The 17th Suspect (Women's Murder Club #17)(67)

But tonight, a Thursday, Susie’s was only half filled. There were a dozen locals at the long bar, the vacant barstools like missing teeth in an otherwise broad smile, and there was a smattering of diners in the main room. And no drums.

I waved at Lorraine and took the short walk down the corridor past the take-out window to the back room. I was last to arrive at our table.

Cindy stood up to let me into the booth, putting a steadying hand around my arm as I edged in, asking me if I was okay.

“I need a drink,” I said.

“Hear, hear,” said Claire. Her hand was in the air, and Lorraine materialized with a glass for me and a refill on the pitcher of brew.

“What’d I miss?” I asked the girls.

Claire said, “I was just talking about my little one.”

“Keep talking,” I said. Ruby Rose was four, a child with a big personality.

“We were at Target,” Claire said. “I am looking for new soft-tread shoes, and Rosie is right next to me. Then she’s not. I start screaming, ‘Rosie, Rosie, Rosie!’ I’m picturing the posters on the telephone poles, and I am well on my way to pure freaking panic.

“Then, there she is. I see her one aisle over. Rosie has seen a dress she just has to have. She has pulled off aaaall her clothes in the middle of the store except for panties that say ‘Momma’s Girl.’”

“There’s a big relief,” I said, feeling it. Julie is younger than Rosie, but she has shown potential to live up to a frightening public display like that one.

Claire went on.

“I say, ‘Rosie, no. You can’t get naked in public.’

“She says, ‘God likes naked kids.’ I say, ‘Please, Rosie. Put your clothes on, please.’

“She says, loud. so everyone in the whole store can hear, ‘Mom, how many times do I have to tell you. I hate it when you beg.’”

Yuki’s infectious peal of laughter carried across the back room, and we all were swept up in it when Lorraine appeared and said, “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re about to run out of shrimp.”

When our orders were on the way to the kitchen, I said to Yuki, “Spill, girlfriend. Last I heard, the DA dropped the charges against Briana Hill.”

She said, “That’s correct. And for the cherry on top, the Ad Shop is giving Briana her old job back.”

A chorus of “Yahoo”s and “Thank God”s rose up around the table, and Yuki said, “I’ll drink to that.”

We all did. And then Claire turned to me and asked, “How’re you doing, Linds? What did the doctor say?”

“Nothing just yet. Dr. Arpino gave me a hell of a workup this morning. Pulled a whole lot of blood. So now we’re waiting for test results. I’m scared, guys. I have to admit it. I’m afraid it could be aplastic anemia.”

“But you kicked it,” Cindy said. “Didn’t you?”

I’d had aplastic anemia years before I married Joe, years before Julie. Back then, when I was diagnosed with that wretched and often fatal disease, I actually put my gun into my mouth before common sense and survival instinct pulled me back.

I had so much more to live for now.

I said, “Even if the symptoms disappear, it can come back. I haven’t told Joe what’s freaking me out. He thinks I’m just working too hard. I don’t want to scare him unless I’m sure. I don’t want to break his heart.”

Yuki had grabbed a paper napkin and was weeping into it.

“I’m sorry,” she blubbered. “Take the booze away from me.”

Cindy put an arm around Yuki and drained her glass. She said to me, “You’re not scared alone, Lindsay. We’re all here.”

Claire added, “Call us as soon as you hear.”

I promised.

Yuki said, “Tell Joe. You have to tell him. He needs to go through this with you, and you need him, too.”

“Group hug,” I said.

We all stood up awkwardly in our booth and hugged across the table. I hoped this love and friendship would steady me until I saw Dr. Arpino again.





CHAPTER 99


THE NEXT DAY, early in the morning, I drove up Lake Street to Twelfth, but instead of heading to the Hall, I took a right onto Tenth, turned again onto California Street, and kept going.

Dr. Arpino’s office was on a tidy block of houses on Broderick Street, many of which doubled as doctor’s offices. I didn’t have to check the house numbers. I knew the place—a gray-shingled Victorian with dormers and white trim and a mailbox painted with flowers.

I stopped the car at the curb and sat there with the motor running. I thought about how when I’d gotten home last night, Joe had been almost glowing with good news.

“I got the job, Blondie.”

“And it’s the job you want?” I asked him.

“Turns out that dick Benjamin Rollins and I have some friends in common.”

“Wow. No kidding, Joe. This is amazing.”

I’d hugged and kissed him, thinking this new job had come through at just the right time. If the worst happened—the stuff of my nightmares—the Molinari family would have one income, anyway. And probably a good one.

I was due in Doc Arpino’s office in ten minutes, and he was usually on time. I turned on the radio to Jazz 91 and listened to something by the late, great Miles Davis. While “Blue in Green” carried the seconds along, I took out my phone and checked my incoming mail.