If The Shoe Fits

Detective Kate Rosetti Mystery Book 13

Gina LaManna

LaManna Books

Copyright © 2025 by Gina LaManna

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Special Thanks

To Alex and Leo and Max and Beau—You boys have my heart! я тебя люблю!

To my family—I love you!

To Stacia—Not only my editor but a best friend as well—in real life, too!

To my Uncle Nick and to Carla – you guys are the best!

Blurb

It might be Halloween, but that doesn’t mean it’s all fun and games for Detective Kate Rosetti. First, a man arrives at the precinct, willing to speak to nobody but Kate. When this curious stranger confesses to a very unique murder, Kate is prepared to arrest him except for one problem…

There is no body. There are no witnesses. In fact, there’s no evidence a crime has been committed at all. Is this the start to a deadly disaster…or one man’s attempt to play a disturbing game?

As Kate works to unravel the mystery behind one man’s curious confession, she’s drawn into a funeral that quickly turns suspicious. With two cases heating up, and her love life not far behind, can the detective manage to balance it all—or is a happy ending for Kate forever out of reach?

Contents

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

Epilogue

Author’s Note

List of Gina's Books

Social Media

one

“Pass me a Snickers.” Gem extended his hand toward me. “Please.”

I forked over one of the coveted candy bars. “It’s gonna cost you.”

Gem narrowed his eyes in my direction. Then he tossed the chocolate bar over his shoulder and hauled my whole body toward him, pinning me to the bed. Snowflakes fell gently outside the window, casting a sparkling glow over our little cocoon. It felt like we were nestled in the stars.

“Are you blackmailing me, Detective Rosetti?” Gem’s voice registered low and husky.

“Um...” My brain short-circuited with this man perched over me like a hoverboard. A hoverboard with a six-pack. “I feel like the answer is technically no, but you’re making me want to say yes? Let’s just clarify the punishment for blackmail.”

Gem grinned, nuzzled against my neck, then rolled off me in search of his Snickers.

“I see where I rank.” I shifted higher in bed and pulled the covers up to my chest. “Below the caramel-covered nuts.”

Gem’s eyebrow raised.

“Do not make a joke about nuts,” I told him. “You’re above that.”

He grinned more broadly.

“Stop snickering into your Snickers,” I said. “It’s unbecoming.”

Gem and I sat snuggled in his big, plush bed, a few days after Halloween. In lieu of trick-or-treating this year, we’d celebrated the occasion by spending the weekend holed up in his penthouse wearing little clothes and eating lots of candy.

Snow had fallen the entire weekend, layering the Twin Cities in at least two feet of dense, chunky snow. I was dreading the drive into the office this week, even after the roads had been plowed.

“You should know,” I said, lazily unwrapping a licorice, “that I’m usually a real tightwad with my candy stash. It says a lot about you that I’m parting with a king-sized bar.”

“Thanks for sharing your stash,” Gem drawled, eyeing the buckets of candy. “Although, technically, I bought them. They’re my candy.”

“I thought they were ours.”

“They would be ours,” Gem said, “if you’d just marry me already.”

“Are you holding my candy hostage under the threat of vows?”

Gem reached for me, grasping my chin in his hands as he locked gazes with me, a naughty twinkle in his eyes. But before Gem could say whatever was on his mind, my phone rang with a video call from Melinda.

I frowned. “She never video calls. I’m sorry to put this situation on pause, but I have to take this.”

Gem’s hand slipped from my chin. He picked up the Snickers with a frown.

“I’ll satisfy your sweet tooth later,” I whispered as I grabbed my phone.

“You’re so gross.” Melinda’s usually uber-professional persona was not present as she spoke. “You know I can see and hear you, right?”

“I...” I paused and pulled the covers a little higher onto my chest. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I’d hit the answer button. What’s up?”

“I have a favor to ask you.”

“Okay,” I said. “But I’m uncomfortable. You look nervous. You’re never nervous around me.”

“You’re uncomfortable?” Melinda said. “I know you don’t have a shirt on, Rosetti, and God only knows what that man next to you is wearing.”

I glanced over at Gem. Probably better not to tell her.

Judging by the way Gem’s nose twitched, and his lips quirked up in a smile, he probably agreed. But it was obvious he was getting a kick out of this whole thing.

“Gem’s reading the first book in the Dead Man Walking trilogy next to me,” I said. “It’s a detective book. Very innocent.”

“Why does Gem read detective novels when he’s dating one?” Melinda asked. “Isn’t being in a relationship with you enough of a thrill for him?”

“I read these books for the happy endings,” Gem said. “In these books, the detectives always solve the case and stay alive. I like that.”

Melinda cocked her head to the side. “In a twisted way, I guess that makes sense.”

“But will you listen to this blasphemy, Dr. Brooks?” Gem poked his head in the camera frame while raising the paperback he’d plucked off the nightstand. “In this book, the DNA analysis and fingerprint results came back within the hour.” Gem paused. “What kind of lab works that fast? It’s impossible.”

“Pure blasphemy,” Melinda confirmed. “Is that a Louie LeBleu? Usually he’s pretty dedicated to getting the details right. I should also say, Kate Rosetti, that I’ve never approved of one of your boyfriends like I do now. I very much appreciate Gem’s critical analysis of the forensic processes. And speaking of dead men…”

“Were we?” I asked. “Speaking of dead men?”

“It’s about my ex-boyfriend,” Melinda said. “And also a dead body.”

Gem and I looked at one another. We remained totally silent and equally mystified.

“Which part should we address first?” I finally ventured. “The ex-boyfriend or a dead body?”

Melinda gave a long pause. “What if they’re the same thing?”

“Melinda,” I said. “Do you need help hiding your ex-boyfriend’s body? Because I’m going to need to get a lot of bleach and some rubber gloves first.”

“No,” she said. “But I do need you to come to the funeral with me this week.”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I don’t do funerals.”

Gem was staring at his book, but I could feel his eyes not moving. There was no way he wasn’t listening in on this conversation.

“Look, Kate. I was dating this guy named Calvin Romley. It was casual, just a couple of dates over the last few months. You know my schedule. It’s not like I can just go flounce around on a date any night of the week. I work late all the time.”

“No kidding,” Gem muttered.

“Well, apparently Calvin Romley told his mother that we were dating,” Melinda said. “He also must have made it sound more serious than it was because his mom, Diane, invited me to the funeral.”

“So just to be clear, Calvin’s dead?”

“Sure is,” Melinda said. “Fell off a roof and cracked his skull wide open. They’re dying on me, Kate. I’ve waited too long to get married and have children, and now my prospects are literally dead.”

“I don’t know that falling off a roof has anything to do with old age,” I said. “I assume that’s the issue to which you’re referring.”

“He had a bum knee,” Melinda said, like that proved me wrong. “Tore his ACL a few times in college playing football. It was probably acting up, and he slipped, and voila—dead.”

“Melinda, take a breath,” I said. “Were you actually even dating Calvin when he died?”

“Not really. I mean, I certainly didn’t think so. We never had the exclusive boyfriend-girlfriend talk in the first place—not even close. Actually, I ghosted him the last few times he called. I was so busy, and we weren’t really going anywhere. And look what I’ve done.”

“Sorry, I don’t follow. What exactly did you do?” I asked.

“I ghosted him, and now he’s an actual ghost.”

“That’s not how that works,” I said. “You’re a scientist, remember? This is not a good example of how life and death and science work together in harmony.”

“Is this going to haunt me forever?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I assured my friend. “Take a breath. You are not obligated to go to this funeral. Just explain the situation to his family, that there was a huge misunderstanding.”

“You didn’t hear Diane on the phone. She thought we were going to get married. If Calvin’s girlfriend doesn’t show up to his funeral, how will that look?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You weren’t his girlfriend.”

“I had dinner with him twice. One movie.”

“Call the pastor,” I said. “You guys were definitely getting married.”

“This is serious!”

“I’m sorry. Yes, it’s very sad Calvin fell off the roof. It is a real tragedy.” I meant that part. “But it’s also not your fault or your responsibility. Send your condolences, maybe flowers, if you really want to splurge, and move on. You’re around death every day. This is no different.”

“It is different when it’s personal.”

I didn’t have a reply to that. She was correct there.

“Did you even like this guy?” I asked. “You only saw him a few hours total, and you definitely didn’t tell any of us girls about it. You ghosted him, Melinda.”

“I, well, okay. It wasn’t going anywhere, and I meant to break up with him officially, but I hadn’t found the time to do it in person. Now I can’t, and I’m tied to a ghost for eternity.”

“You were not dating him. You didn’t even have an exclusive boyfriend-girlfriend talk. Give it a rest. Or, maybe, let it rest in peace.”

“This is not funny, Kate!” Melinda took a breath. “Thanks for coming with me to the funeral. I’ll text you the details.”

two

“You cannot come to a funeral with sex hair.” Melinda blinked at me. “Get it together, Rosetti.”

“This isn’t sex hair!” I glanced over at Melinda. “This is I-haven’t-left-the-house-all-weekend hair.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Melinda pulled away from Gem’s penthouse and drove us across town toward Calvin’s funeral. “Thanks for coming with me, by the way.”

“Did I have a choice?” I flipped the mirror down and studied my hair, trying to tuck some flyaways back into my bun. “You took the day off work for me and waited outside Gem’s place until I joined you. More of a hostage situation if you ask me.”

Melinda had done the work of informing Chief Sturgeon that both she and I would be late to work on this fine, snowy Monday morning because we were attending the funeral of a close friend. Insert eye roll.

“If it’s an open casket,” I asked, “are you going to look at Calvin?”

“I think I have to,” Melinda said. “I don’t know how to be a grieving girlfriend, but I suspect someone who loved him would probably take a peek.”

“Well, you don’t know how to be a grieving girlfriend because you’re not one. You’re a pretend-grieving, ghosted-Tinder match.”

“It wasn’t Tinder,” Melinda sniffed. “We Bumbled.”

“What’s a Bumble?”

Melinda sighed. “You wouldn’t know, Sex Hair.”

Melinda drove the rest of the way to the funeral in contemplative quiet, probably trying to figure out how to pretend to be a grieving girlfriend. When we arrived at the small church in Maplewood, Melinda looked at me like, This is it.

We made our way through the heavy wooden doors and marched slowly, respectfully down the red-carpeted center aisle. In front of the altar, a black casket sat with the top propped open at an angle. There were several others mingling about, though not a huge crowd.

“I don’t recognize anyone here,” Melinda said. “I’ve never been to a funeral where I don’t know anyone.”

“Good news, then. Nobody would miss us if we leave now.”

At Melinda’s look, I zipped my lips. Together, we waited somberly in a small line until it was our turn to look at the corpse.

At Calvin, I reminded myself. I should really stop viewing this so clinically. If Melinda was right about one thing, it was that death as a homicide detective, and death on a personal level were two completely different things.

I reached for Melinda’s arm and held on to it when it was our turn to look at Calvin. I was Melinda’s friend first and foremost, and if she needed support, I would be there with it. However she needed to process, I’d try to be understanding.

“He’s pretty cute,” I said. “I can see why you swiped right on Calvin.”

“I don’t know.” Melinda frowned. “His head’s all wrong.”

“I don’t know that I’d go that far,” I said. “I mean, it’s not perfectly proportional, and he’s got a huge forehead, but to be fair, my face isn’t all that proportional either. My nose is kind of big, but I come by it honestly, thanks to my Italian heritage. Schnozes are sort of passed down in the Rosetti DNA, so—”

“I’m not talking about your schnoz,” Melinda said. “Can’t you see it?”

“Are you admitting I have a schnoz?” I raised a hand and felt around my face.

“If Calvin fell off the roof, he wouldn’t have bashed his head in like this,” Melinda said. “It’s all wrong.”

“What do you mean?” I tensed. “Melinda, look, I know I told you not to take this so personally, but you don’t have to turn it into a professional case either.”

“I’m not. I’m looking at this with extreme detachment.” Melinda pointed at Calvin’s head. “His nose looks like it was broken.”

Melinda wrinkled her own nose, then put her hand to it, like she could feel his pain.

“I feel like they got the cheapest mortician available,” she said. “They did an okay job—passing grade, at best—but that’s not how Calvin’s nasal bridge was structured. How could he have fallen on his face, but then also ended up with the back of his head bashed in? The injuries he’s exhibiting aren’t consistent with the reported manner of death.”

“Maybe Calvin fell on the roof and landed on his face. Broke his nose, then toppled to the ground and broke the back of his head?”

“Maybe,” Melinda said. “But my instincts are telling me that’s not what happened. So what really happened?”

“I get that you don’t know how to process this grief as a pretend-girlfriend of the deceased,” I whispered. “But turning this into a case is not the right answer. That is an actual fact.”

“This is not me overreacting,” Melinda said. “This is me using science.”

“Is that what this is called?”

“There you are!” A woman hugged Melinda from behind, then burst into tears. “My almost-daughter-in-law.”

I winced. Melinda winced. Calvin’s mother sobbed on Melinda’s shoulder.

I could tell Melinda had never seen this woman before in her life. She stood there, stiff as a board, staring at me like a deer in headlights.

“Thanks for coming, honey,” Diane said. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to meet you while Calvin was still alive. I would’ve loved to see the two of you together. I was starting to lose hope that Calvin would ever settle down.”

Melinda’s eyes widened in flat-out terror.

“But then he mentioned he’d met someone special, and...” Diane paused to let another round of sobs roll over her like an avalanche. “I’m just so happy he spent his last days in the arms of someone he loved.”

“Loved?” I mouthed to Melinda.

Melinda just gave a superfast shake of her head back, and I couldn’t tell if she was horrified or appalled or shocked, or maybe all of the above.

“Mrs.—” Melinda started.

“I already told you, it’s Diane,” she said. “You’re practically family.”

“Diane, I’m so sorry about Calvin,” Melinda said. “It’s just, I was wondering about his nose, and if it always had that angular bend to it, or if maybe—”

I grabbed Melinda’s arm. “Melinda has been pretty upset, and she doesn’t know what to say. We’re going to take our seats.”

“You two must sit up front with me, I insist,” Diane said tearfully. “Thanks for coming. I’m so sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances.”

“Me too,” I mumbled to Melinda, carting her away from this train wreck.

But Melinda couldn’t be carted away before whipping out her phone and snapping a picture of Calvin’s disfigured schnoz.

“That’s for her to remember him by,” I said to one frowning grandma. “She’s so heartbroken she can’t even cry. Zero tears. It’s a real abomination of nature.”

And that was how Melinda and I ended up sitting in the front row for the funeral of a man she’d spent a total of six hours with in her entire life.

I managed to haul Melinda out of the funeral the second it ended, just before she could be convinced to stay for hot dish casserole. The way Melinda was going, I was pretty sure she was going to halt the burial to examine Calvin’s body. I was determined not to let that happen.

I managed to get Melinda into her car, and then I drove her back to the office, hoping that would provide both a distraction and a support network for her. She didn’t talk the entire ride.

She just stared down at her phone, ogling a picture of a dead guy. Normally, this would not be weird. She stared at a lot of dead guys. Today, it was very weird.

“Let it go, Melinda,” I said. “You’ve got plenty of dead guys waiting for you in the morgue. Let this one go. Let him be buried in peace.”

“I can’t.”

I sighed. “You’re obsessed.”

“Calvin deserves justice.”

“Calvin deserves peace,” I said. “So does his family. So do you.”

Melinda glanced over at me. “Something’s not right with his head.”

“We’ve discussed this—”

“I’ve got to call Diane,” she said. “I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t.”

I made the sign of the cross.

“They’re supposed to bury him this afternoon,” Melinda said. “There’s no way they’ll exhume him once he’s in the ground simply because I had a suspicion.”

“That’s usually how it goes.”

Melinda looked out the window. “I’ve gone along with a lot of your hunches over the years, Kate.”

“I know, and I love you for that. But also, my hunches are usually right.”

“You’re really not going to go along with mine?”

I licked my lips. This was tricky territory. I wanted to be there for my friend. I just worried that by entertaining her hunch, I wasn’t doing right by her. That maybe convincing her to drop this would be best for everyone, and she just couldn’t see it yet.

“Is this truly what you want?” I asked. “I’ve always got your back, Melinda. I’ll turn the car around if you say the word.”

“No.” Melinda reluctantly shook her head. She looked down at the picture on her phone one more time, then deleted it. “I’ve got plenty of dead guys to worry about already. You’re right.”

I reached over, patted her knee. “I think you’re doing the right thing. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Melinda muttered glumly, “There really was something wrong with his schnoz.”

Later that day, Melinda cornered me at my desk. I’d braved a funeral this morning, survived a snowy drive into the precinct, and was now midway through a delicious jelly doughnut. Things were looking up.

“It’s divine intervention.” Melinda leaned over my desk. “They stopped the burial this afternoon.”

“What burial?”

