The Birthday List(21)

I took a drink of my water to hide my grin. She remembered my lecture from two weeks ago, and from the sounds of it, she’d been following my instructions. Setting down my glass, I leaned forward on the table. As much as I would have just loved to visit with Poppy, I needed some information before I went back to the station.

“So, before our lunch gets here, I have to know. What are you doing meeting with Simmons?”

She sighed and fidgeted with the discarded paper from her straw. “I’ve been coming in once a month ever since Jamie was killed to see if he’s found out anything on the case. He never has information, but I just don’t want him to forget that Jamie’s killer is still out there.”

Fuck.

She was hoping for something she’d probably never get. A five-year-old case without new evidence and Simmons as the lead? Her husband’s killer was probably long gone.

Fucking Simmons.

“I’m actually surprised I haven’t seen you before,” she said before I could think of what to say.

I shrugged. “I don’t love the office and avoid it when I can. Most of us usually only spend time there when we’re doing paperwork.” Except for Simmons. “We all started our careers in the field, doing patrols. Most of us like being out and about, asking questions.”

Because fieldwork was how cases got solved—not by sitting in a chair, eating maple bars.

Poppy’s eyes stayed locked on the rumpled paper in her fingers. “Do you think I should give up? Do you think there’s a chance to find whoever killed Jamie?”

When she looked up, some of the light had dimmed in her eyes. For the first time in two weeks, she looked more like the woman I’d seen five years ago than the one who’d come to my dojo.

“I’ll be honest,” I said gently. “It’s been a long time. Five years with no new evidence isn’t a good thing. I haven’t seen the case file, but my guess is that all of the leads are dead ends.”

Her shoulders fell and she tucked her hands in her lap. She was shrinking right in front of me—curling in on herself. Is this what happened to her after every one of her visits with Simmons? Because I’d do just about anything to make it stop.

“I’ll tell you what, when we get back to the station, I’ll take a look at the file. I don’t know what I’ll find, but I’ll check into the case. Okay?”

“You’d really do that?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Thank you,” she sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, Detective Simmons has been great. He meets with me every month and is always nice. But, I don’t know. I guess I don’t feel like this case is his priority.”

She’d read that right. His priority these days seemed to be doing as little as possible. “Let me see what I can do,” I promised just as our food was delivered.

“Thank you,” she told me as I said the same to the waitress.

With my calzone and her pizza, we dug in and ate lunch mostly in silence—just like dinner in her kitchen.

Poppy didn’t have to fill every moment with conversation. Aly had been a constant talker, always wanting to visit while we ate. It drove me nuts when I’d take a bite and she’d immediately ask a question. Sometimes, I just wanted to eat. Like my parents did for their meals. They talked, they knew about each other’s days, but they were also content to just be with one another.

The quiet gave me time to enjoy my food and also a chance to think.

The first thing I was doing when I got back to the station was commandeering Jamie Maysen’s case file from Simmons.

If all of the leads were dead, I’d do what needed to be done. I’d sit Poppy down and tell her the truth. That her husband’s killer was free and would remain so unless new evidence came to light.

But if the file had more, if Simmons hadn’t dug into every lead and turned over every rock to find the murderer, I’d be pulling a favor from Dad. I’d do something I’d never, ever done: I’d use my position as the chief of police’s son to handpick a case. I’d take the case away from Simmons and do my best to bring Jamie’s killer to justice.

No matter how much stress it would add to my life, I’d do it because it was the right thing to do.

I’d do it for Poppy.





“Jimmy? I’m here!”

A week after my lunch with Cole at Colombo’s, I was taking the afternoon off from the restaurant to visit Jamie’s grandfather, Jimmy, at his retirement home, The Rainbow.

“Out in a sec.” Jimmy’s shout was muffled by the closed bedroom door.

I smiled and took a seat on the couch in the living room as I waited. The housekeepers must have swept through this morning because the normal stack of Mountain Dew cans and old newspapers on the end table was gone and the kitchenette was free of its usual Ritz cracker crumbs. They’d even hung up Jimmy’s coats—the ones he normally just tossed on the couch.

“Gladys, you have got to see him,” a woman whispered from the hallway.

“I heard all about it at breakfast,” Gladys replied with a muffled giggle.

Were they talking about Jimmy? Because it sounded like Gladys and her gossiping friend were hovering right outside his open door. I hadn’t bothered closing it when I’d come over. The door here was never closed. Why Jimmy liked his door open all the time I hadn’t a clue. He treated this assisted living facility more like a college dorm than a place to settle down.