Nothing to Lose (J.P. Beaumont #25)(59)

“That’s my assessment, too.”

“What about Danitza?” Mel asked. “Have you called to let her know what’s going on?”

“Not so far.”

“Maybe you should. She’s an RN, right?”

“Correct.”

“Just by seeing Roger in person, she might be able assess what’s going on with him from a medical standpoint. And as his daughter she might be able to override Shelley’s veto of medical intervention. Besides . . .”

Mel’s voice faded away for a moment.

“Besides what?” I asked.

“The sudden weight loss you described sounds similar to what happened to my dad. According to his wife, he’d been trying to shed pounds unsuccessfully for years, so initially he was really happy about losing weight. By the time he went to see a doctor who finally figured out what was really happening, he was already in acute kidney failure. By then it was too late for him and for me, too. I’ve always regretted that I didn’t try to patch things up with him while I still could.”

Since this was Mel speaking, I knew I was hearing the voice of bitter experience.

“You’re probably right about my bringing Danitza into the picture,” I agreed. “Once I can give her a final answer about whatever happened to Chris, I’ll let her know about what’s going on with her father.”

The sound of an arriving text pinged on my phone, and the notification in the corner said it was from Todd.

“Hold on a sec,” I told Mel. “Todd just sent me a text.” When the text was open, I read his short message aloud. “‘No U.S. passports ever issued under the name Christopher Anthony Danielson.’”

Once I finished reading it aloud, Mel and I remained silent for a moment while we both considered the message’s implications.

“So even with that ten-thousand-dollar bribe in his pocket, you don’t believe Chris ever made it out of the state alive,” Mel concluded finally.

“Correct, “ I agreed, “which makes it all the more likely that the skeletal remains in Harriet Raines’s lab are his and nobody else’s.”

“Have you heard anything from Gretchen at the crime lab about Jared’s DNA profile?”

“Not so far, and I don’t really expect to,” I replied. “After all the uproar over the lab’s mishandling of evidence in the Mateo Vega case, I’m sure she’s going a hundred percent by the book—crossing all the t’s and dotting all the i’s. Once Gretchen has the profile in hand, it’ll go straight to Professor Raines, but Harriet strikes me as a straight shooter. As soon as she has the information, she’ll forward it to the Alaska State Troopers, but I’m betting she’ll let me know, too.”

“Still,” Mel said, “the instant the remains come back to Chris, you’ll be booted off the case. What’ll you do then?”

“Come home,” I said. “Alaska’s a beautiful place, if you like snow, but I wouldn’t want to live here, at least not in the winter.”

“That makes two of us,” Mel said with a laugh, “so what are you and Twink doing for dinner?”

“I’m on my own.”

“How come?”

“She’s not staying here. The rooms are all nonsmoking. There’s a breakfast room here at the hotel, but no real restaurant. The girl at the desk said there’s a steak house across the street. I’ll probably grab a bite there before I hit the hay.”

We talked for a while after that, exchanging meaningless pleasantries the way married people do. It wasn’t so much about what was being said as it was that we were chatting. The truth is, I’ve become something of a homebody of late, and I would much rather have been home in Bellingham and in front of the fireplace with Mel and Sarah that cold winter’s night instead of hanging out on my own at the Driftwood Inn in Homer, Alaska.

When the phone call ended, I turned on the TV set briefly, but there wasn’t anything scheduled that I found remotely interesting. By then it was almost eight. Those Ziggy Specials were now a long way in the rearview mirror. I got dressed, bundled up, and made my way across the street to AJ’s OldTown Steakhouse & Tavern. If you’re looking for white linen tablecloths and crystal glassware, AJ’s isn’t the place for you, but it worked for me. I ordered a ginger ale, a house salad, and a small plate of what the menu referred to as “drunken clams drowning in a white wine, garlic, butter sauce.” As long as the clams were the ones swilling down the white wine and I wasn’t, we were good to go.

I was done with dinner and considering my dessert options when my phone rang.

“Hey, Todd,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“I’ve been working the Shelley Loveday Adams problem, and I just hit on something interesting.”

Todd sounded excited enough that it piqued my curiosity. “What?” I asked.

“On April seventh, 2006, Shelley Loveday was involved in a minor traffic incident in Las Vegas, Nevada. There was evidently a big pileup on the Strip. The accident probably wasn’t her fault, but she rear-ended somebody and came away with a DUI conviction. It was a first offense. She probably could have taken a safe-driving course and had the citation removed from her record. Instead she let it ride, and that’s why I was able to find it.”