past.
Then Doris reached over and laid a hand on Bird’s wrist before turning to Rigo. “Look,” she said, and it seemed like she was struggling to be fair. “I’m sorry to sound judgy. It’s just . . .”
“Just, it might be better not to go knocking on her door,” Bird finished.
Joey said, “Which brings us back to my idea. Tomorrow is the regular meeting of our local writers’ group.”
Rigo shook his head. “I’m grateful for your thinking of me, but I’m no writer.”
“Godiva is,” Joey said.
“Yep.” Rigo snapped his fingers. “I clean forgot, what with the zombies and all else. I’ve read every one of her books! She was always a mighty fine storyteller.”
“As a successful mystery writer,” Joey said, “she has fostered this group pretty much since she moved into this city. So if you come, it will be to a public place, a safe space. That might go a ways toward protecting you both, if you wish to have a conversation.”
Rigo appreciated Joey’s effort to be neutral. “I’m listening.”
“You even know where it is—the back room of the bakery I directed you to this morning.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Rigo leaned back, hands out. “Seems to me that’s about as neutral as a volcano about to erupt. That baker will take one look at me and bring out the double-barreled shotgun. She’s got one laser-glare on her.” He whistled.
Joey flashed a brief, rueful grin. “If you’re with us, she won’t bring out the heavy artillery. You’ll have to listen to people reading, but afterward, people mix as they drink coffee and eat pastries. You could present your case to Godiva in a safely social environment.” Joey added, “I feel I owe you this chance after your help this morning, with the dog whistle solution.”
“That wasn’t much,” Rigo protested. “Doesn’t get us any closer to Long Cang.”
“No, but it does help protect the innocent. So, will you come with us?”
There was only one answer to that, of course. “Sure. I appreciate the invite.” After a brief, awkward silence, Rigo got up and excused himself, saying he had to visit the men’s room.
He went there, but on the way out he stopped at the cash register, paid for everyone’s meal, and then headed out the front door to spare them all any more awkwardness.
He knew where to go, if not what to do. But he had the rest of the day, and what he suspected would be a restless night, to figure it out.
He took his car to a car wash, handing out generous tips to the workers whose faces lit up when they saw his Phantom. They polished it to a shine with loving care. Then he drove back to his motel overlooking the beach and the Pacific Ocean. The rooms were plain, but clean, and each had a little balcony from which he could sit and watch the sun going down. Then he called Alejandro, as promised.
Alejo had to be moving around with the phone right in his pocket, as he answered on the first ring. “Have you found her? Is it her? Did you see her?”
Rigo felt bad at the eagerness in Alejo’s voice. “It’s her,” he said. “But I only saw her for a moment.”
Alejo’s sigh reached across all the cell towers between Kentucky and California. “I can’t believe you found her, after all this time. Is it really her? Didn’t she see you? Did you talk to her?”
“Not yet,” he was forced to say.
“Oh. Okay.”
The drop from eagerness to disappointment in Alejo’s voice made Rigo grimace. “I’ll be seeing her tomorrow night. I’ll call the minute we get a chance to meet up, I promise.”
“Right,” Alejo said. “Damn. After all this time . . . so that mystery writer really is her? The last name wasn’t a coincidence?”
“I still don’t know why she chose to use Hidalgo as her last name, considering the memories she left behind weren’t so hot. But it’s her. I’d know her anywhere.”
“She must not have recognized you,” Alejo said. “She won’t recognize me, that’s for damn sure. Geez, I was a scrawny, zit-faced pencil-neck when I took off.”
“Still are, amigo,” Rigo said, forcing a joking tone, though he felt like his heart had been hammered by a giant hand.