“Calvin’s,” Melinda said, like, Duh. “They couldn’t get Calvin in the ground. Something about the snowstorm screwing things up. His burial got rescheduled until later in the week.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Melinda shook her head. “Calvin’s on ice right now, just waiting for me to get my hands on him.”

“For Pete’s sake,” Jimmy muttered, over at his desk behind an Eiffel Tower’s worth of doughnuts. “I’ve never been more grateful to be married. Are dead guys really all that’s on the dating market these days?”

“Like you could’ve dated me even if you were single, Detective Jones.” Melinda whirled on him. “You’re so not my type.”

“She’s tense,” I said to Jimmy. “Don’t take it to heart.”

At exactly that moment, Jack Russo entered the room and promptly stopped cold. He was blinking like he regretted being here.

“What did I miss?” Russo asked uneasily. “And do I even want to know?”

“Melinda’s boyfriend died,” Jimmy said. “Now Melinda’s eager to crack into him with a Y-incision. If that ain’t true love, I don’t know what is.”

“Ah.” A few more blinks from Jack. “Is that all?”

“No,” Melinda snapped. Then, “Sort of, but Detective Jones oversimplified the situation.”

“We went to the funeral this morning for a man Melinda very briefly dated,” I said. “As far as we know, Calvin Romley died because he fell off the roof. But Dr. Brooks here is concerned that Calvin’s nose isn’t right, and that maybe his death was more complicated than a simple fall.”

Jack snapped his notebook shut and left the room, very clearly not offering to help with the Romley situation.

“What’s his deal?” Melinda asked, once Jack left.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to get involved in your personal life,” I said. “You’re kind of intense about the situation.”

“I’m intense about everything,” Melinda said. “So will you come with me to speak to Diane?”

“I’m not sure that’s appropriate. Is a crooked nose enough of a hunch?”

“It won’t hurt to ask Diane a few questions and get her opinion on the matter.”

“It might hurt,” I said. “She’s grieving the loss of her son.”

“You owe me,” Melinda said.

“For what?”

“In general.”

When I didn’t respond quickly enough, she narrowed her gaze.

“This is how we work. I study dead bodies and determine when something’s funky. Then you ask the questions.” Melinda shrugged. “Well, I examined the body, and something’s funky. Now it’s your turn, Detective. Ask questions before it’s too late and they stick Calvin in the ground forever.”

“Ride along with her, Rosetti,” Jimmy said to me. “Worst-case scenario, nothing happens, and you can pick me up some Pepto while you’re out and about anyway.”

“What do you think I am, your personal shopper?” I asked my partner.

“No, I have Elmer for that,” he said, not looking up from his computer.

“Elmer?” I asked.

“You haven’t met Elmer?” Suddenly Jack Russo’s head popped back in the office, eager to participate in this discussion. Apparently the federal agent had bionic hearing when he wanted to have it. “Elmer’s a great kid. Jimmy’s personal delivery guy. Since Burrito Baby doesn’t deliver their food, Detective Jones had to get creative.”

“Burrito Baby?” I asked in mild horror.

“They advertise that their burrito weighs as much as a baby.” Jimmy suddenly became invested in this conversation too. “It’s like a solid five-pounder.”

“This conversation is painful to me,” I said. “In numerous ways.”

“I usually go for the smaller one.” Jimmy cupped his hands in front of his body, like he was indicating the size of a very, very small infant. “More preemie size.”

I eyed him reluctantly. “Do not tell me that’s how you’d hold an actual child.”

“Nah.” Jimmy waved me off. “I don’t hold babies. They’re too fragile. A burrito, though, can take some manhandling.”

“You guys are gross,” I said.

“Has everyone forgotten about my dead ex-boyfriend who was possibly murdered?” Melinda threw her hands up like we were a bunch of helpless idiots.

Sometimes I felt like doing that same thing. Don’t get me wrong, I loved these helpless idiots, but it could be a lot.

“On second thought,” I said to Melinda, “let’s go visit Diane.”

three

I volunteered to drive to Diane’s house since Melinda seemed distracted by her thoughts on Calvin Romley. I was in no mood to end up in a snowbank this close to quitting time.

I parked outside of a very nice suburban home and surveyed the scene before climbing out of the car. The walks were neatly shoveled and the streets plowed. The temperature had gotten above freezing, and some of the snow had turned into little rivulets of water rolling through the gutters.

Melinda led the charge to the front door and knocked. We waited side by side in silence until the door opened to reveal a familiar face.

“Oh, Melinda.” Diane held open her arms to welcome Melinda into her home. “Thank you for offering to come by. Come in, I’ve got tea and cookies. People keep dropping off cookies, like that will make me feel better.”

I followed Melinda and Diane into the house, feeling exceptionally out of place. Diane certainly hadn’t gotten the memo that we were here on official business, as it felt very personal indeed.

Inside, the floors of Diane’s house were perfectly neat. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the counters. No dishes in the sink, just a pot of tea and a floral china plate teetering full of cookies on a small table in the eat-in kitchen. The interior of the home was cozy and inviting.

Diane sat, poured us each tea. “In a way, maybe it’s a blessing in disguise that they couldn’t bury Calvin this morning. Maybe you’ll be able to make it when it’s rescheduled.”

Melinda and I were going to have another talk after this, I decided. Pretty soon, Diane Romley was going to be inviting Melinda to Christmas, and I just couldn’t let that happen. I had to yank her out of this rabbit hole before she fell so far in she disappeared into Wonderland and changed her name to Alice.

“I need to ask you something that’s a bit sensitive,” Melinda said. “It’s about Calvin.”

“Anything.” Diane gave an exhausted smile. Her eyes were still red-rimmed. She looked put-together with her outfit and coiffed hair, but so tired.

“When you first called me, you said that Calvin fell off a roof,” Melinda said gently. “Can you tell me more about what actually happened?”

Diane sighed, wrapping her hands around her cup. “From what I understand, Calvin was up on the roof at his house trying to shovel snow off. His roof was old, and it leaked. I’m sure you know all about that. We had so much snow, and he thought it would be too heavy on the roof. I guess he slipped and fell. Just fell right off the side and…”

“Who told you this?” Melinda asked. “Can I ask who found him?”

I was usually the one asking the questions, so it took a lot for me to sit on my hands and not say anything. But this wasn’t even an official case, so the last thing I needed to do was involve myself, which would make everything more complicated.

“The cops told me all this. They were called when a neighbor spotted Calvin on the ground.” Diane let out a hiccup, then a sob.

“Do you know how long he’d been there?” Melinda asked. Then she added hurriedly, “Poor guy.”

Diane shifted toward her slightly. “I don’t know, exactly. I didn’t think to ask. The cops only said he didn’t suffer, that it happened instantly. That was enough for me.”

“At the funeral, I happened to notice that his nose looked a little...” Melinda searched for the right word. Apparently she couldn’t find one because she settled on, “smashed.”

“He fell off the roof,” Diane said in a whisper, like she really couldn’t understand why Melinda was asking these questions.

I couldn’t blame Diane one bit.

“Yes, but I also suspect that he had a cerebral hemorrhage and a skull fracture,” Melinda blurted. “I would imagine that he died from blunt-force trauma to the occipital region.”

Diane just stared at Melinda.

“Which explains the smashed skull, but not the crooked nose,” Melinda said. “Is it possible he fell onto the roof and hit the front of his face-first, before—”

I rested a hand on Melinda’s arm, gave her a reassuring nod in a Please, let me take over sort of way.

“Did Calvin ever mention what Melinda does for a living?” I asked Diane kindly. “I feel like this is relevant information.”

Diane shook her head, still looking a bit shocked by this whole thing.

“She’s a doctor,” I said. “Hence the reason for her…professional terminology.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Diane said hurriedly, interrupting before I could continue. “Family medicine? Pediatrician?”

“More of the medical examiner kind,” I said.

Diane looked like she didn’t comprehend those words.

“Dr. Brooks works for the coroner’s office,” I said. “She works with me on a lot of cases. My name is Kate Rosetti, and I’m not only Melinda’s friend, but a detective. A homicide detective.”

I was well aware that I was dripping information to Diane at an unfair rate. Like I’d stuck her with an IV full of details and turned the flow up to high. It didn’t feel right, but I didn’t see a graceful way to back out now.

“Are you saying...” Diane processed. It looked like her processor was functioning a little clunky because it took a while. “Homicide detective. Coroner’s office. Are you here because you think Calvin was murdered?”

“Diane,” Melinda said, sounding both sad and patient. “I need to clear the air on a few things. Yes, I am a medical examiner. And yes, I did go on a few dates with Calvin. I cared about him… You know, because he was a human being.”

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t making sense,” Diane said. “You cared about Calvin because he’s a human? As opposed to what?”

“The truth is that I wasn’t really his girlfriend, Diane,” Melinda said in a rush. “I only went on a few dates with Calvin. Truthfully, I didn’t know him all that well.”

This seemed to shock Diane more than anything else so far, and Diane had been through a lot of shocks in the last few days.

“You can’t be serious,” Diane said finally.

“I’m so sorry,” Melinda said. “But it’s the truth.”

“Then why on earth did you come to my son’s funeral if you barely knew him?”

“When you called me the other day, I could hear how distraught you were. How much it made you happy that Calvin had found love before his death. I didn’t want to break your heart any more than it was already broken. I figured the least I could do was come and say goodbye and give you that peace.”

“That’s—” Diane stopped herself, like she really didn’t know how to react.

I thought for a minute she was going to go off on Melinda. But then, she just looked down at her hands and gave a heavy sigh.

“That’s very kind of you to think of me instead of yourself.” Diane did look a little more brokenhearted than before, which was exactly what Melinda had been afraid of in the first place. “I’m sure you had better things to do than attend a near-stranger’s funeral.”

“As someone who works a lot with the dead,” Melinda said, “it occasionally feels nice if I can do something for the loved ones left behind. Unfortunately, in my line of work, that’s not always possible.”

Diane blinked big, moony eyes. “I’m so sorry I put you through all of this, Dr. Brooks.”

“It’s okay. And please, it’s Melinda,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed my time with Calvin. He was the perfect gentleman. I just… Honestly, I didn’t get the chance to know him.”

“If that’s true, then this visit today is not to comfort me.” Diane was sharp, even in her grief. “You really think there might have been more to the story in Calvin’s death?”

“Do you think there could be?” Melinda asked.

“I didn’t think about it. The police told me that he died because he fell off the roof, and I had no reason to question it. Like I said, I was just so happy he’d fallen in love. I always worried he’d end up alone after how his last relationship ended.”

“Can you tell me about his last relationship?” I asked, seeing Melinda glance at me in a way that told me she was handing off the baton. “Did it end poorly?”

“I just thought his last girlfriend would be the one, and the relationship just didn’t last. Nothing huge that I know of, it just…fizzled,” Diane said. “It broke his heart. I thought Calvin had given up on dating. Which was why I was so thrilled when he mentioned he was putting himself out there again.”

“Was Calvin in any sort of trouble?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” Diane said, but she sounded uncertain. She looked around surreptitiously before lowering her voice. “But his nose really didn’t look right, did it?”

“I’m telling you,” Melinda blurted. “That is not how his nose used to look. I don’t want to rag on the reconstruction job, but considering what I do all day, every day, it is something that caught my eye.”

“If you hadn’t been dating Calvin, and you saw his...” Diane hesitated. “His body in your morgue. Would you think those were the injuries of a man who fell off the roof?”

Melinda gave a compassionate, tight smile. “Diane, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t concerned about the circumstances surrounding Calvin’s death. I’ve seen a lot of—well, I’ve seen a lot. I believe it’s my job to speak for those who can’t speak for themselves. To help bring about justice and truth in difficult times.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if I were a completely unbiased third party, I would support an autopsy, considering the nature of Calvin’s wounds.”

“I’d like you to do it,” Diane whispered, almost inaudibly. “I’d like you to do the autopsy.”

“As much as I appreciate your vote of confidence, I don’t think that would be appropriate,” Melinda said. “I would recuse myself from the case because of my personal connection, but I can recommend another fabulous M.E. who I trust completely. And if we were to find that there was any question about how Calvin died, I’d make sure the case went to Kate. Detective Rosetti is the best in the business.”

Diane nodded, her fingers shaking as she rattled her teacup against the saucer. “Tell me how to make that happen.”

“Do you think you could do it?” Asha speared a cheese curd and chomped on it. We were seated around our usual table at Bellini’s. “Could you really hack into your ex-boyfriend’s head with a scalpel?”

Lassie visibly paled. “I’ve heard a lot of weird, dead-body stuff from you guys over the years. That”—she pointed her fork at Asha—“might be the worst yet.”

Melinda took it all in stride, barely blinking as she licked salt from the lip of her margarita glass. “I barely knew Calvin. I am confident I could do it, but I’m going to recuse myself either way. It’s the safest bet and most professional option.”

Ever since we’d left Diane’s house this afternoon, Melinda seemed back to her normal self. Like all was right with the world, now that she was pretty sure Calvin had been murdered.

Once Melinda had unloaded the truth to Diane about her relationship—or lack thereof—with Calvin, she’d been able to turn this whole situation into a professional matter instead of a personal one. As if she’d needed to process it that way because she didn’t know how to do it any other way.

“I’ve requested Dr. Gavin Lucas to handle the autopsy,” Melinda said. “I already spoke to him. He’s in town from California for a conference. We dated briefly in college.”

The whole table fell silent at the admission. Melinda’s cheeks turned pink.

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Asha was the only one brave enough to say it. “You’re having one ex-boyfriend hack into another one? Isn’t that in and of itself a conflict of interest?”

“It’s not the same thing,” Melinda said. “I was never actually Calvin’s girlfriend. I barely knew him.”

“Now you say that.” I took a big glug of my margarita. “Where was all this conviction when I was sitting in the front row of his funeral?”

“I went out with Calvin on, like, two dates,” Melinda said. “We weren’t right for each other.”

“The number keeps shrinking every time you talk,” I said. “What about this Gavin guy?”

Melinda’s cheeks pinkened deeper. “He was my first.”

“First...” Asha, Lassie, and I all exchanged looks.

“First what?” Asha, ever the brave one, said. “First boyfriend? First love? First sexual encounter?”

“All of the above?” Melinda held her margarita glass up to her face and continued drinking until it was all gone.

“He was Melinda’s one that got away,” Asha whispered in a non-whispering voice. “I can feel it.”

“We didn’t have an explosive breakup or anything. We were accepted to different places for graduate school, and we are both practical people. We agreed it didn’t make sense to keep dating.”

“What about after graduate school?” Lassie asked. “You didn’t try to reconnect?”

“He was dating someone at the time. Then when he became single, I was in a relationship,” Melinda said. “It went that way for a few years until we eventually fell out of touch.”

“Why’d you call him this time?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure there are other local ME’s that could help.”

“Dr. Lucas is incredibly talented, and I trust him completely,” Melinda said. “I promised Diane I’d get the best for her son, so that’s what I’m going to do. He’s in town anyway, so it’s a waste not to use his expertise.”

The rest of us all looked at one another, a real, yeah, sure, attitude ricocheting around the table.

“It’s true,” Melinda insisted. As an afterthought, she added, “If we just happen to get dinner while he’s in town to catch up, then so be it.”

“Is this normal to fall in love over death?” Lassie asked. “It just sounds so weird to say aloud.”

“She’s not normal,” I said. Then, to Melinda, I added, “I mean that in a good way.”

Melinda gave a faint smile. “Says the woman dating the billionaire she once investigated for murder. Who also dated an FBI agent brought in to help her on a case.”

“Look, I’m a disaster,” I said. “Don’t follow my lead.”

“I beg to differ,” Melinda said. “Look at the life you’ve made for yourself, Kate.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve reconnected with your father after decades of being estranged. You have a great relationship with your sister, which wasn’t always the case. You have a boyfriend who cherishes the ground you walk on. You have a job you’re passionate about. You have a great partner at work, not to mention super-fab girlfriends.” Melinda paused for the other girls to nod. “For Pete’s sake, you’re even on great terms with your ex-boyfriend. Also, your ex-boyfriend isn’t dead. You have created a wonderful life for yourself, Kate. You should be proud.”

I stared at her. I didn’t like my life being put under a microscope, even if everything she had said was true.

“You’re right,” I said finally. “And I’m very grateful. For you, for all of it.”

It was a long time later that night when we parted ways. Melinda had consumed more margaritas than she had in a long time, so I drove her home. She glanced over at me before getting out of the car, and slurred, “Thank you, Kate.”

“For what?” I asked.

“For trusting my hunch.” Then she brushed a quick kiss against my cheek in a way she definitely wouldn’t have done if she were sober. “You’re a good friend, Rosetti.”

I could see how much today had affected her, and how much everything had meant. I squeezed her hand in return.

