The Night Bird (Frost Easton #1)(18)

Frankie didn’t say anything. She sipped her wine and studied her sister’s face. Pam was hiding something, but that didn’t narrow it down. She always kept secrets. She always lied. The only thing she was ever honest about was her bitter resentment of her older sister’s success.

“You didn’t go, did you?” Frankie said.

Pam sipped her martini. “No.”

“For God’s sake, Pam.”

“What? I’m not broke anymore. I’ll find a job when I am.”

“That won’t take long if you keep coming home with Nordstrom bags. Do you know the strings I pulled to get you that interview?”

“Yes, thank you for taking pity on me,” Pam snapped.

“I’m done with you. That’s it.”

“I’d like to think so, but you’re never done, Frankie. Just like Dad was never done.”

“I mean, you’re on your own,” Frankie told her.

“What, do you want me to move out of your apartment? Get my own place?”

“Is that what you want?”

Pam’s face was ice. “No.”

“Yes, a penthouse condo rent-free is pretty nice.”

“You want me to pay rent, Frankie? I’ll pay rent.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Frankie shot back.

It happened this way over and over. They couldn’t be alone without arguing. Jason was the peacekeeper between them. Without him around, the two sisters took out their knives and aimed for each other’s throats. Frankie hated it, and she knew she was just as much to blame as Pam. She’d hoped it would be different with their father gone, but they’d fallen right back into their dysfunctional routine after the accident.

Frankie let the silence drag out. Then she asked, more softly, “Pam, are you clean?”

“Excuse me?”

“Cocaine,” Frankie said.

“Wow, you were done interfering for a full five seconds. That’s a new record, even for you.”

“I just want to know. When you’ve had money before, most of it went up your nose. That’s the truth, Pam, whether you like it or not.”

Her sister looked around to see if anyone was listening. She leaned across the table. “I go to meetings. You send Jason as my watchdog, remember? Don’t worry, Frankie, I get my dose of humiliation every week.”

“The meetings aren’t intended to humiliate you. They’re to keep you alive.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to go to them, do you? Be a good girl and stand up in front of the losers and tell them that I’m an even bigger loser. I’m sorry we can’t all be world-class physicists and psychiatrists and neuroscientists. Some of us are just human beings.”

Pam waved her hand, which collided with her martini glass and spilled her drink across the table. Pam swore and stood up to flag Virgil to get another. Frankie sopped up the puddle from the table with a wad of napkins. She was always cleaning up Pam’s messes.

Ping.

Another e-mail. She grabbed her phone to read the message. It was the same sender: I see you.



Frankie’s head snapped up. Zingari was packed with customers shoulder to shoulder. Light was low, and she struggled to see the faces. Her eyes shot from person to person, looking for someone in the crowd who was looking back at her. Someone she knew.

There was no one. She realized that her hand was trembling, and she could barely hold her phone.

Across the table, Pam sat down again, her face tight with anger. She wouldn’t look at Frankie.

“I’m sorry,” Frankie murmured.

Pam said nothing.

“Really, I mean it, Pam. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to run your life. I know sometimes I act like I do.”

“You’re just like Dad,” Pam retorted, knowing it was a low blow.

Frankie held her tongue, despite the temptation to start the argument all over again. “Okay, you’re right, Dad was always on your case, and I don’t want to be like that. He drove me crazy, too, just not in the same way. He was difficult.”

“Difficult?” Pam said, as if the word didn’t begin to describe him. Which was true.

“The thing is, Dad and I made some progress when we were at Point Reyes. Before the accident.”

“How nice for you, but you didn’t want me there, remember? You said all I’d do is get in the way.”

Frankie hesitated. “Of course. I just mean—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It is what it is.”

Virgil leaned between them. His smirk, as always, was plastered on his face. He knew they were arguing. It wasn’t the first time. He’d seen worse in the year they’d been coming here. The server carried a glass of pinot noir in his hand, and Pam frowned when she saw it.

“I wanted another martini, V.”

“Don’t worry, Bellini number two is on the way,” he told Pam. “This drink is for Frankie. Courtesy of a gentleman at the bar.”

Frankie looked up. I see you.

“Who?” she asked. Customers lined up three deep at the bar, and she couldn’t pick out any familiar faces.

“Slicked-back brown hair. Beard. Very tasty.”

Frankie studied the faces again, and this time, she spotted a man staring back at her. Virgil was right. He was attractive. He was younger than she was, but he had a weak-in-the-knees smile that was like a secret weapon. His bearded chin was squared, and his nose made a sharp V, with a pronounced ridge above his lip. He was smart, too. She could always see intelligence in the eyes.