Before She Disappeared(81)

“Where?”

“Outside the Samdi house, when I was being shot at.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the scenery. I was hightailing it down a sidewalk trying to save my sorry ass. But for a moment, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him across the street.”

“In other words, where the shot was fired from.” Lotham sounds beyond pissed off. I’m not exactly sure why, given I was the one who’d been the target.

“It’s possible,” I allow.

“I’m gonna send techs back to the scene. Have uniforms perform a fresh canvass.”

“Nobody’s gonna say a thing. Especially if it’s some mysterious scary older brother.”

Lotham shakes his head. His mouth is set in a grim line. “You’re here tonight?” He gestures to Stoney’s.

“Till midnight.”

“I don’t want you out by yourself. You need to attend a meeting, call me. If I can’t come, I’ll send a patrol car.”

“To drive me to AA? Wow, talk about making a statement.”

“Frankie . . .”

But I’ve had enough. There’s only so much of this kind of male fretting I can take. I have been on my own for a long time. And I’m not an idiot.

“I’m gonna go to work,” I inform him. “Then, given the day, I’ll probably retreat upstairs to my studio apartment and incredibly hostile roommate. Forget a guard dog. I dare any evildoer to take on Piper. That cat bites first, asks questions later.”

“Call me when you’re done with work,” Lotham orders.

“You call me.” Now I am being a bitch, but I don’t care.

“If that’s what you prefer.”

“And what will you be doing this evening?”

“Running down financial accounts for Tamara Levesque and a family tree for Livia Samdi.”

“Do you think you might need an attack cat?”

“I’m a police detective, for the love of God—”

“And I’m a woman who’s lived in more scary neighborhoods than you’ll ever get to visit. We both have our skills.”

“Frankie—”

“Lotham.”

“I wish I understood you.”

“Detectives like puzzles. Which means the moment you figure me out . . .”

“I’m not as shallow as you seem to think.”

“And I’m not so complicated. I’m here to find a missing teen, which is now two missing teens. This is what I do. I am experienced, and I have handled situations like this before. These kinds of cases . . .” I shrug. “They always involve secrets and there’s generally at least one person willing to kill to keep those secrets safe.”

“Do you carry a gun?”

“I have a whistle. A very loud whistle. Though if it helps, Stoney has a baseball bat behind the bar.”

“Take it upstairs with you tonight.”

“Fine.” I glance at my watch. Three thirty. “I gotta go.” I pop open the door, climb out onto the sidewalk.

“Frankie,” Lotham calls from the driver’s seat. “Be careful, okay? Just, be careful.”

“Back at you.”

I shut the car door and head to work.





CHAPTER 28




Stoney is not happy with my late arrival.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say.

He gives me a look. The look. No one likes that look.

I don’t provide an explanation or an excuse. I already know it doesn’t matter. Instead, I do the best damage control I can: I get to work, and I work fast. Thirty minutes later, when the front doors open and the first wave of locals arrive, I’m already pouring spicy cocktail peanuts and pulling beers. Today, I get a few nods in recognition. Not words yet, but physical acknowledgment that I’m still here. I’ll take it.

The night busies up. Which is all well and good in my world. I don’t want or need the constant buzz of too many thoughts in my head.

Nine p.m., the first break arrives. I head back to the kitchen long enough to request a garden salad from Viv. She looks me up and down.

“You’re not getting laid.”

“Sorry.”

“Whatdya waiting for? No man’s gonna be better looking.”

“Don’t tell your husband that.”

A snicker. “Enjoy your salad. But live a little, too. Life’s too damn short, or haven’t you heard?”

More food deliveries to various tables, more pitchers of rum punch. Then I get fifteen minutes to inhale salad. “Love it,” I inform Viv. “Thank you very much. Have I mentioned that I stole your eggs and fries?”

“Not my eggs and fries.”

“I stole Stoney’s eggs and fries.”

“Better work hard, then. He’s fussy like that.”

I take that to heart, turning into a whirling dervish of hospitality. Tables served, drinks delivered, smiles extended. I’m like the Wonder Woman of food and beverage. By eleven, when things have settled and we’re down to the die-hards, Stoney says: “Easy now. You’re starting to freak me out.”

“I really am sorry.”