Then I made my way home where I found Gem sleeping in bed, his paperback askew on his chest. I gently set the book on the nightstand and his glasses on top of the book. Then I slid into bed next to him, a surge of contentment washing over me.

four

The next morning, as I rolled into the office, Jimmy greeted me before I’d even sat down. He plopped a cup of terrible coffee in front of me.

“You’ve got a secret admirer waiting for you downstairs,” Jimmy said. “He won’t talk to anyone else but you.”

I groaned. “This is not how I wanted to start my day. Are you sure he won’t talk to anyone else?”

“Positive.”

“What does he want?”

“Didn’t you hear me say that he refused to speak to anyone but you? He’s been sitting in the lobby waiting for you to arrive.”

“That’s weird.” I stood. “What does he look like?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Old white guy.”

“That’s all you got?”

“That’s all I got,” Jimmy said. “What more do you want? Come on, I’ll walk down with you. My burrito delivery guy is pulling up out front.”

I heaved myself out of my chair, already feeling exhausted, and followed Jimmy to the lobby. When I rounded the corner, I got bowled over by a young man a little shorter than me.

“No!” Jimmy groaned. “That’s my burrito, Kate.”

Jimmy moved faster than he’d ever moved in his life. The man went zero to sixty at Ferrari speeds in an Oldsmobile body. It was a marvel of science.

Jimmy quickly scooped up the paper bag from where it’d gotten dropped on the floor. “Sorry about that, folks,” Jimmy said. “Rosetti, meet Elmer, my delivery dude. Elmer, meet Detective Rosetti.”

“I’m so sorry, Elmer,” I said. “I didn’t see you coming.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Elmer said. “I was rushing because Jimmy likes to eat his burritos while they’re still hot.”

I turned a slow side-eye on Jimmy, like, Seriously?

“How’s your niece?” Jimmy asked Elmer as he handed over a wad of cash. “Did she get picked for the team after last week’s tryouts?”

I left the two men to bond over burritos and scurried into the waiting area to find my very own secret admirer. I found the front-desk attendant waiting anxiously for me. The second I skidded into the lobby, the attendant nodded toward an older gentleman with silvery hair and pale-blue eyes. The man wore jeans and a mustard button-down shirt very possibly from the WWII era.

As I headed in his direction, the man looked up through wire-framed glasses. His hair was neatly combed and well-kept. He didn’t look like he was experiencing homelessness or like he’d broken out of prison, so that was something. He kind of looked like a friendly grandpa waiting at a train stop for family to arrive.

“My name is Detective Kate Rosetti,” I said, as I got closer. “Do you mind if I take a seat next to you? I heard you asked for me.”

“Ah, Kate. Yes. I was looking for you,” the man said. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

He gestured for me to sit next to him. It wasn’t unheard of for me to be recognized these days, especially locally. To my dismay, my face had appeared in various newspapers and magazine articles and online write-ups over the years, and my name had even popped up on the occasional true crime podcast. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that somebody would seek me out for a police issue, and I was going to go with that.

“Detective Rosetti,” he said. “My name is Atticus. I’m here to report a murder.”

“You’re here to report a murder,” I said slowly. “Okay, I’m going to need more details.”

“Sure thing.” Atticus nodded sagely. “Well, it goes like this: I put a nail into a man’s head, and now he’s dead. One of those golden nails. Not your average rusty nail. Right into his forehead.”

I just blinked and stared at this man.

I heard something clatter loudly behind me. Turning, I saw Elmer standing there, wide-eyed, righting the trash can he’d presumably stumbled into. Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. He’d obviously eloped with his burrito.

“I’m so sorry,” I said to Elmer for the second time that morning as he scurried to leave, moving even faster than he’d arrived.

I turned back to Atticus. “Are you telling me that you killed a man?”

“Yes.” Then Atticus smiled, a real twist of his expression. His blue eyes switched to a frigid blue, and the grandfatherly aura I had been sensing vanished in a snap. “But that’s all you get for today. Good luck, Detective.”

“I can’t let you leave,” I said. “You just confessed to a murder.”

“Did I?” he said with a playful lilt to his voice.

“You just said...” I kept my eyes trained on him as understanding dawned on me. “You’re playing games.”

“There is no body. No evidence of a murder. Right now, it’s your word against mine, and you have no evidence whatsoever that a crime has been committed at all.” Atticus gave a crooked smile that, under different circumstances, might’ve looked friendly. “Like I said, good luck, Detective.”

“Why me?” I asked. “Why did you choose me?”

“Rumor on the street is that you’re the best, Detective Rosetti. I don’t doubt that, but you cannot beat me.”

“Beat you at what?” I asked. “This isn’t a game.”

“You’ll be forced to play, sooner or later.” Atticus stood, tucked a small briefcase under his arm. “Until next time, Detective Rosetti.”

I followed Atticus as he marched outside, feeling completely baffled. Atticus was correct in that I didn’t have a shred of evidence that I could use to detain him for…much of anything. We got crank calls at the precinct all the time. Was this some version of an escalated crank call? Some old man’s idea of a joke because he was bored?

“Atticus!” I called after him. “At least give me a way to contact you.”

But the old man simply strode to a car waiting at the curb and got inside. He waved, muttered something, probably to the driver. I pulled out my phone, jotted down the license plate of the retreating car, and then watched as the car drove off down the street.

I muttered some unhappy things before turning around and marching back inside. I stomped my way upstairs.

“This morning is baloney,” I told Jimmy. “I need to go back to bed.”

“You’re telling me,” Jimmy said. “You screwed up the delivery of my food. The guac is splattered everywhere. Guac is extra, you know.”

“A man was waiting downstairs to tell me he killed someone,” I said. “He says he put a golden nail right through a man’s forehead.”

“Huh.” Jimmy took a bite of his half-eaten burrito. “You win.”

“Your appetite isn’t even marginally affected by talk of blood and gore?”

“Nope.”

“You have zero questions about my encounter with my secret admirer?” I asked. “None whatsoever?”

“Oh, I have questions,” Jimmy said. “I just figured you’d tell me whether I wanted to hear about it or not. I process information better on a full stomach, so I’m just getting a head start.”

“He claims his name is Atticus. He just confessed to murder so matter of fact,” I mused. “It’s bizarre. I think he’s playing a game. I don’t want to engage him, but what if he’s not lying?”

Jimmy shrugged. “We get weirdos in here all the time, Rosetti. Maybe he’s just a weirdo.”

“I can’t shake this feeling that he’s not our average weirdo,” I said. “He didn’t seem totally unhinged. I just can’t figure out if he’s already committed a crime, or if he’s planning on it, or if he really is just toying with me. I don’t even know his last name.”

“Well, let me know what I can do to help,” Jimmy said, seeming completely unbothered by this whole thing. “In the meantime, I’ll be doing paperwork.”

“By paperwork, do you mean wiping your face with a napkin?”

“You always get me, Rosetti.”

I left Jimmy to his “paperwork” and sidled over to Asha. “I need you to look up this license plate.”

“Are you going to tell me why?” Asha chomped on some gum as her fingernails clicked on the keyboard. She chanced a glance at my phone, processed the license plate, then chewed some more.

“Some guy showed up here, confessed to a murder, and then left in this car. There was a driver,” I said. “I didn’t get a last name. I want to find the driver and see what I can get out of him.”

Asha stopped chewing mid-chomp. I was worried she was about to swallow her Bubble Yum with how wide her mouth was hanging open. “Some guy confesses to murder, and you let him walk away? Without even a last name? Kate, I’ve seen you tackle people for not paying a parking ticket.”

“That was one time,” I said. “And he had an outstanding warrant. He also ran from the police, and I suspected he was armed.”

“I’m just saying,” Asha said. “Seems like you might’ve wanted to ask a few more questions. Like, I don’t know, maybe you want to stick around for tea so we can discuss how you killed someone?”

“That’s the thing. There is no dead body. No evidence of anything. When I started to ask more questions, he pointed out there was nothing. Right now, it’s just his word against mine.”

“I’ve got your driver,” Asha said. “The car belongs to Benny Ramirez. He’s not an Uber driver, as far as I can tell. It seems like Benny collects a paycheck from a small diner in Minneapolis called The Griddle.”

“Do we think he’s a part of this or just hired help?” I asked.

“The man’s got four kids and pulling double shifts at a diner,” Asha said, showing me a picture of a smiling middle-aged man. “I’m guessing he was offered cash to do a job. Here’s the address to the diner if you want to catch him at work.”

“Thanks. I’m going to head out. I want to see what I can find on this guy before the trail gets cold and before Melinda’s ex gets started on the Romley autopsy.”

“For the love of God, please take Jimmy with you,” Asha said. “I cannot stand the smell of his burrito. Is it slathered in onions?”

“It’s got squashed guac,” I said. “Apparently that’s bad.”

“I thought guac was squashed by nature?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never seen a raw avocado. Do you know how terrible I am at cooking?”

I recruited Jimmy to drive across the city with me at Asha’s request.

“Did you pick up that Pepto by chance?” Jimmy asked.

“Front pocket.”

“This is why I love you, Rosetti.”

We rode the rest of the way in silence, aside from some hiccupping from his side.

I parked outside The Griddle. It was a nondescript restaurant on a hilly street, the kind that served real hearty Midwest food. I’d lived here my whole life and never heard of this place.

“Are you hoping to find Atticus here?” Jimmy asked. “Or just the driver?”

“I figure there’s a slim chance of finding either, but I want to ask around about Benny.”

After a few minutes of talking to the manager, however, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that Benny Ramirez was due in fifteen minutes for his shift. Jimmy and I took seats in one of the booths to wait.

When a server came around, I ordered eggs and bacon and more coffee. Jimmy very sadly ordered a black coffee only.

“I wish I felt hungry,” Jimmy said in explanation. “But I guess I should probably order more food for when space clears out in my stomach.”

“You just ate a whole burrito.”

“I know,” he said, and looked even sadder. “But I think some hash browns and eggs won’t kill me.”

When Benny arrived a few minutes later, the manager sent him straight to our table.

“Hi, Benny,” I said, standing and offering my hand for a shake. “I’m Detective Kate Rosetti, and this is my partner, Detective Jimmy Jones. We have a few questions to ask you. I already spoke to your manager, and he said it’s no problem if you take a few minutes to speak to us before getting started.”

Benny’s eyes widened. His gaze flicked toward the door.

“Don’t run,” I said. “Please. We both just ate a lot of food, and neither of us is in the mood to sprint. You’re not in trouble.”

“Okay,” Benny said hesitantly. “But I don’t know what you want from me.”

I gestured for him to sit. Benny eased into the booth, and I sat across from him.

Jimmy remained standing at the edge of the table. He looked pretty intimidating, just hovering there. But I knew better. The man would split his pants if he sat down right now.

“I have a question about a man you were seen driving around this morning,” I said. “I only know him as Atticus, but he might have given you a different name.”

“Atticus, yes,” Benny said. “That’s the name he told me. Is that not his real name? What do you need to know about him?”

“Why did you drive him to the police station this morning?”

“That’s where he asked me to drive him.” Benny raised his shoulders. “I don’t know him well. He’s a frequent customer here, and he always tips well.”

“So you’ve seen him around?”

“Yes, occasionally, though I’m not his regular server or anything. I didn’t actually know his name until today, just recognized his face. Then again, I don’t know if anyone here knows much about him. He always pays in cash and never talks much. He just comes in, eats by himself, and leaves.”

“How’d you end up giving him a ride?”

“I was filling in for Betsy on the early morning shift,” Benny said. “Atticus asked when I got off, and I told him. He said he’d pay me two hundred bucks to give him a ride. I said sure, since I didn’t have anything to do between getting off my last shift and coming back for this one.”

“Did you know he wanted to go to the police station?”

“No. He gave me the address to the café next door, so I assumed he needed a ride to meet a friend or something. It surprised me when he walked next door to the precinct.”

“When you left the precinct this morning, where did you drop Atticus off?”

“At a Target parking lot. The one in St. Paul. He said a friend was waiting for him there and would give him a ride home.”

“You didn’t think that drop-off location was strange?”

“Sure, but he paid me cash, and he seemed like he knew what he wanted. He wasn’t, like, confused or anything.” Benny shrugged. “I have four kids. Money is tight. Also, I had to get back for my next shift, so I couldn’t exactly stick around all day.”

I nodded, my heart sinking. This didn’t seem like some unhinged crank call. It seemed well planned out and meticulously executed. Benny was proving to be a dead end. The Target parking lot was probably a dead end too. It was very likely Atticus had left a car parked in the lot for a quick and easy getaway.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about Atticus that might help me find him?” I asked. “I’d like to ask him a few questions.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything else,” Benny said. “What did he do?”

“I’m not sure.” I flipped one of my cards onto the table. “Do me a favor. Give me a call if you ever see him in here again?”

After Benny agreed, we spent a few minutes talking to the manager and other staff members. No one came forward with additional information on the quiet gentleman who occasionally dined at the restaurant.

The manager theorized that Atticus lived close enough to walk since he would carry a wet umbrella on rainy days. Others swore he got dropped off by someone, but nobody could tell me who might’ve dropped him off. When I questioned if there were security cameras in the parking lot, the manager sheepishly told me they hadn’t functioned for over a year.

A quick phone call to Betsy, the regular server during the morning shift, gave me more of the same. The man I called Atticus was quiet and polite, didn’t make small talk, and paid in cash. Her money was on him living in the neighborhood, but she didn’t have any real evidence to back up her hunch.

As Jimmy and I left the restaurant, we both knew the truth: Atticus was gone. We could possibly ask Asha to scour the area for someone who lived close enough to walk, but that was a needle in a haystack without any other supporting information. So for now, we were stuck waiting until Atticus made his next move.

five

By the time we finished with Benny at the diner, Melinda had texted me that Dr. Gavin Lucas would be starting Calvin Romley’s autopsy shortly. Apparently, Sturgeon had made quick work of recruiting the California doctor to step in for Melinda on this case.

When we got back to the precinct, Jimmy headed upstairs to his desk while I headed downstairs to the lab. As I pushed through the doors, I paused, looking between Melinda and Gavin and wondering if maybe I should have announced myself first. The way the two were staring at each other had me feeling like the situation was charged in all sorts of ways.

“Let’s confirm rigor mortis has fully released.” Dr. Gavin Lucas spoke in clinical words, but his tone was a little too friendly, his gaze lingering a little too long on Melinda as he gave instructions to a tech. “Check the joints—elbows, knees.”

I watched from a distance with morbid curiosity. Seemed like maybe the flames of attraction were still alive and well between these two.

“Scalpel, please.” Gavin’s voice took on a more precise clip. “Starting with a Y-incision—ensure the lines are symmetrical for documentation.”

I finally sidled over to where Melinda was leaning against the far wall. She wasn’t an active participant, but she was watching with rapt attention. She looked enthralled, like Gavin was a real master at work.

“I take it the two of you have been getting reacquainted?” I asked in hushed tones.

“What?” Melinda’s gaze cut to me. “Of course not. What makes you think that?”

“Because you’re staring at him like he’s lassoing you the moon instead of using rib cutters on your ex-boyfriend.”

“The rib cutters are not up next.” Melinda gave a disapproving frown. Then, from across the room, she called, “Make sure to check the thoracic cavity for hemorrhaging. Could be trauma from the fall.”

Gavin looked up at Melinda, gave a playful wink. “I thought you were staying out of this, Dr. Brooks. Don’t you trust me?”

“You’re doing a beautiful job.” Melinda made a zip-her-lips motion. “I’m sorry. I’ll hide out in my office until you’re done.”

“I hate to kick you out. Maybe we could discuss the intricacies of Stryker saws and cranial vaults later,” Gavin said. “Perhaps over dinner?”

“I’m going to leave before I lose my dinner,” I muttered to Melinda. “You should leave, too, if you’re trying to keep yourself out of this autopsy.”

“Oh, Kate,” Melinda said with a sigh, like I’d really let her down.

As we headed into her office, I asked if she’d seen Jack in the office this morning.

“Jack Russo?” she asked.

“No, the other Jack.”

“What other Jack?”

I just patted my very distracted best friend’s hand. I told her to let me know when they’d gotten news from the autopsy. Then I left her to sip a latte and stare, moony-eyed, out her window into the lab.

I made my way back upstairs to confer with Asha on the Atticus situation while waiting for the Romley results. On the way, I passed through the bullpen. The second I walked through the door, I could tell something was up.

“What in the world is happening here?” I asked.

Three male heads swiveled toward me. A whole lot of childish giggling hushed.

“Nothing,” Jack Russo said too quickly.

“Nothing at all,” Dunkirk repeated.

“Lots of nothing,” Winkler said.

“Guys,” I said. “I’m a detective.”

“We’re just working on a little something for Jimmy.” Jack Russo’s face was flooded with guilt. “You wouldn’t find it funny.”

“Try me,” I said, scanning the room and finding Jimmy was nowhere to be found.

