Look For Me (Detective D.D. Warren #9)(68)
“Perfect. Having failed the first time to shoot him, maybe we’ll get lucky and Roxy will try again.”
“What do you think she’s up to?” Phil asked.
“I have no idea. But two key points keep emerging. First, something terrible happened to Roxy and Lola five years ago when they were in foster care. Second, after returning to Brighton, Lola joined a gang, possibly for protection from her and Roxy’s old enemies, but maybe even to go on the offensive and drive one of the perpetrators to kill himself.”
“You think Anya Seton was right about her boyfriend—Roberto didn’t really commit suicide?”
“I don’t like the coincidence of having a quadruple murder now connected to another death four months ago. In my mind, that raises a red flag.”
“I’ll pull the file on Roberto’s death,” Phil assured her. “Give it a look.”
“We need to talk to this lawyer Juanita hired,” D.D. continued, thinking out loud. “Clearly, she’d been running around asking a lot of questions. What had she learned? How many feathers had she ruffled?”
“And did any of it get her killed?” Phil filled in.
“Exactly.”
“I think we should follow up with the community theater director,” Phil said, “who we know is sleeping with at least one of his very young star actresses.”
“Maybe he had a history with Lola, as well,” D.D. agreed.
“Who wouldn’t be just young, but illegal,” Phil pointed out.
“Gotta say, the Baez girls racked up their fair share of baggage during their short lives.” D.D sighed, rubbed her forehead. She was tired from the day, and yet, with a missing teenage girl still out there, possibly in danger, or possibly a danger . . .
“We should take a break,” Phil said now, as if reading her mind. “Get some rest, regroup in the morning. Speaking for myself, I’d certainly like a moment to go home, kiss my wife, and remember the good things in life. You?”
D.D. finally smiled. “You’re right: I’m gonna go home, catch up with my family, and finally meet the Dog.”
? ? ?
SHE TOOK HER TIME DRIVING back to the burbs. After a long day, it was tempting to head straight for her sanctuary. In the old days, when she lived by herself in a North End loft, that had often been the case. But being a married woman now, with a little boy to boot, she’d found it best to transition fully between work and personal life. She needed to let go of the horror of four people gunned down inside their own home so she didn’t walk into her living room seeing the same thing. She needed to cleanse her brain of two kids making their last, terrified stand in the corner of their bedroom before she walked into Jack’s little-boy bedroom and broke down crying.
Anya Seton had implied that Lola was a coldhearted bitch, capable of almost anything. But all D.D. could see was Lola tucking her little brother’s head against her shoulder so he wouldn’t have to know what was going to happen next.
She wondered how much Roxy knew or heard about on the news. D.D. wasn’t convinced anymore that the older girl could’ve murdered her own family. But based on witness statements, Roxy had clearly known that something bad was looming on the horizon. Some kind of threat she’d been working frantically to ward off. Some kind of danger she was still running from now.
Or she was already making the transition straight to revenge.
D.D. wouldn’t sleep much that night. But then, neither would Flora Dane or Roxy Baez. A city of insomniacs. Of people who knew too much, had lost too much, and were still trying to figure out how to carry on.
By the time D.D. pulled into her driveway, she was humming one of Jack’s favorite songs under her breath. “Everything Is Awesome!!!”—the theme song from The LEGO Movie. A catchy tune designed to drive parents insane, especially as five-year-olds could sing it all day long.
But it was also a trick she’d mastered years ago. Recite a passage from one of Jack’s bedtime stories. Sing a lullaby. Review the newest knock-knock joke. Fill her brain with the goofy, silly sweetness that was her son.
And use it to chase the shadows from her head.
She worked the front door locks quietly. Tiptoed in, given the hour. Her gaze immediately darted around the space.
Looking for Dog.
In the end, she’d never looked at the photo on her phone. She’d decided, given her day, the least she deserved was meeting Dog in person.
Alex was lying on his back on the sofa. He smiled as she crept into the family room. Then he lifted a hand and pointed.
There, on Alex’s stomach, sprawled a black-and-white blanket. No, a white, lanky dog covered in a mess of black dots and topped with two big, solid black ears.
The dog lifted its head and regarded D.D. with dark soulful eyes.
“Meet Kiko,” Alex said. “The best spotted dog in all the land.”
D.D., falling to his side, agreed.
? ? ?
“SHE CAME HOME WITH A giant hippo—apparently her favorite toy,” Alex explained thirty minutes later as they stood in the backyard and tried to coax Kiko into doing her business. “She’s a Dalmatian–slash–German shorthaired pointer mix. One year old. Very high energy, but smart. Highly trainable, as they put it. Unfortunately, her first family didn’t have enough time to put into exercising and training her.”