To Catch a Killer(51)

“Chuck only says that because he got stuck here in a Podunk police unit.” Victor sits back and sips his coffee. He waves his cup at Rachel for emphasis. “You remember, back in the day, he and I were going to go to the FBI together.”

There’s a clunk under the table.

“Ow.” Victor casts a wary look at Rachel.

“Sorry,” she mutters. But I know the exact meaning of her pinched expression and the quick side-eye motion she makes in my direction.

She doesn’t want Victor talking about all this in front of me.

The adults veer off into talking about less exciting memories of the past. To make them more comfortable, I slip my headphones on and listen to some music until lunch is over.

More sightseeing follows lunch, this time a drive to the beach. On the way we pass the turnoff to the old cannery where Journey lives. Victor mentions the legends of the old place and gets another side-eye from Rachel. Poor guy. Everything he wants to talk about is on Rachel’s off-limits list.

We end the day with dinner at home. Rachel’s cooking another family favorite, enchiladas with green sauce, and I’m making a salad. She urges me to invite Spam and Lysa to join us, but I tell her they already have plans. I didn’t actually check with them, though. It’s not that I don’t want to see my best friends, it’s that I’m missing Journey. I want the freedom to think about him with no distractions.

I used to only think about Journey when I was at school. My weekends were pretty much Journey-free. But suddenly, having to go two whole days without seeing him is making me itchy. I don’t know why, but while I’m slicing vegetables for the salad I’m remembering how he chews his fingernails. As I set the table, I’m picturing him slam-dunking his trash. Journey never just throws something away; it’s always a slam dunk. I don’t even want to get started thinking about his eyes, or how popular he is.

It’s only Saturday. How will I survive Sunday?

*

Sunday morning starts early with a whole new household sound track—the thup, thup, whang of a basketball warm-up in our driveway. But it’s the smell of bacon that ultimately draws me downstairs. This also brings Victor in from his morning workout.

Maybe it’s my imagination, but Rachel seems different since Victor’s arrival. She’s actually humming while she cooks, and I can’t remember Rachel ever humming while doing anything. As I set the table, Victor keeps the conversation flowing with jokes and stories about their past. I bask in his uplifting energy. He’s the breath of fresh air this family has needed.

When we’re done eating, Rachel packs up for the office. She says she’s hoping she won’t have to work a double shift. I take over kitchen cleanup and Victor pitches in to help. Just as we finish, Spam shows up at the back door.

“I’m going on a delivery for my dad and I thought you’d like to ride with me,” she says.

I shrug. I didn’t have any other plans for today. “Okay.”

Once we’re in her car and she’s backing out of the driveway, her plan unfolds a little further. “I’ve been thinking about your potential dads.”

“And?” I approach this conversation with caution.

“I think we should check them out,” she says.

“Check them out how?”

“Go by their houses. Snoop. Spy. Get a look at them.”

“I see where this is going. You just want to see them, to see if you can match up some puzzle piece of their face with mine.”

“No,” she says. “Not exactly. I thought maybe we could crack their phone records, too.”

I give her an exaggerated side-eye. “Let’s do your dad’s delivery first and then we’ll see.”

Spam’s delivery happens to be to an office building in the older, historic part of town, which is always under construction these days. We’ve been silent for most of the drive but I know this doesn’t mean she’s given up on wanting to check out my P-dads. P for potential. I’ve decided that’s what I’m going to call them in my head, although there’s not much potential left now that Miss P is gone.

Spam and Lysa are my best friends but I’m not sure I want them involved with my P-dad investigation. Is that weird? It’s like this is too personal or something. The only one I ever really trusted with all of this was Miss P. Hey, Miss P … for potential. Or not, as it happens to be now.

I picture her, circling the lab, hands raised over her head to draw our attention. “Remember this, people,” she would say. “Life always finds a way.”

One of the P-dads could be part of my life. I can’t give up finding out for sure just because she’s gone. She definitely wouldn’t want that. But I have to set those questions aside. For now, my first priority is to figure out who killed her.

“Crap!” Spam slams her hand on the steering wheel.

“What?”

“The street’s blocked. We can’t get through.”

I pull myself out of my daydreams and see what she’s saying. There are cones and barricades keeping both people and traffic away from a large, crumbling old hotel on the corner and all the buildings on the street beyond it.

“Looks like they’re tearing down the hotel.”

“Well, goody for them,” Spam says. “But I have to get to the other end of this block and this is the only access.”