“Jimmy’s wife got mad at him for hiring a private delivery guy for burritos,” Winkler said. “It’s a whole thing. She asked him to stop because it’s against his doctor’s orders. We’re just making sure Jimmy’s last delivery goes off with a bang.”

I groaned. That’s when I noticed the baby-sized ball of aluminum foil in Jack’s hands.

“Let me guess,” I said. “It’s not a burrito in there.”

Asha and I weren’t having much luck following up with Benny or Atticus, or the surveillance cameras at the Target parking lot. When Melinda texted me to come back down to her office, I felt the flutter of adrenaline: the same one I usually felt when a new case was starting to break.

I found Melinda sitting in her office alone, fidgeting with a pen and notebook in front of her while she glanced toward the lab every three seconds. The way she was fanning her face, I was pretty sure a phrase like, Bag both hands separately for forensic analysis would turn her on more than a bouquet of flowers.

I took a seat before Melinda realized I was there. “Do you have the official results?”

Melinda jerked her gaze toward me. “Not yet. But I wanted to let you know that Dr. Lucas has said he’ll most likely be ruling this a suspicious death. Nothing official yet, but I…I want you to get started. Officially. It’s where we’re headed, Kate.”

“By getting started, you mean…”

“We both know that this investigation starts with me.” Melinda’s gaze was all serious now. “This is why I recused myself. I know you’ll need to question me about my history with Calvin, and I think it’s a good idea to start now while we wait.”

“I’m sorry, Melinda,” I said in soft tones. “I wish I didn’t have to do this, but if an investigation will be opened soon, then you’re probably right.”

“It’s really okay.” Melinda gave a firm nod. “It’s just business. I have nothing to hide, and you’re just doing your job. I want justice for Calvin if he truly was murdered.”

“Can you start by giving me a rundown of your history with Calvin?” I pulled out my notebook and glanced down, thinking it best to dive in headfirst. “When you met, how many times you saw one another, things like that?”

“Of course.” Melinda opened one of the drawers to her desk and took out a sheaf of papers. “I printed out my previous few months of Google calendars. This details the times and dates and locations I spent with Calvin. As you can see here, I arrived at YumYum restaurant at approximately eight fifteen p.m. on this date. We had reservations under his name, and we dined until nine thirty. There are receipts to back this up that I can pull for you.”

“Do you really go out to eat at eight fifteen at night?” I asked. “That’s late. Don’t you get heartburn?”

“Just because you have a boyfriend to be in bed with by eight o’clock doesn’t mean us single people have that luxury.”

I glanced down at the calendar. There were three dates with Calvin’s name on them, including the YumYum reservation she’d pointed out. I was sure Asha could pull this same information, but it was nice to have it up front for once.

“I also printed out all of our text exchanges,” Melinda said. “We never spoke on the phone, so this should be everything aside from our conversations in person. I also included the transcript of messages from the dating app where we met.”

“I don’t need to see all of this, Melinda. I don’t think it’s relevant.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide. As you can see, Calvin texted me a few times after our date at the movies. I finally responded here, saying, Sorry, I have a busy week—we’ll catch up soon.”

“After that…nothing?”

“I never caught up with him, and he never reached out again.”

“Well, I have official good news for you.” I put my hands on Melinda’s desk and looked at my friend earnestly. “You didn’t ghost him.”

“Huh?”

“Ghosting is where you just vanish from the face of the earth.” I pointed down at the text transcript. “You sent him the last message. Sure, it took you a while to get back to him, but you didn’t just disappear. It seems like the two of you just drifted apart. Pretty amicably, if you ask me.”

“So maybe this means he won’t haunt me?” A hint of teasing crept into Melinda’s voice.

I was glad to see Melinda slowly regaining her sense of humor. “Let’s talk about what you discussed with Calvin on your dates. Did he talk about his friends or family? Did he mention anyone who might’ve had a beef with him?”

Melinda winced. “Not really. He talked a lot about D&D.”

“Is that Dungeons and Dragons to the layperson?”

“Yes. Calvin was obsessed. He kept me apprised of everything happening in his campaign. Every teeny, tiny, miniscule detail.”

“It sounds like he was passionate about it. Could someone have been upset over the game?”

“I don’t think so. He never mentioned anything negative about the people he played with.” Melinda frowned. “I don’t even know if he knew these people in person. The game was virtual, from what I understood. To be honest, I tuned out when he started talking about barbarians.”

“I understand.”

Melinda nodded, her face taking on a distant look. “I knew by the second date that things wouldn’t be a match between me and Calvin. To be honest, I probably knew in the first five minutes of meeting him. I just didn’t have the heart to turn him down so soon. I’m just so sick of being alone, Kate. Sometimes, it’s overwhelming.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know. I’m your best friend. Maybe I haven’t been there for you enough since I’ve been spending more time with Gem.”

“No,” Melinda said firmly. “You are a wonderful friend. Things are different now, but that’s life. I’m glad you have Gem; I’m grateful for how he cares for you. Girlfriends are different than having a life partner, no matter how good those girlfriends are.”

I nodded, because I understood that too. Gem added something to my life that I hadn’t found anywhere else.

“Did Calvin have a job?” I asked gently. “Did he talk about anything else besides fantasy worlds?”

“Calvin said he owned his own business in the construction industry.” Melinda raised a shoulder. “I didn’t pry. He made it sound like it was a job that paid the bills, but it wasn’t his passion.”

“You didn’t have Asha do a background check on him?” I asked. “Excuse me, but who are you?”

“I have a new rule,” Melinda said. “I don’t do anything beyond a basic Google search until after the third date.”

“Ah. Background checks on the fourth date?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Kate Rosetti, you have not been on a dating app in the last year, and it really shows.” Melinda shook her head. “For a while, I did a background check on every man who asked me out on a date. Do you know how many first dates I had?”

“No?”

“Zero. Zilch.” Melinda sighed. “I’d see something trivial, and then I’d find an excuse to write off every single person. For example, if I dug into Calvin, I would’ve found out that he played D&D frequently, and I would’ve figured that we wouldn’t be a match because that’s not one of my interests. I wouldn’t have even given him a chance.”

“But you weren’t a match.”

“But maybe we could have been. If I don’t try, then I don’t have hope. I need some hope in my life.”

“That’s fair.”

“Maybe my soul mate works at McDonald’s. If I did a background check on the first date and decided that they weren’t a match for me, I would miss them.”

“Do you think your soul mate works at McDonald’s?”

“I don’t know! That’s the point.”

I looked down at my papers. “I’m sorry, Melinda. I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just exhausted. I want to find my person, and some days that feels impossible.”

I glanced through the window into the sterile lab where Dr. Lucas was working with some techs. “Do you think that man could be your person?”

“Dr. Lucas is cutting into my newly dead, sort-of ex-boyfriend,” Melinda said. “It’s too soon to think about that.”

“To be clear, Calvin wasn’t your ex,” I said. “He was a nice guy you went out with a few times, just not your nice guy. Don’t let the right one pass you by because you’re hung up on a tiny detail in your past.”

“A possible murder investigation is not a tiny detail.”

“That’s true. I’m sorry about Calvin too. Even if he wasn’t your person, it still hurts to lose someone.”

I walked around the desk and gave Melinda a hug. She gave me one back, which told me she really needed it.

“You’ll figure it out,” I promised her. “I know you will.”

six

I entered the bullpen after my meeting with Melinda and found it surprisingly quiet. Suspiciously quiet. I glanced around, then zoned in my glare on Dunkirk.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why is everyone acting so weird?”

“Nothing,” Dunkirk said, a little too swiftly. “Nothing’s happening.”

I glanced over at Jimmy, but he was the only one behaving normally. I could see him squinting at his computer screen with intense focus, which probably meant he was trying to decide his lunch order. He was clearly very invested in his choices, because he didn’t seem to notice the oddities around the room.

Dunkirk and Winkler kept looking at each other. Jack Russo sat at the desk in the corner, but his computer wasn’t even turned on. I frowned, then slid uneasily into my seat.

“For anyone interested in actual work,” I said, “Dr. Lucas is making progress on the Romley autopsy. Rumor on the street is there might be enough to open an investigation.”

“Is that right?” Jimmy marveled. “It sure was lucky Calvin dated a medical examiner, then. Otherwise, he’d just be dead with nobody the wiser.”

“That’s true,” I agreed.

“Do you need help getting started on the investigation?” Jimmy asked. “I can ride with you to knock on doors.”

“Why do you sound so excited about coming with me?” I asked.

“I’m not allowed to get my burritos delivered anymore,” Jimmy admitted. “My wife said spending money on a personal delivery guy who drives me processed meats and fake cheeses isn’t a good use of our funds, especially since I need to watch my cholesterol anyway.”

“Oh, shoot,” I said.

“I figure while we’re out and about,” Jimmy said, “we can grab lunch.”

“Well, it’s good that we love you so much, Jimmy.” Dunkirk looked at a text on his phone. “We heard the bad news, so we all chipped in to order you one last burrito for a proper send-off. Elmer’s on his way downstairs now. I grabbed his number from Asha.”

“I think this is a terrible idea,” I warned. “Jimmy already had a burrito this morning.”

“It’s okay, Rosetti,” Jimmy said. “They keep well in the fridge. Thanks, guys. That’s really nice of you.”

“Should be here any minute,” Dunkirk said.

Jimmy’s eyes brightened like he’d just won the lottery. A moment later, as promised, Jimmy was called down to the lobby for a delivery. He headed down there with some real enthusiasm, then returned a few minutes later holding a bag from Burrito Baby.

“You guys are too much,” Jimmy said, looking around the room. “I appreciate y’all.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dunkirk said, not making eye contact.

“Just a little something,” Jack said. “Not a big deal.”

“Enjoy,” managed Winkler.

“Just to be clear, nobody invited me to be a part of this,” I said too loudly. “I didn’t chip in on anything—for the record.”

“Well, I love you anyway, Rosetti,” Jimmy said.

The room fell silent as Jimmy began to carefully unwrap his burrito, despite saying he was going to shove it in the fridge. I couldn’t imagine what the boys had put inside. I didn’t really want to know, but alas, I was in the thick of things whether I wanted to be or not.

All of a sudden, there was a puff of air, followed rapidly by a plume of something shiny. It erupted like a volcano of…unicorn vomit.

Glitter. It was a glitter bomb.

There was glitter on Jimmy’s head, all over his desk, and across the floor. There was probably glitter between his toes and in his lungs and definitely roaming his small intestine.

“A glitter bomb.” Jimmy spoke in a monotone. “That was a good one, guys. Nice prank. Didn’t suspect a thing.”

Dunkirk frowned, like this was not going according to plan. I heard him whisper to Winkler, “It wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“You should have read the reviews!” Winkler hush-whispered back. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Glitter is always a bad idea,” I said. “There’s no way to do anything with glitter that doesn’t make a mess.”

“This was supposed to be a small glitter bomb, like a tablespoon. Not enough to make a real mess,” Dunkirk argued. “Like a harmless April Fool’s Day joke.”

“You should know better,” I chided. “Glitter always makes a mess. It’s permanent. Jimmy’s going to be sneezing glitter for a year.”

We all looked at Jimmy, who looked like he’d bathed in pink sparkles. It was a lot more than a tablespoon.

“I’m not upset about the joke,” Jimmy said sadly. “I just really wanted that burrito.”

I glanced his way, feeling like I needed sunglasses to look directly at him.

“I’m sorry, partner,” I said. “Why don’t you clean yourself off, and I’ll buy you a burrito while we’re out.”

As Jimmy pulled himself to his feet, I made eyes at the other three gentlemen in the room. “Y’all have fun cleaning this up.” I gestured toward the glitter. “I expect every last speck of glitter to be vacuumed up by the time we get back.”

Then I marched out of the room toward Asha.

“I’m taking Jimmy out for lunch,” I told her. “But first, we’re going to pay a visit to the cops who found Romley.”

“Isn’t it early for lunch?”

“It’s noon somewhere,” I said. “Any chance you can get me those names?”

“You got it.” Asha glanced up at me. “You think it’ll be an investigation?”

“Seems likely.”

“I’ll start digging,” Asha said. “I’ll send you any info I can find on Romley while you guys are out.”

“I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Asha said. “But I’m wondering why every time you exhale, a little bit of glitter floats around you?”

“Don’t ask,” I said. “Also, I’d avoid that room for the next few hours if you care about your lungs.”

Once Jimmy had managed to remove about 80 percent of the glitter from his person, we drove across town to a pink food truck that served sweets and lattes. I ordered a couple of coffees as we introduced ourselves to the two cops who’d been first to arrive at the scene of Romley’s death.

“Honestly, the situation seemed pretty straightforward,” a pretty blonde woman called Officer Peters said. “We got a call from a neighbor who thought they had a prowler.”

“A neighbor,” Officer Curly, a tall, wide gentleman with very little hair said, with a roll of his eyes. “You mean the neighborhood snitch?”

“Do you have the name of this neighbor who called it in—the neighborhood snitch?”

“We’re on a first-name basis,” Curly said. “The guy’s name is Wilson Jeremiah. It’s not going to be hard to dig up information on him. He’s got frequent-flier miles when it comes to complaints with our office. I’ve got it all written down in the report, and I can send you all the information after this.”

“That’d be great,” I said. “I’d like to take a look at it. I know Melinda reached out to the M.E. who handled the case, but the rest of the report—pictures, names, etcetera—would be helpful.”

“No problem. I’ll have it to you by the end of the day. As for Wilson Jeremiah, there’s a whole entire file with his name on it,” Peters said, lowering her voice, “and someone titled the folder Garbage. As in, the minute Wilson Jeremiah calls, you can pretty much be sure the complaint is one for the trash.”

“What’s this guy’s deal?” I asked. “Why does he complain so much?”

“He’s old and lonely,” Curly said. “That’s all. The man’s harmless. We listen to him when he calls, but half the time, he’s complaining about someone on the street that left their garbage can out too long or has a dandelion on their front lawn. Real trivial stuff.”

“What was the nature of Mr. Jeremiah’s call the night of Calvin’s death?”

“He thought there was a prowler. It was a quiet night, so Peters and I headed over to check things out.” Curly raised a huge shoulder. “Can you imagine our surprise when we actually found a dead body on the ground?”

“Did you get any details from Wilson Jeremiah?” I asked. “Did he see anything suspicious?”

“The guy stares through his front window like the street is his personal soap opera,” Peters said. “We got a general timeline of the night from him. Wilson said he fed his cat a little after seven p.m. That was the only time he wasn’t looking out the window. That timeframe overlaps with the time-of-death range as called by the coroner.”

“What about before?” I asked. “Did he see Romley talking with anyone?”

“He said he didn’t see anyone else,” Peters said. “What Wilson did say was that Mr. Romley had been up on his roof shoveling snow. That matched with what we found when we arrived—a ladder perched against the roof, a shovel askew up there, and Calvin on the ground.”

“Did you go up on the roof to look?” I asked. “Is that what you found?”

“I climbed up the ladder,” Peters said. “I peeked up top, and it looked like there were skid marks consistent with a slip and fall. One that could have led to him sliding off the roof and landing on the hard sidewalk below.”

“Did your team get any photos?” I asked.

“It’s all in the report,” Peters said. “We took photos. The M.E. arrived and ruled it an accidental death based on the injuries sustained and the eyewitness testimony.”

“You mean, the fact that people saw Calvin shoveling snow off the roof?”

Peters nodded. “The M.E. didn’t see a need for an autopsy. It seemed pretty cut and dry—bashed in skull, guy shoveling the roof on a slippery night, no sign of foul play. Nobody questioned the report either.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Dr. Brooks will go over the report just to be thorough.”

“Good,” Peters said. “The more eyes on it the better, if you think something funny was going on. What prompted the investigation anyway? Like I said, nobody’s questioned any part of Calvin’s death until now.”

“Honestly, sheer chance,” I said. “Dr. Brooks knew Calvin and was present at his funeral. Something didn’t seem right with his nose, and she started digging and asking questions just to be sure.”

“I’m not an M.E.,” Peters said, “but the injuries Calvin Romley sustained looked consistent with a fall from the roof. His head was cracked in pretty good, and he was lying in a pool of his own blood. No other obvious injuries that we could tell. Between that and the eyewitness testimony of Wilson, we figured it was what it was—an accident.”

“Do you remember anything else from that night?” I asked. “Were any other people around? Were there other footprints around the house or vehicles parked on the street?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t think of much.” Curly looked to Peters. “The street was pretty empty of cars. A few parked in driveways, but from what I remember, most of them had a layer of snow on them. This is also why I don’t think our photos will be of much help to you. We’ve covered everything of importance—the skull, the blood on the ground, things like that. The rest of it—footprints and the like—would’ve been already buried by the time we got there.”

“There was nothing that made us do a double take,” Peters agreed. “It was the general consensus by everyone on the scene that it was an unfortunate accident.”

“When you found Romley,” I asked, “how was he positioned on the ground?”

“On his back, face up.” Realization dawned on Peters’ face. “Now that you mention it, Calvin’s face was covered in blood. I chalked it up to him falling on the roof and maybe cracking his nose before he slid down. Plus, there was blood everywhere, so I didn’t think much about the fact that some got on his face.”

“It might have been an accident,” I said. “But we are looking into it to be sure. Are you sure there’s nothing else you can think of that might have pointed to some sort of confrontation earlier that evening?”

Peters and Curly looked at one another, but it was Peters who finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Detectives. It was a windy night, and there must have been a couple inches of snow that fell between Wilson’s phone call and us finding his body. If there were footprints or signs of a skirmish, I either missed them or they were covered up.”

“I figured it was a long shot,” I said. “But this is helpful. If either of you think of anything else, give us a call.”

“Let us know what Dr. Brooks finds on the report from the M.E.,” Peters said. She paused, gave a long look at Jimmy. “By the way, I’ve gotta ask. What’s with the glitter?”

Jimmy glanced at me, then gave a hugely dramatic sigh. “Decoration.”

seven

After we parted ways with Peters and Curly, we headed back to the car and drove in the direction of Calvin’s home address. I wanted to get an idea of where the man lived, and to see this roof he’d been on before he died.

I parked out front and took one look at Jimmy. He was still a little too shiny with glitter in his hair.

“With all due respect,” I said to Jimmy, “do you mind waiting in the car?”

Jimmy saluted. “I understand I’m a little too pink to be professional.”

“I won’t be long,” I said. “I just want to peek around the premises. I’ll knock on the door, see if he lived with roommates or whatever. Can you look into the file Asha sent to see who we can talk to next?”

“You got it.”

As I climbed out of the car, it took me a beat to recognize what was wrong. Outside of Calvin’s house was a wiggly path shoveled up the front walk. Someone had been here after the blizzard. Which didn’t make sense if Calvin lived here alone…because he was dead.

So, who had shoveled?

I glanced up at the roof. It had snowed so much since Friday night that it was impossible to find any clues just hanging around. Even Peters and Curly had confirmed that the conditions had made it difficult to find much trace of anything that night.

When I looked up, I saw movement inside the house. Someone was home. A shadow behind the curtains. I turned back and knocked on the car window until Jimmy lowered it.

“Someone’s inside,” I said. “I can see someone moving around, and the front walk is shoveled. I’m going in.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Jimmy and I marched up the wiggly path to the front door. I knocked while Jimmy hung back. The door was opened a beat later by a thin, blonde woman wearing a threadbare cotton apron.

“Yeah?” she said. “I’m halfway through making a meatloaf. Do you need something?”

“Do you live here?” I asked.

The woman looked shocked. Frankly, I was shocked to find her here, which was why I’d sort of forgotten to preface this whole thing with the fact that I was a homicide detective.

“Yeah, I live here.” She looked bewildered. “Now leave me alone. I’m not buying anything. I don’t have the money to, even if you were selling something worth buying.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I should’ve started with this.” I held up my badge in response. “I’m not selling anything. I’m a homicide detective. My name is Kate Rosetti, and I’m looking for Calvin Romley’s place of residence.”

“Oh,” she said.

“So…” I waited. “Did he live here too?”

“Sometimes,” she said.

“And you are...?” I asked. “Calvin’s roommate?”

“Nah,” she said. “I’m his wife.”

The world stilled like someone had just done a gigantic record scratch. My body stilled. Maybe Melinda needed to revisit her plan for background checks. Maybe she didn’t get a lot of dates that way, but maybe it was because there just weren’t that many dates worth having.

“Where’s Calvin?” she asked. “What’d he do this time? If he’s in prison, I am not bailing him out. I told you already; I’ve got no money.”

Either this woman didn’t know the meaning of homicide, or she hadn’t been listening to the details of my introduction.

“The thing with Calvin is...” I paused. “Would it be okay if I stepped inside? I’m not sure this is a conversation to have on the front steps.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Go ahead and have it.”

“Calvin’s dead,” I said. “He died on Friday night.”

“No kiddin’,” she said, like I’d told her the price of gas had gone up twenty cents.

“I am going to be up front with you,” I said. “I’m only surprised to find you here because I wasn’t aware that Calvin was married. Can I ask you a few questions about your husband?”

“I guess,” she said. “But I’ve gotta mix up that meatloaf, so you’re gonna have to take off your shoes and sit at the table while I work.”

Her hands squeezed raw meat. Eggs splooshed. My stomach roiled. This was one of the reasons I didn’t cook. I’d be too queasy to eat the finished product. Meanwhile, Jimmy stood next to me at the kitchen counter, watching this process with something akin to approval. The man loved his meat.

“Let’s start off easy,” I said. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Linda,” she said. “Linda Frank.”

“Any relation to Lisa?” I asked, but my joke was totally lost on her. Maybe she was too young. Apparently, my references were dated.

“Nah,” she said, her fingers squishing some more. “Don’t know a Lisa, then again, I don’t really talk to my dad’s side.”

“How long have you been married to Calvin?” I asked.

“Three years,” she said. “Three years too long, but divorce is expensive, so we just let that certificate ride and do our own thing.”

“Are you estranged, then?”

“I don’t know what that word means.”

“Are you separated?”

“More than that,” Linda said. “We don’t interact at all if we can help it. It’s just that neither of us had any money when we got married, and we’ve got even less now. Instead of paying forty grand for a lawyer to separate our assets, we just decided to do it ourselves. Without the formalities.”

“Do you live here full time?”

“Mostly,” she said. “But Calvin still comes by occasionally.”

“Where does he stay when he’s not with you?”

“His mom’s house, last I heard,” she said. “Look, Calvin’s perfectly nice, but he’s kind of a loser.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, for starters, he lives in his mom’s basement because she feeds him and buys him stuff and does his laundry. He spends what little money he makes on games and tacos.”

“Is his dad in the picture?”

“Nope. He died a while ago. I think that’s part of the reason his mom likes having him around. She’s lonely, and they don’t have much else in the way of family.”

“Does Diane know about you?” I asked. “That you’re married…sort of?”

“She thinks we’re divorced,” she said. “Calvin was too chicken to tell Diane that he never made it official. She doesn’t know I still live here. The thing is, neither me nor Calvin can afford separate places, so we switch off staying here. I go down to Florida a lot to visit my sister, and Calvin stays here. When I’m in town, he goes to his mom’s place. It works out.”

“Did Calvin have a job?” I asked. “I heard he worked in the construction industry.”

“At best, Calvin was a part-time handyman.” Linda rolled her eyes. “He’d scroll Craigslist and pick up a few odd jobs to make ends meet. Sometimes he told people he was in the construction industry if he wanted to impress them. That’s what he told me when we first met.”

That went a long way to explain why Asha hadn’t been able to find explicit details about Calvin’s job. I wondered vaguely how I was supposed to break all this crazy news to Melinda. No wonder Calvin had never invited her over.

“Were you aware Calvin was dating people?” I asked. “He’d been out on a few dates before his death.”

“Good for him. I’ve been dating people for two years. That’s how long ago we officially separated.”

“Were you here this weekend?” I asked. “Specifically on Friday night?”

“No,” she said. “I was out of town until today, down at my sister’s in Florida. I just got back a few hours ago. There’s no food in the house which is why I gotta cook.”

“Did you know Calvin was here over the weekend?”

“I guess I didn’t know for sure, but I texted him that it was his turn to have the house for a few days, so I figured he’d be here. How’d he die, anyway?”

“He fell off the roof.”

“This roof?” Linda pointed up.

I nodded.

“No kiddin’,” she said again. “What was he doing up there?”

“Shoveling off snow is what I heard.”

“That sounds pretty stupid to me.” Linda tossed the meatloaf into the oven. “It also sounds a lot like something Calvin would do. The man doesn’t have time to shovel the front walk, but he can shovel the roof.”

“I wonder why you weren’t notified as next of kin if you’re still legally married?”

“People tried to notify me,” she said. “But I was out of town, and I turned off my phone when I found out people were calling about Calvin. See, I thought he was in trouble. I wanted nothing to do with that, so I shut my phone off until I got home.”

“Why were you so sure Calvin was in trouble?” I asked. “Was he in trouble?”

“Not that I know of. But the man isn’t that smart, and he’s a liar. The combination isn’t a good one, so it was only a matter of time before it caught up with him.”

I could see Linda being correct on that front. Seeing as he’d completely omitted the fact that he was married, on his dates with Melinda.

“Why did you marry him?” I asked, truly curious, because it sure didn’t sound like Linda thought highly of Calvin.

“He lied to me,” Linda said. “I thought he had money and a house and stuff after our first couple of dates. I got a positive pregnancy test after we slept together the first time, so we rushed off for a quickie courthouse wedding. Turns out the pregnancy didn’t take, and neither did the marriage. We tried to make it work for a year, but it was pretty clear we didn’t like anything about one another.”

“Who does this house belong to?”

“His mom,” she said. “Back when Calvin’s dad was still alive, they bought this place as a rental property. When Calvin got old enough, his mom decided to let him move in here instead of renting it out. My name’s not on the paperwork, but neither is his. That’s what I mean. Calvin lied about everything. This isn’t even his house.”

“Can you think of any reason someone might have wanted Calvin dead?”

Linda eyed me. “Did none of what I just said register with you?”

“Okay,” I revised, “let me rephrase. Is there anyone you can think of who might have been ticked off at Calvin enough to kill him?”

“I thought he fell off the roof.”

“We’re exploring all the options.”

“Ah.” Linda’s eyes widened. “You’re like a female Matlock.”

“I mean, I’m a few years younger than Matlock.”

“Maybe a couple of years,” Linda said graciously. “You really are a detective looking into Calvin’s death, huh? Is my picture going to be in the paper?”

“I can’t promise anything.”

“Just let me know because I want to get my nails done if I am,” she said. “And no, I really tried my hardest not to know anything about Calvin’s life. We were fine if we ran into each other coming and going, but honestly, we were basically strangers.”

“Thanks for your time,” I said. “Before we take off, I’m going to need to grab your sister’s information just so we can verify your whereabouts.”

Linda narrowed her eyes at me. “Do you think I killed him? Honey, I didn’t care enough about Calvin to kill him.”

“Well, fortunately it sounds like you have an airtight alibi,” I said. “If anything else comes up, we’ll give you a call.”

“Sure thing. Here’s my sister’s name and number.” Linda pulled up an entry on her phone and showed it to me. “But my nail gal gets booked far in advance, so seriously, I need some lead time if you want to feature my picture in the paper.”

“I’m not a reporter. I don’t put anyone in the paper.”

“But you can put me in the paper if you want to,” Linda said. “I just need a little warning, is all.”

eight

After the visit with Linda, Jimmy and I picked up burritos and headed back to the precinct. When we arrived, I was pleased to find there was almost no indication that a glitter bomb had detonated just a few hours before. A vacuum sat in the corner, and aside from a few sparkles on Jimmy’s keyboard, the place was clean. I was grudgingly quite impressed with my male colleagues.

Jimmy and I spent the better part of the afternoon combing through the information Asha had pulled on Calvin. While we were going through files, I got the original case report from Curly and Peters, and I went through that as well.

There were no huge surprises in the report, as far as I could tell. I looked through the photos taken the night of Calvin’s death, but they would help Melinda more than me. To me, it looked just like Curly and Peters had said—a guy fell off the roof and smashed his head on the way down. Some blood, some injuries, but nothing to signal foul play.

There was also a mention in the report that Peters had tried to notify Calvin’s next of kin about his death. She noted in particular that she’d reached Calvin’s mother, Diane, on the first try. She noted that she tried to reach Linda Frank several times over the course of the weekend, but had been unable to get ahold of her.

There was a handwritten note that said, “Avoiding my calls?” on the report. Below this, Peters later added an update that said, “Spoke with Diane. Believes her son and Linda are divorced. Said not to worry about notifying her as they’re no longer on speaking terms.”

This part of the report would’ve surprised me if I’d read it this morning, but after visiting in person with Linda, it all added up. Including the part about Diane not being aware that Linda and Calvin hadn’t gotten a divorce. Or that she had any idea Linda was still living in the former rental house.

At one point, just as my eyes were getting blurry from reviewing all the files we could get our hands on, Asha wandered into the office and leaned against my desk.

“So, who’s gonna tell Dr. Brooks the bad news?” Asha dropped a can of Diet Coke on my desk. “You or me?”

I sat back in my chair. “Not it?”

“We’re not in third grade.” Asha sat down next to me, and put a finger to the tip of her nose. “Nose goes. Not it.”

I touched my nose, then looked over to Jimmy. He went to touch his nose, but he sneezed, and glitter sprayed up from his keyboard.

“You want me to tell Melinda she was dating a married man without a job?” Jimmy stood and crossed his arms. “I prefer to live.”

I looked up at Asha. “Maybe we just don’t tell her the details?”

Asha narrowed her gaze at me.

“Right,” I said. “Not an option.”

“Not even a little one.”

“Let’s worry about it tomorrow,” I said. “Melinda’s got a lot on her plate right now. Plus, I heard a rumor she’s getting dinner tonight with a friend, so I don’t want to spoil her evening.”

“That’s fair,” Asha said. “By the way, Melinda just shared that the autopsy is finished, and the results will be posted soon. Jury’s out on if Sturgeon will assign it as a case this evening or tomorrow morning.”

Before I could reply, my phone buzzed with a call from Bonnie, Gem’s assistant. I frowned, then gestured at Asha that I needed to take it.

“Hey, Bonnie. What’s going on?” I sat back in my chair and cracked open the Diet Coke Asha had dropped off. “Do you need something?”

“You’re a detective, right?”

“Sure am,” I said.

“Well, I might have a crime to report.”

“Nope.” I shook my head, even though Bonnie couldn’t see me. “I’ve had enough imaginary crimes reported today already. I am at my limit.”

“Please, just hear me out. I think someone was inside my house. Alternatively, it’s possible my house is haunted,” Bonnie said. “I’m sitting outside in my car right now because I’m too nervous to go in alone. I was wondering if you could swing by and check out the situation.”

“What situation, Bonnie? I need specifics.”

“Don’t you guys check out dangerous things as part of your job?”

“Yeah,” I said. “If it’s actually dangerous. That’s what I’m trying to understand.”

We sat quietly for a moment.

“Are you in danger?” I asked Bonnie.

“Are ghosts dangerous?” Bonnie asked, the same way people ask, “Do bears poop in the woods?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I’ve never met a ghost.”

“Look. My front door is sitting cracked open a few inches, and I can’t remember if I left it that way. Also, last night, I heard a bunch of noise while I was trying to sleep. Some creepy scratching. It kept me up for so long that I barely got any sleep.”

“Your front door is open?” I asked. “Are there signs of forced entry? Do you think somebody broke in? Why don’t you call nine-one-one?”

“Because I’m not sure. There’s a tiny possibility I forgot to close the door.” After a long pause, she concluded, “Either there’s a murderer waiting inside for me, or I just didn’t lock the door after getting my Amazon package this morning. The only other option is a ghost.”

“Please don’t take offense to this, but statistically, the Amazon option is the most likely.”

“Wouldn’t you feel really terrible if you assumed I was safe, and then found me hacked to bits tomorrow morning? I bet Mr. Gem wouldn’t love having to find another assistant because I was dead.”

I wasn’t sure that Gem loved Bonnie all that much to start with, but I couldn’t tell her that. Not when she was afraid that she might be hacked to bits before bedtime.

I glanced up when Jack wandered into the room, his eyes locking on the vacuum cleaner. Probably needed to get it back to maintenance, which gave me an idea.

“Actually, I’ve got someone I can send over,” I said. “You’ve met him before. Do you remember Agent Russo?”

“Of course I remember him. Federal hottie.”

“That’s the one,” I said dryly. “He’ll come by and make sure your place isn’t haunted and Michael Meyers isn’t hiding under your bed.”

“Thank you so much, Kate. I owe you one.”

“Trust me,” I said. “You’re doing me the favor.”

After grabbing Bonnie’s address and hanging up with her, I followed Jack out of the room as he wheeled the vacuum cleaner down the hall.

“Hey,” I said. “We’ve got a possible serial killer on our hands, and I need you to check out the situation.”

“That’s baloney.” Jack straightened, pure skepticism on his face. “If there was a killer out there, you’d be running toward him with open arms. You never pass up a good case. What’s really up?”

“While I don’t appreciate that energy, you’re not entirely wrong,” I admitted. “Although, I do have a favor to ask of you.”

Jack frowned. “What sort of favor?”

“A friend of mine is afraid to go into her house. She heard noises last night, and the front door is open a crack as she’s getting home from work. She can’t remember if she locked it or not.”

Jack’s eyebrows pinched tighter. “Has she considered squirrels?”

“What?”

“Squirrels are loud if they get in your attic,” Jack said. “Could also be raccoons.”

“Noted,” I said back. “Go and look for squirrels, then.”

“Why don’t you do it? It’s your friend.”

“Jack, this is karma. You glitter-bombed my partner today. You go look for squirrels.”

“At least come with me.”

“I’ve got dinner plans with Gem. Real dinner plans. I’m cooking and invited my sister and her husband over and everything,” I said. “You’ve got your hand on a vacuum cleaner.”

Jack cleared his throat.

“Also, you’ve met Bonnie, Gem’s assistant, before, so it’s best if you go. You’re a familiar face. I already told her you’re on your way.”

“Bonnie?” Jack perked up at the name. “Yeah, I guess I could do that.”

Before I could even process Jack’s change in demeanor, he was out the door. Seeming a little too excited to be out hunting for squirrels in an attic.

Once I’d sent Jack on his way, I headed back down to the lab to talk to Melinda. Dr. Lucas was currently elsewhere, so I had her full attention.

“Turns out I was right,” Melinda said. “I can get good hunches too.”

“Dr. Lucas ruled Calvin’s death a homicide?”

“Not exactly. He confirmed the cause of death was blunt-force trauma to the head resulting in cerebral hemorrhage. No big surprise there. He also noted internal bleeding, broken bones, and a few more technical details that you’ll find listed in the report.”

“It sounds pretty consistent with a fall from a roof.”

“It sure is,” Melinda said. “I also spoke with the M.E. who was there the night of Calvin’s death. He did note the nasal fracture, but he figured it was because Romley had fallen face-first onto the roof, then toppled down to the ground after. He also identified broken bones in the wrists, consistent with Calvin trying to break his fall. The M.E. noted the head injury—the thing that killed him—was consistent with a fall onto a flat surface.”

“You mean, it was obvious he wasn’t smacked with a baseball bat to the head?”

“Exactly.”

“It seems like everyone was pretty confident it was an accident, right off the bat. Between the ME’s assessment of Calvin’s injuries and the eyewitness testimony of Calvin shoveling snow off his roof in a snowstorm minutes before his death, it probably seemed obvious at the time.”

“Right,” Melinda said. “Because of the snow that had fallen, there were no tracks to examine. There was no evidence to suggest anyone else had been there. Even afterward, nobody brought up concerns that it wasn’t a straightforward accident. The M.E. concluded that an autopsy wouldn’t be necessary.”

“Peters and Curly, the cops on the scene, agreed with him,” I said. “It seems like the whole crew was pretty much aligned.”

“It’s an unfortunate assumption, but I see how they arrived at the conclusion,” Melinda said. “If they’d taken a closer look, they might have noticed that the nasal fractures are not consistent with Romley’s face hitting a flat surface.”

Melinda raised her hands and clapped them together to demonstrate two flat things smacking together.

I frowned. “You mean, Calvin’s injuries should have presented differently if he’d actually hit his face on the shingles before he fell?”

“Yes, and I can see how the other ME would’ve missed it, under the circumstances. Especially considering the team made assumptions about it being an accident from the start. They proceeded to find evidence that fit their version of events.”

“What’s the other version of events?” I asked. “What does Dr. Lucas think could have happened up there?”

“Along with the nasal fracture and associated soft tissue swelling and contusions, there was also a one-point-two centimeter laceration on the lower lip with associated bruising that occurred very close to the time of Calvin’s death, but definitely before he died.”

“Are you saying Calvin got punched in the face?”

“That’s the shorthand, yes. And he was probably hit more than once. It would be very difficult to break someone’s nose and do this sort of damage to their upper lip in the same blow.”

“Okay. In terms of timeline, is it safe to guess that Calvin got punched in the face while on the roof?” I asked. “Because if he had just gotten punched in the face, why would he then climb on the roof and start shoveling with a bloody nose?”

“I can’t confirm that for a fact, but I’d certainly agree that it’s a valid possibility. I’ll review the photos from the initial scene and double-check any blood-spatter patterns they may have recorded, but honestly, with the snow, their photos are probably pretty useless.”

“If that’s true, then someone else was there that night. Some person must have climbed onto the roof, and then gotten into a physical altercation with Calvin which resulted in him falling off the roof to his death.”

“It’s a good theory, but let me say we’re officially passing the baton to you guys,” Melinda said. “We’ll finish running our tests in the lab, but we’ve already let Sturgeon know the official results. You can take it from here.”

Still chewing on this bit of news, I headed upstairs and ran into Sturgeon just as he was coming out of his office. He was dressed in a nice suit and looked like he had someplace to be. When he saw me, he groaned audibly.

“I always love to inspire a good groan in people,” I said to my boss. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Are you here to beg me to get started on the Romley case?” Sturgeon shook his head. “I have someplace to be tonight, and I don’t have time to kick things off. We’ll meet in the morning to get started.”

“No worries,” I said. “I can be patient.”

Sturgeon rolled his eyes. “You don’t know the word patient.”

“As it turns out, I have dinner plans tonight too,” I said. “So I will not be working, contrary to what you believe.”

Sturgeon raised his eyebrow. “Is that true? You actually have somewhere to be?”

“Yes!”

“Then…” Sturgeon cleared his throat. “Good for you. I’ll see you in the morning. Enjoy your night, Rosetti.”

nine

As I drove home to the penthouse, I reviewed the list of things I’d need to do tomorrow, now that the Romley case was official. We’d need to secure the proper warrants. I’d need to dig deeper into Calvin’s personal and work life and interview the neighbor who’d called in a prowler. I’d need to find out who had wanted to punch Calvin in the face on a snowy roof if that was truly what had happened.

But for the rest of the evening, I had only one job, and that was to be Kate Rosetti without the detective label. My sister and her husband were coming over for dinner. Between my three-week trip to Italy with Gem, and then diving into work when I returned, it’d been too long since I’d seen Jane.

She’d been busy on her end too. Apparently the looming arrival of a baby meant that Jane needed new carpets and new paint and something about a new deck? I didn’t know the details, but to me it sounded like they were living in a construction zone.

I hurried upstairs, just a few minutes behind schedule. I found Gem waiting for me in the penthouse. I gave him a quick kiss, glancing at the kitchen counter where I was really hoping there would be boxes of take-out food waiting. Waiting for me to dump them onto plates to pretend this meal was homemade.

“Did the food get delivered?” I asked Gem. “I had it scheduled to be here by now.”

“No,” Gem said. “I figured you were picking it up on your way back.”

My heart started to race. “I ordered a bunch of Chinese food to be delivered twenty minutes ago.”

“Well, there is no Chinese food here.”

I pulled out my phone and quickly dialed the restaurant that had my order. I got no answer on the first two times. On the third time, I gathered from the employee that the restaurant had experienced a burst pipe and had closed down for the day. I hadn’t gotten a notification.

“What are we going to do?” I asked Gem. “Jane and Wes will be here any minute. I told them I was cooking.”

“Why did you tell them you were cooking?”

“Because I originally considered trying to cook before I remembered what a terrible idea that would be.”

Gem smiled, pulled me in for a hug. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll go out to eat. There are a zillion places around us. I can have Bonnie make us reservations wherever you’d like. This isn’t worth panicking over. They’ll understand.”

I wrinkled my nose. “This is true. It’s just not very domestic of me to invite Jane and Wes over and then not have any food besides beef sticks and wine.”

“I like beef sticks and wine just fine.”

“Yeah, but you see my point.”

“Kate,” Gem said gently. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but nobody thinks you’re domestic like that.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked. “I really can’t tell.”

“I think so.” Gem plunked a kiss on my forehead. “You don’t need to pretend to be something you’re not. We all know you can’t cook to save your life, and we love you anyway.”

Just then, the elevator doors dinged. Ms. Karp had been given instructions to send Jane and Wes right up when they arrived. I separated from Gem, then went to greet my sister and her husband.

“Why did you bring food?” I asked, noting that both Jane and Wes had their arms laden with trays. “I said I was going to cook.”

“I know.” Jane pecked me on one cheek. “That’s the problem.”

“Technically, I did order food.” I quickly took the tray from my pregnant sister’s arms and nodded for her to follow me into the kitchen. “But a pipe burst, and they couldn’t deliver it. So, thanks for this. I’ll pay you back.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Jane said. “But if you want to drink a glass of wine and let me sniff it first, I’d love it.” She gave a longing sigh at the three glasses of wine resting on the counter. “I would do anything for my baby, but I do miss my occasional glass of wine.”

I passed my glass toward Jane. “Sniff away.”

Gem and Wes chatted amiably while they unloaded the food—platters of sushi from Jane’s favorite restaurant. Apparently she’d been craving cooked sushi rolls her entire pregnancy, so this was the fourth time they’d ordered from the place this week.

“I asked them if they have a punch card,” Jane said, a little sadly. “I think they’re considering starting one just for me.”

We took seats around the little table in Gem’s open kitchen-living-room area. Our seating gave us views to the outside world that made it feel like we were in an omni theater watching a show about space. Stars flicked around us and the clouds didn’t feel all that far away. Teeny tiny pricks of people moved around dustings of snow down below.

“Tell me all about Italy,” Jane said, as we each unloaded servings onto our plates. “Wes and I are looking to take a babymoon somewhere, and my vote is for Italy.”

“I vote the beach,” Wes said. “Jane hates the cold, so I figure it’ll be good for her to get some sunshine before we have a newborn. It’s already snowing, so I have a feeling it will be a long winter.”

“I agree with Wes,” I said to Jane. “I don’t know what pregnancy’s like, but if I was seven months pregnant and had a beach ball on my belly, I’d definitely want to sit on a beach instead of hiking up cobblestones. Drink some virgin cocktails and enjoy the quiet together before you never sleep again. Gem and I can always babysit once your baby is old enough to stay with us so you guys can escape to Europe.”

“You’d babysit?” Jane’s eyes widened. “For a whole week?”

“That’s extremely optimistic,” I said. “I guess I should offer Mom and Dad to babysit, and I will be there to provide support.”

“That checks out.” Jane scooped a bite into her mouth. “The beach it is, then. So tell me about Italy since I won’t be going there just yet.”

“It was beautiful.” I glanced at Gem who confirmed with a nod. “Three weeks in paradise. What’s not to love? The weather was perfect, the food was perfect, the company was perfect.”

“I loved it too.” Gem shrugged. “I’ve been there before, though, many times, so I think what made it special for me was experiencing it with Kate.”

“That’s sweet,” Jane chirped. “Could you stand traveling with her?”

Gem didn’t answer right away. It took him a long beat to realize that Jane was talking to him.

“Me?” he finally said. “Why would I have a problem traveling with Kate?”

“She can be particular.” Jane gave me a not-exactly-apologetic look. “Not to mention, half the time she’s on her phone checking work stuff or advising people on murder while the Eiffel Tower’s right in front of her—or whatever.”

Gem shook his head. “She didn’t have her phone on for most of it. We just…experienced life together for a while. It was nice. Relaxing, actually.”

Jane exchanged a glance with Wes. I didn’t know what the glance was, but it seemed to border on incredulous.

“That’s new,” Jane said cautiously. “What did you think of this experience, Kate? Being away from work and with the same person for days on end?”

“I loved being with him too.” The words kind of gushed out of me, way more enthusiastically than I’d intended. “I don’t think I’ve taken such a break from work in—I don’t know. Maybe ever? And yes, it was stunning. We hiked Cinque Terre and ate gelato every day, and the coffee was insane. But I admit it was the lazy mornings in bed and the walks in the sunshine that were my favorite. We had no meetings, no place to rush to, and I didn’t see one dead body my entire time there.”

“And spending every single day with Gem?” Jane asked. “That went okay?”

“I didn’t notice,” I said. “Like, I didn’t notice anything bad. We just gel together. It never occurred to me that it might be difficult to travel with him.”

“This is a breakthrough,” Jane announced. “A major breakthrough.”

“I like being with him,” I concluded. “It’s easy, and it’s fun. I don’t know. He’s perfect.”

The thing was, Gem was perfect. I didn’t say things like this to him often, but he deserved to hear it. Even though I hadn’t viewed our trip to Italy in the same way as Jane, as this revolutionary experience, I could see her point.

There was something comforting about knowing you could travel with a person to far-off places and still like them afterward. There was beauty in realizing that coming home to the same man every day gave me a sense of safety instead of anxiety. There was joy in realizing that my person loved me, and when he said he would love me forever, I found myself believing him.

“It took a long time for me to realize that Gem is exactly what I need,” I said quietly, speaking directly to the little shrimps on the table instead of the humans sitting around it. “But once I accepted that, everything else just seemed to fall into place.”

“Do you ever spend the night at your own place?” Jane asked. “Or are you mostly here now?”

“I mean, I stop by my place occasionally,” I said, which was mostly true.

But realistically, I’d been here every night since we’d returned from our trip. I’d gotten used to seeing Gem day in and day out, and now going a night without him sleeping beside me seemed painful instead of freeing. I’d worried about losing my independence, but to be honest, I felt more empowered being with him than without him.

Jane burst into tears. Before I could ask what was wrong, she fanned her face and said, “Hormones.”

“It’s true.” Wes slung an arm around his wife. “Jane cried the other day when I turned the opposite way of the Dairy Queen. I didn’t even know she wanted Dairy Queen.”

“I always want Dairy Queen!” Jane wailed. “Always, Wes.”

“I’m so sorry, babe.” Wes kissed his wife on the forehead, and he winked good-naturedly at me and Gem. “It’ll pass. Give her a minute.”

“He’s right.” Jane wiped her eyes with a napkin. “I’m good. I’m good. Can we get out the dessert?”

“Do you guys want to know something funny?” I asked, as I reached in the freezer for the green tea ice cream they’d brought along. Jane pulled cupcakes out from somewhere else. “You remember Jack Russo?”

Jane looked at me like I was an idiot. “Uh, yeah, we remember your ex-boyfriend.”

“He’s over at Bonnie’s house checking for a ghost.”

“Who’s Bonnie?” Jane asked. “And is that an innuendo?”

“Bonnie is Gem’s new assistant. She’s great,” I said. “But she called me at work today asking if I could check her house for ax murderers or squirrels.”

“Why did she call you?” Gem asked. “Hardly seems like a police matter.”

“I mean, she knows me,” I said. “I’m a cop. She sounded nervous, so I guess it makes sense. She found her front door open and couldn’t remember if she left it that way.”

“I don’t love Bonnie coming to you with her personal business, especially on your work time,” Gem said. “I’ll have to discuss that with her.”

“It’s okay. I was happy to send Jack over,” I said. “Anyway, if we get married, she’s half my assistant anyway, and my half casts a vote to not fire her.”

“Are you considering it?” Jane dropped a piece of edamame in surprise. “Marriage?”

I took a sip of my wine and tried to be nonchalant. “I mean, yeah, we talk about it. Here and there.”

“Really?” Jane asked.

“It’s a big commitment,” I told the table. “A part of me feels very stupid for not already having proposed to Gem. I mean, look at him. He’s perfect.”

“Uh, yeah,” Jane said dumbly. “I’ve been telling you this for ages.”

“But I only want to get married once,” I said. “When we grew up, Jane, we watched our parents’ marriage fall apart. This legal, lifelong commitment didn’t hold up when Dad went to prison. It…sort of ruined the idea of this sacred institution for me, the idea of in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad. If people just break up when things get hard, what’s the point?”

“This is true,” Jane said. “But they’re back together now. Which is even more amazing, if you ask me. They’ve always loved each other.”

“I see that now,” I said. “And I see you and Wes happy. I know you guys will make the best family for your baby. I guess what I’m trying to say is, my views on it are changing. Getting married doesn’t seem quite so crazy to me, after all, especially now that I know I can spend every day with Gem, and it never gets old. It only seems to get better.”

Jane and Wes were silent. Kind of like they wanted to disappear from this moment.

Gem’s hand was on my shoulder, but he was frozen like a statue. When I looked at him, his eyes softened, and he said, barely audible, “You know I love you, Kate. I’ve always been ready.”

After a very lengthy silence, Jane awkwardly pushed the plateful of bite-sized cupcakes in my direction. “Well, I’m sorry to interrupt this moment, but we have some news we wanted to share with you too.”

I reached for a cupcake and waited for Jane to go on. My sister opened her mouth to say something as I took a big bite, but then she stopped herself. I polished off the second half of the cupcake, then sat back in my seat and waited for Jane to continue.

“These cupcakes are really good,” I said when Jane seemed speechless. “Where’d you get them?”

Jane looked like she might cry. “We found out the gender of our baby.”

“You did!” I sat upright. “What is it? You can’t leave me hanging. Is it a girl or a boy?”

“Kate Rosetti, I can’t believe you,” Jane said. “You would know the answer if you didn’t just inhale our gender reveal.”

“What?”

“You were supposed to take a small bite and see if the frosting inside was pink or blue.” Jane looked like she was on the verge of panic. “That was our gender reveal cupcake.”

Wes rubbed a hand lovingly over his wife’s shoulder. “It’s no big deal, honey. We have twenty-three more cupcakes.”

“I always have room for another cupcake.” I thought it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to ask Gem to look in my mouth to determine if my teeth were pink or blue. “Can I have another one?”

Wes hurriedly pushed the plate of cupcakes in my direction. I took a bite of the little cupcake, and when I looked down and saw the brightly colored frosting in the middle, I went completely still.

“It’s a girl?!” I said in complete shock, still staring at the pink frosting. “I’m going to have a niece?”

“It’s a girl.” Jane leaned against Wes, relieved her plan finally went right. “We’re having a baby girl!”

I got up from the table and threw my arms around my sister. “This is fantastic news. You are going to be the best mom to your little girl, and your daughter’s going to have Wes wrapped around her little finger. Congrats, Daddy. You guys will be the best parents.”

Once the four of us had calmed down somewhat from the fantastic news, we leisurely cleaned up the dinner. I instructed all leftovers to be sent home with Jane, thinking she could probably use the sushi and cupcakes more than me.

As Wes and Gem finished packing up leftovers in the kitchen, Jane pulled me aside in the living room.

“How are you feeling about everything?” I asked her. “Were you and Wes excited to find out you’re having a girl?”

“I’m so excited.” Jane was saying all the right things, but her hands twisted together in a way that told me something was still bothering her. “I always wanted a daughter.”

“Is Wes disappointed?” I asked, digging as per my detective tendencies. “Gender disappointment is totally common and normal. I promise you both will love this little girl and not be able to imagine anything else once she’s here.”

“It’s not that at all. Wes is thrilled. It’s me,” she finally blurted. “I’m worried.”

“About what?” I tugged Jane to sit next to me on the couch. “What’s bothering you?”

“Having a girl. I just…I hope she’s like you.”

“Me?” I stared at Jane. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“No, Kate. Of course not. I’m very serious. Our parents had two daughters, and we’re so different.”

“Exactly. We’re so different. Why on earth would you want her to be like me? Jane, you’re amazing. You’re fun and awesome and creative. You’re married to a great guy. Your baby would be lucky to take after you.”

“I gave Mom hell for a lot of years. Like, the thought of my daughter being like me scares the ever living daylights out of me. You were always such a good kid. You followed the rules. You have a kickass career. You watched out for me, even when I didn’t give you a reason to help me out.”

“You’re my sister. I’ll always look out for you.”

“I know. That’s why I hope she’s like you. But what if she’s like me? What if she’s a little shit until she’s almost thirty years old?”

“You weren’t a little shit,” I said. “Not the whole time.”

Jane gave a little smile but didn’t look convinced.

“Ask Mom for advice,” I teased. “I’m sure she’ll have a few good tidbits for you. Even I’ve got a few. Lock the windows. Change the Wi-Fi password. Befriend the school principal.”

Jane barked a laugh. “I told you! I was not always a good kid.”

“You were always a good person. Who sometimes made questionable choices. But all teens need to test boundaries and figure themselves out, spread their wings and find their paths. Kids seek fulfillment in their own unique ways, and that’s healthy and normal.”

“I just hope her ways are more law abiding than mine.”

“She’s got me for an aunt.” I winked at Jane. “I’ll keep her in line.”

Jane gave a huge sigh like that wasn’t super helpful.

“You have nothing to worry about,” I said. “Seriously. Every person is different. She’s half Wes, so she won’t be exactly like you, no matter what. Not to mention, her homelife situation is different. Hopefully her father won’t go to prison before she’s in kindergarten. Things like that.”

“Maybe. But life can be unpredictable in all sorts of ways. People get sick, things don’t go as planned, whatever. Even if we try to give her a perfect life, it will never be perfect.”

“Perfect is overrated. Life is in constant motion. Things change. Kids are resilient. This baby is already so loved by so many people; she will always have a support network, whatever happens. And I mean it when I say, Jane, that you have always been a good person. Having a bit of a rebellious streak can be a good thing.”

“In moderation.”

“Sure,” I said. “But if you hadn’t snuck out of the house to go to the State Fair with your friends, I would’ve never chased you down and gotten to see my first Backstreet Boys concert at the Grandstand.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Remember when you got dumped by that one idiot with the felony while you were house-sitting his lakeshore cabin?” I asked. “I came up and met you there, and we drank wine by the lake and slept on the beach and accidentally saw the most incredible meteor shower ever?”

“It was a very sandy night.”

“I would have never done things like that without you.” I reached over and squeezed Jane’s hand. “I didn’t know how to make fun. We have a lot of sister memories together that we wouldn’t have if you were just like me, and how sad would that be?”

“Like that one time I tried to drive to Frederick’s house in the snowstorm, and you tried to come rescue me, and we both got stuck in the parking lot and were too afraid to call Mom?”

“And we had to put our jackets under the tires to try and get traction? Yeah, I remember that.” I was grinning at this point. “Some of it was pretty ridiculous at the time, but looking back, I wouldn’t change anything about it. You’re special and unique, just like she’ll be special and unique.”

“Thank you, Kate.”

“Don’t be afraid of her being like you,” I said. “I know I’ll be grateful if she’s at all like you.”

Jane reached over and hugged me then, squeezed me really tight. Our relationship had been hot or cold for many years, but it seemed like lately we’d really settled into a new, mature sort of bond that felt more rewarding than ever before.

Jane and Wes finally said goodbye, and then Gem and I made our way to the bedroom. I changed into pajamas, my mind racing from the evening’s conversations.

“A baby girl,” I said, tossing a few throw pillows to the ground. “What do you think about that?”

Gem slid into bed, glanced over at me. “I think it’s perfect for them.”

“If you had kids,” I ventured, “would you want a boy or a girl?”

Gem gave me a faint echo of a smile, then he leaned over and gave me a kiss on the lips. “Whatever you wanted would be just fine with me.”

ten

I arrived early at the office the next morning, mentally preparing for the day ahead. I knew Sturgeon would be assigning us the Romley case officially, and I wanted to get a head start. But before I could go inside the precinct, my phone rang. It was my mother. I glanced across the parking lot at the café next door.

“I saw you drive up,” she said. “I’ve got a drink with your name on it.”

I paused. “I already had coffee at Gem’s, but I never turn down a free drink.”

“It’s not from me,” my mother said. “Someone bought you a drink.”

My instincts were to ask a zillion more questions, but I knew my mother. It would be much faster for me to walk my whole body over to the café and get my questions answered in person than it would be to spend another second arguing on the phone.

As I cut across the rapidly melting snow in the parking lot, I flipped through my mental Rolodex, wondering who might’ve bought me a drink. It wasn’t a family member, or my mother would’ve just said that. Pretty much everyone else I knew wouldn’t be at the office yet.

It certainly wasn’t Gem either. That man would be more apt to buy a whole coffee shop and put my name on the front than order something from my mother and make me walk over to get it.

That left me with a real question mark as to who had thought to send me a gift on this balmy pre-winter morning. The sun was out, and it was rumored to be almost fifty degrees today—which was basically Mexico to us Minnesotans at this time of year.

I pushed through the door a minute later and headed to the counter. “Okay, can you let the cat out of the bag now? Who bought me a drink?”

“I don’t know,” my mom said. “That’s why I couldn’t tell you. I literally have no clue. He didn’t give me a name, and he paid in cash. He was an older gentleman who said you helped him out this week. He said...”

But I didn’t hear anything else my mother said. She had nodded toward the windows of her café, like maybe he was still out there.

I turned on a heel and raced through the front doors. As soon as she said “older gentleman,” I knew. Atticus. Golden-nail-to-the-forehead Atticus.

I stood on the front sidewalk as a vehicle slowed by the curb. It was an old green Ford truck, sort of rusted and run-down. It didn’t seem like a car Atticus might drive, and yet, he was definitely the one driving it.

“It was lovely to meet your family,” Atticus said through the open window. “But I have to say, I’m disappointed you’re not playing my game.”

“Atticus, wait! There’s no body!” I called after him. “You need to give me something—”

I cut myself off and pulled out my phone. The man was already driving away. I snapped a picture of the receding car. He was already turning out of the parking lot, and the truck would be out of sight soon.

I was sure Atticus had a plan in place to disappear. Sprinting to my car to follow him wouldn’t get me anywhere—he’d have accounted for that and would lose me before I could get my keys in the ignition. Not to mention, I still couldn’t really bring him in. The man hadn’t technically done anything aside from buy me a coffee.

I stood outside for a few minutes after the car pulled away. I felt like I’d drank thirty cups of coffee, and my very bones were jittering. I hated when people involved my family.

Before I calmed enough to go back inside the café, I texted Asha a picture of the car with an urgent request for her to pull everything she could on it. Until now, I’d had nothing to go on. I finally had a chance. A thread. A direction.

Unless the license plate was a complete dead end, and then I’d be back to square one.

When I tucked my phone back in my pocket, my hands were shaking, but I was able to inhale a full breath and let it back out. I was just gathering the courage to go back inside the coffee shop when I felt a familiar presence beside me.

“Everything okay, honey?”

I shifted my gaze to take in my mother. Just appreciating the fact that she was here—safe and sound. Whole.

“I hate this,” I found myself saying. “I hate when they involve my family.”

To her credit, my mother just nodded. Jane and I gave my mother flak for often being overly invested in our lives. And while it was true that sometimes she went overboard on things like nursery room stenciling or the fragile state of my love life, when it came to the really important things, she had always been our rock.

My mom had effectively been a single parent for most of our young lives, and she’d never once complained. I hadn’t thought about how much she must have gone through to provide for two little girls, but isn’t that how parenting works? It’s hard to appreciate your parents until you’re grown. The lucky ones realize it before it’s too late.

I threw my arms around my mom. “Thank you.”

“Kate!” My mother’s exclamation was one of surprise.

But she softened, and then hugged me back. Tight, hard, comforting, even though I had been taller than her for a long, long time.

“What can I do?” she asked. “How can I help?”

“I’m not sure that this was technically a threat, but in operating with an abundance of caution, I think it might be best for you to take the day off work and hang out at home with Dad.” I paused. “I’ll speak with Gem and have him send over one of his security guys to sit outside.”

“What if this man goes after Elizabeth?” Even in these circumstances, my mother was more concerned with others than herself. She gestured inside where the college-aged girl had taken over the front counter. “Or Jane and Wes?”

“I’ll have someone sent to Jane’s house too. And he won’t go after Elizabeth or anyone else—it’s personal. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about; so far, this man hasn’t been a threat. But just to be safe.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you for not arguing.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “Take a few days off, and I’ll figure out what’s happening on my end. I promise I’ll get this resolved as soon as I can. Will you call Jane for me and let her know the situation?”

“Of course.” My mother was already shrugging out of her apron. The fact that she wasn’t asking questions was a gift in and of itself. Worry lines creased her eyes, but she was no stranger to worry. “You take care of yourself, honey. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

I watched my mother as she ducked back inside the café. I couldn’t help but smile as she took the latte she’d made—the one Atticus had ordered and paid for—and slam-dunked it into the trash. Hard enough for me to see a splash over the lip of the can.

As my mother gave instructions to Elizabeth, I pulled out my phone and called Gem.

“I have a huge favor to ask,” I said to Gem. “It’s for my family. Can you spare a few guys on your security payroll for a couple of days? I want someone at my parents’ house and Jane’s, if possible.”

“It’s done.”

I thanked Gem profusely, then hung up with him as my phone pinged with a message from Asha.

Asha: Got something.

I returned to the precinct at top speed and found Asha at her desk waiting for me.

“The green Ford truck that you sent me a photo of is registered to Davina Farkle. She lives in Anoka.” Asha frowned, like Anoka was a whole world away instead of a jaunt to the other side of the Cities. “Here’s the listed address. Do you think Atticus stole it? His name’s not on the title.”

“Stealing a car seems...” I searched for the word to describe it. “I feel like he’d think it’s below him.”

“Have you thought about giving FBI profiler Denise Price a call?”

“No, but that’s a great idea. I’ll call her on the way over. The truck hasn’t been reported stolen by Davina?”

“Nope,” Asha said. “Are you going to call ahead and let her know you’re coming?”

I considered, then shook my head. “I can be there in half an hour. If this is my one chance to catch a lead on Atticus, I don’t want to blow it by letting the only woman with a tie to this man know I’m coming—on the off chance that I spook her. I also don’t want to give her time to plan out a reply. I want to see her reaction when I show up at the door.”

“Who are you taking with you?” The way she phrased it was more of a request to not go alone.

“I’ll take Jimmy.”

“He’s not in yet,” Asha said, handing over a sheaf of papers. “Jack should be here any minute. Take him. I’ll have Jimmy start on warrants for the Romley case so you can get started right when you get back. Sturgeon already assigned the case to you and Jones.”

Since Jack wasn’t in the bullpen, I wandered outside toward my car, hoping to catch Jack on the way in. I needed to get cracking today between this new Atticus development and the official Romley investigation.

I was just about to dial Jack, out of impatience, when my attention was drawn to a bright red car whizzing into the parking lot. Bonnie’s car. The bright red thing she’d used to almost run over some bad guys at a private airstrip a couple of months ago, inadvertently saving some of our lives on a big case.

I was sure it was her car. It was an apple-red convertible. I could see Bonnie sitting in the driver’s seat. There were two things that didn’t make sense. Number one, why she was at the precinct. And number two, why Jack Russo was occupying the passenger’s seat next to her.

“Hey, guys,” I said slowly, as Bonnie whipped into a handicapped parking space. “How’s it going?”

“I’m not staying,” Bonnie said in a rush, gesturing at the sign. “I’m just dropping Jack off for work. I’ve got to get to the office myself.”

“Welcome, Jack,” I said, unable to hide my amusement. “How did squirrel hunting go last night?”

“Squirrel hunting?” Bonnie’s eyes squinted in confusion. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m not dead, so that’s a good thing. Jack cleared the place for me.”

“How nice of him,” I drawled. “If you don’t mind, Russo, we actually have some place to be?”

“Yeah. Yep.” Jack jumped out of the car, a hint of flushed cheeks. “I’ll talk to you later, Bonnie. Thanks for the ride.”

As Bonnie peeled out of the parking lot, I gestured for Jack to climb into my car.

“I got another lead on Atticus,” I said. “Jimmy’s going to start on the Romley case, so you’re stuck riding along with me. This shouldn’t take long.”

eleven

We drove for ten minutes without speaking before Jack muttered something about needing coffee. I dutifully pulled into a drive-thru line, ordered us a couple of lattes, and waited for him to speak because something was clearly on his mind.

“Nothing happened last night,” Jack blurted, after a few swigs of his coffee. “Just so you know.”

“Jack, I don’t care if something happened. We dated a long time ago. It’s none of my business what—or who—you do anything with. I’m happily in a relationship with Gem.”

“I know. It’s just…you were probably surprised when I showed up to work with Bonnie this morning.”

“You really don’t have to explain. I’m happy for you guys. Bon voyage.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it means.” Jack paused. “While I was checking Bonnie’s house out last night, I left my car lights on. The battery died. Anyway, it was pretty clear that nothing untoward was happening at her house. Bonnie felt bad for wasting my time and offered me a drink.”

“Jack, seriously—”

“One thing led to another. We had some wine, my car battery died, and I stayed the night on her couch.”

“Good for you.”

Jack glanced over at me. “We’re cool?”

“Very cool.” I paused. “And since we’re so cool, can I ask you a question?”

“Yes. Anything.”

“You were married before. It didn’t work out. Do you remember that?”

Russo gave me a quizzical expression. “As a matter of fact, I do remember that. Thanks for bringing up the happy memory.”

“I’m flustered to be having this discussion with you.”

“I picked up on that. All that FBI training is really paying off.”

“Can I ask a question about it?”

“Shoot.”

“When—or how—did you realize your marriage wasn’t going to work out?”

“I knew for sure when my wife-at-the-time asked for a divorce.”

“You had no clue that was coming?”

It took a beat, but then he said, “Yeah. I suppose I did.”

We drove on in silence. I waited to see if Jack would expand on that, but he didn’t. So I fell quiet and let him take the lead.

A few minutes later, he asked, “What do you really want to know, Kate?”

“Why did you decide to get married?” The pent-up questions came tumbling out of me. “How could you tell there was no hope of salvaging the relationship? Do you regret your marriage?”

“One thing at a time.” Jack paused, glanced out the window where the snowbanks were taking on a slumpy, sad sort of wilt to them. “I got married because my then-girlfriend suggested it was the right thing to do. She said either we should get married or break up. We had been together two years at that point, and she didn’t want to ‘waste’ any more time.”

“Did you want to get married?”

“I didn’t want to lose her.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No, I didn’t feel any urge to get married,” Jack said. “But I did go along with it, and I didn’t argue. I bought a ring. I proposed. I walked into that church. I did it all willingly.”

“Do you regret getting married?”

“No. It didn’t work out. I believe we weren’t right for one another, and we just couldn’t realize it at the time.”

“Looking back, were there any signs you could recognize? Anything that might have tipped you off that your marriage was doomed?”

He gave a hoarse laugh. “If there were, I don’t know. It’s the past, Kate. I can’t change it. I’m not sitting around and dissecting it. She’s married now with a family, which is what she wanted. I have no hard feelings.”

“Do you think you could get married again?”

Jack paused, looked sideways at me. “Maybe. I’m not opposed to it.”

“Would you do anything differently?”

“I think I’d wait until I was sure.” Jack didn’t meet my gaze this time. “I just went along with marriage the last time, like I got swept up in a current that I couldn’t get out of. I knew the whole thing would make her happy, and I enjoyed her enough that I wanted her to be happy. But if I were to make that commitment again, I’d need to feel like I couldn’t live without that person. I certainly wouldn’t do it to make someone else happy.”

This was dangerous territory, considering our past. “Are you happy now, Jack?”

A few emotions flickered across his face. “I feel like I’m right where I belong.”

We were nearing our destination now. As we approached, Jack glanced over at me.

“Ask what you really want to know, Rosetti.” Jack gave me a sideways smile. “Are you asking if you should marry Gem?”

“I think I might be,” I whispered.

“You’re looking for reassurance I can’t give you. Nobody can. It’s something you either feel or you don’t.”

“That’s so annoying. I prefer black-and-white answers, not feelings.”

“Play along with me for a minute.” Jack waited until I nodded reluctantly. “Do you regret dating me?”

I groaned. “Please don’t do this.”

“You said you’d play along.”

“I don’t regret our relationship.”

“I don’t either, for the record.”

“Where is this going?”

Jack eyed me evenly. “Do you regret us breaking up?”

I felt massively uncomfortable with this line of questioning. I was confident in my answers, but I didn’t want to hurt Jack’s feelings with them either.

“Kate,” he urged quietly. “Play along.”

“No. I don’t regret the breakup.”

“Good.” There was a soft edge to Jack’s words. “That’s the right answer. Consider the fact that maybe dating me was what you needed to be ready for him.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I’m not saying that in a cocky way,” Jack said. “Think about it. If you’d skipped over me and went straight into a relationship with Gem, you would have met him at a different point in your life. Maybe you wouldn’t have been ready for that commitment, and the two of you wouldn’t have worked out when you should have. Maybe all the hard times you’ve been through are the landing strip you needed to take off. To really fly.”

I digested everything he said. It was a lot, especially coming from Jack. I wouldn’t call our relationship complicated; I would call it rich in history. His words meant a lot to me.

“I don’t know if it helps or not,” Jack said. “You and me—we’re the blind leading the blind when it comes to relationships.”

“It helped.” My voice cracked a little. “Thanks for everything, Jack.”

And I did mean everything. The time we’d spent together, the friendship that had lasted beyond. The partnership that still existed.

My phone rang at that time, startling us back to attention.

“I left a message for Agent Price to call me when she had time,” I said. “I want her opinion on Atticus.”

I greeted the profiler on the phone. We’d worked together on a previous case, and her insights had proven helpful.

“I’ve got the basics down,” Agent Price said. “Anything I need to catch up on before we chat?”

I quickly filled Denise in on the events of the morning. When I finished giving her the details about Atticus, she sat in silence for a minute.

“Hm,” she said thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“I’d say that Atticus probably identifies himself as an elevated criminal. Considering his age, the way he dresses and speaks, etcetera.”

“I’d agree with that,” I said.

“I’d also venture a guess that he considers himself quite intelligent. He likes a challenge, a puzzle—hence the reason he’s throwing down the gauntlet,” she said. “But this is where I find a rather unexpected twist.”

“The whole thing is twisted, if you ask me,” Jack muttered. “But go on.”

“There’s a lack of follow-through that I find particularly enlightening,” Denise said. “Often, this type of person, the one who gets off on playing games with law enforcement, keeps upping the ante.”

“He is kind of doing that,” I said. “He interacted with my mother. To me, that’s one-upping his last meeting. It’s not just me anymore; he’s showing he can get to my family too.”

“Sure,” she allowed. “But when we really take a step back, what do we have on Atticus?”

“Nothing,” I said. “That’s the problem.”

“Exactly. He must be aware that at some point, you can stop playing this game because...there is really no game at all. Yes, he is toying with you, but there’s no follow-through. No evidence of a crime. No real threat.”

“I don’t know about that. I think there is an implied threat to my family members.”

“Implied,” she said. “But what crime has he committed?”

“Besides being creepy and bothering Kate?” Jack said. “Isn’t that enough? This needs to stop.”

“I don’t disagree with you. But I think if we lean into this detail, it could prove helpful. Something is off with his lack of follow-through. Right now, you could throw your hands up and say, ‘You know what, Atticus? I call your bluff.’”

“Sure.”

“Traditionally, I would think that would annoy this type of person. But I’m not getting the sense that Atticus would actually do anything about it.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to test that theory,” I said. “Especially not when the lives of my family members are involved.”

“I’m not saying you should. In fact, I’d recommend the opposite. As much as you can, continue to indulge Atticus. Let him feel like he’s one-upping himself, so he doesn’t need to actually do anything more drastic. It’ll buy you time to look into him with your resources.”

“I can do that,” I confirmed. “Do you have any theories as to why he might not be following through? If this sort of criminal gets off on playing with cops, like you said, wouldn’t you think he’d actually...play with us? Right now, it’s a lot of hot air and no action.”

“That’s where I’m struggling to get a read on this man. I’d have guessed that Atticus would have left some form of physical evidence at this point to draw you into his web—a real cat-and-mouse type of puzzle. A body, or a bloody note, or a finger. He’d have put something physical in front of you to prove he’s serious. To prove that he’s done something awful, yet he’s so clever you’ll never catch him.”

“He did confess to a crime,” I reminded her. “We just haven’t found a body.”

“That’s exactly my point. If he’s so confident in his methods, why hasn’t he left you clues as to the location of the body?” She paused. “He’d be wanting to mess with your minds. It almost seems like this guy is just... I don’t know. It’s bizarre. It’s like he doesn’t actually want to do anything terrible; he just wants to pretend he could. I’ll be honest; I have never seen anything quite like it before.”

“Thanks for your insights. It’s helpful.”

“I’m going to confer with a colleague on some of my thoughts,” she said. “I’ll circle back to you with anything helpful I come up with.”

While we’d been chatting, I’d parked at Davina’s address. She lived in a small, modest house set on a few acres. A crumbling barn stood off to one side. A few cars were parked outside, all in varying states of disarray. I wondered if Davina had even realized one of her cars was missing.

As I got out of the car, Jack lagged behind.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“This is the last thing I’ll say on the subject.” Jack came around the car, crossed his arms, and leaned against the vehicle. “Don’t overthink things with Gem. If he’s the right one, then go for it. He’s a great guy. If it’s the right time, then there’s no time like the present. Don’t let fear stop you from being happy. If anyone deserves that, it’s you.”

“Thanks, Jack. And the same goes for you. If Bonnie and you decide to take things further, or look for more squirrels, or—”

“Kate.”

“Yeah?”

“Just stop talking,” Jack said with a grin. “You’re ruining the moment.”

When we knocked on the door, I was pretty sure it wasn’t Davina who answered it. Based solely on the fact that the person behind the door was a male easily over two hundred pounds, wearing a furry hat and a lumberjack-style checkered shirt with the sleeves cut off. Davina’s license put her at ninety pounds, soaking wet.

“Who’re you?” the man asked. “Why are you here? This about Davina?”

“Sort of,” I said. “Does she live here?”

“Not since she moved in with the bastard she left me for. Good thing, too, because if that idiot steps foot on this property...” The man glanced longingly over his shoulder at a hunting rifle sitting on the couch that was definitely not stored with safety in mind.

I shifted uneasily. It was curious how a man like Atticus had connected with this guy.

“We’re here because of a car registered to Davina,” I said. “Do you know—”

The man was actually tittering. Downright giggling, which was kind of funny for a man of his size and stature. I wondered if he’d been drinking, then figured the smell on his breath was pretty conclusive.

“Is she in trouble?” He sounded gleeful with a big dose of hope. “What’d she do? Or was it him? I hope it was him. DUI?”

“Can I get your name?” I asked. “Mr.—”

“Call me Hare,” he said. At our stunned faces, he said, “’Cause I’m real quiet when I’m out hunting. Like a bunny.”

I wasn’t sure if this was a joke or not, but I didn’t laugh. It seemed like this guy was going through some big mood swings, and I didn’t want to tip the seesaw in the wrong direction.

“Actually, we were wondering if you’re familiar with a Ford truck, license plate—” I paused, referred to my notes, and rattled off the license plate and year, make, and model of the vehicle that Atticus had been driving. “We know it’s registered to Davina and that this is her address on file. We’re trying to find out who uses the car regularly.”

“It’s her car, but I sold it right out from under her. I can’t get in trouble for that, can I?”

“Okay...” I swallowed, finding it difficult to call this giant of a man a name like Hare. “Mr.—”

“It’s just Hare.”

“Hare,” I said, thinking maybe if I pretended it was short for Harry, it would be a better fit. “We just need you to tell us what you know. We only care about the man who bought the car.”

“Oh.” Hare looked kind of disappointed, like he wished I’d said his ex-wife had driven off a bridge. “Well, that’s anticlimactic.”

“The person who bought the car is of interest to us,” I said. “We’re trying to find him. We don’t care about getting you in trouble on a technicality. Can you tell me about the sale?”

“I guess you’d call it a sale, except I didn’t transfer the title. As you seem to know, my name’s not on the title. Davina bought it for herself. I never thought to ask her to put my name on it because I also didn’t think that little harlot would go off and leave me for my brother.”

“Ouch,” Jack said. “I’m sorry, man. That’s rough.”

“Yeah.” Hare seemed to look at Jack for the first time. “It’s not great. That’s why I called him an idiot and a bastard.”

“Where’d you put the car up for sale?”

“Online. I listed it last night. Craigslist, Facebook Marketplace, wherever I could think. I only said that I was renting it out, though. If someone needed a car for cheap for a while. You know, because of the issue with the title. I figured I might as well rent it out for a while for cash. Since she’s too afraid to come here and get it herself.”

To be fair, if I was Davina, I wouldn’t step foot on this property for a rusty old Ford either.

“Some guy messaged me this morning asking if he could pick it up. He was here within a half an hour, hauling a suitcase full of cash.”

“To buy or rent?”

“Hell if I care,” Hare said. “He gave me more than the car was worth. I told him he could drop it off when he was done with it, but I didn’t really expect him to.”

“Did he say what he needed it for?”

“Just that he wanted something rugged. He only picked it up a few hours ago. Funny you got here so quick asking about it.”

“What did this man look like?”

Hare actually scoffed. “Like a psycholosophical professor.”

I thought it wise not to mention that the mouthful he’d just said was not a real profession. I got the gist. In fact, it sounded a lot like Atticus.

“Older man. He had a briefcase full of cash that he handed over like he was some old mobster or something. White hair, mustard pants, tweet sweater.”

I was pretty sure he meant tweed, but again, it didn’t feel like the time or the place to correct a technicality.

“Did he give you any details about where he was staying?”

“He didn’t say much of anything. I asked what a fancy-pants like him wanted with an old truck, and he just said he was in town for some time away at a cabin.” Hare scratched his head. “I guessed he was probably doing some psycholosophicalizing out there in the quiet. Listening to birds and shit.”

“I see,” I said. “Did he give you a name or any ID?”

“No. I didn’t ask to see any. I told him right up front on the phone call this morning that this was an off-the-record, cash only, no-haggling sort of thing. He said that was fine. He was good for his word too. He showed up with cash, handed it over, got in the car and drove away. It took about three minutes.”

“Do you think he’s planning to return it?” For the first time, I felt an inkling of hope tingling in my belly.

“Like I said, I told him he could drop it off whenever he wanted, and he said he would.” Hare shrugged. “But if he never returned it, I wouldn’t be sad.”

“Did you tell Davina?”

“I don’t speak to her. Though Christmas is gonna be real awkward this year if those two knuckleheads show up. I’m gonna take one look at my brother and...”

Hare trailed off, like he was just realizing that listing specific threats in front of a pair of detectives might not be the smartest idea ever.

“I’m definitely not going to be giving them a housewarming present,” Hare finished lamely. “Anyway, I wasn’t too worried about the car. I figured at some point Davina might report it stolen or something. Either way, my hands are clean. All our dealings were in cash.”

“Except you just confessed everything,” I pointed out.

Hare frowned. “Are you trying to trick me, lady? I thought I was helping you out.”

“You are,” I said quickly. “We don’t want to get you in trouble, Hare. I promise. I just need you to do me a favor and let me know if this guy comes back.”

“You’re not setting a trap for me?”

“I don’t know how she can put this more clearly,” Jack interrupted on my behalf. “We don’t give a damn what happens between you, Davina, and your brother—or the car. We are only interested in finding the man who gave you the cash.”

“But please don’t take that as a free pass to go and murder your brother,” I said. “We get called when people end up dead. You don’t want to get on our bad side.”

Jack inclined his head toward me. “That’s also true.”

Hare considered us, then gave an agreeable nod. I handed over my card.

“Thanks for your help,” I told him. “If you hear anything at all from this man, please let us know. He could be dangerous. You should call us if he steps foot on your property again.”

“What kind of dangerous?” Hare looked more intrigued than concerned, like he was wondering if maybe he should be asking Atticus for his résumé to sic him on his brother.

“Like I said—we get called when people end up dead. Don’t get any ideas.”

Jack and I said goodbye to Hare and thanked him for his time. As we walked away, Jack turned to me with a whisper.

“Did that man get a twinkle in his eye when we mentioned dead people?”

I gave a tight smile. “I think he’s ready to hire Atticus to put a nail in his brother’s forehead.”

twelve

I drove Jack back to the precinct, hoping Jimmy had unearthed more answers in the Romley files than I had with Atticus. While we’d located the origin of the old Ford truck, it hadn’t gotten us any meaningful leads on Atticus himself.

“Hare said this Atticus guy is staying at a cabin?” Jimmy frowned as I relayed our findings. “Looking for a specific cabin in Minnesota is like looking for a specific strip club in Las Vegas.”

“I was going to go with the tried-and-true needle-in-a-haystack analogy myself,” I said. “But okay.”

“I don’t know anything about Las Vegas personally,” Jimmy said. “I’ve never been. But I watch TV.”

“And we all know TV is so accurate,” I said. “Especially all those cop shows.”

“Married people read romance books,” Jimmy said. “Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate a good, fictionalized love story. Just because you’re a cop doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate a good, fictionalized case where everything turns out perfectly.”

“You sound like Gem,” I said. “He reads detective novels because he likes that they have a happy ending. Although he and Melinda were appalled when some fingerprint analyses came back from the lab in an hour in his current book.”

“Yeah, well, that’s low-hanging fruit to get right,” Jimmy said. “But also, sometimes a good story needs to squeak by with a little suspension of disbelief.”

“How about some real-life detective work, gang?” Asha made her way over to where we were standing around Jimmy’s computer. She dropped a stack of papers on top of his desk with so much gusto a few lingering shards of pink glitter poofed into the air. “Here are the files I pulled on Wilson Jeremiah. He’s the neighbor that called in Calvin’s body. You guys got his name from Curly and Peters, and let me tell you, they weren’t exaggerating about this man.”

I noted the handwritten tag on top of the file said, Garbage where normally it would say Wilson Jeremiah, just as the local cops had promised. It was clear that someone thought very highly of Wilson and his complaints.

“Look here,” Jimmy said, reading off the top. “A complaint against 804 Lilac Street that Christmas lights are still present, even though the date is February first. The HOA states that lights must come down within fourteen days of any given holiday.”

“He’s real fun at parties,” Asha said. “Keep reading.”

Jimmy squinted. “The owner of 804 Lilac Street wrote Wilson a handwritten apology saying, Sorry, but the ground has been too frozen to get the decorations out. We’ll do it at first thaw.”

“Aw, that’s way more civil than I would’ve been,” Jack said. “What a nice note.”

“To which Wilson filed another complaint saying that was unacceptable, and they should have thought of that before they put Santa in the ground.”

“Sounds a bit like a threat,” I said. “Putting Santa in the ground.”

“Wilson Jeremiah has listed twenty-three complaints against Calvin and Linda in the last ten months. Everything from leaving the garbage bin out for an extra day to allowing a lemonade stand on their front lawn.”

“But do we really think Wilson is the sort of guy to kill someone?” Jack asked, putting on his profiler cap. “It seems like Wilson is the sort of person who gets off on being a nosy busybody but would shrivel up at the first sign of real confrontation.”

“Maybe he didn’t kill someone,” I said. “But I’m hopeful he saw who did. Jack, you up for another ride?”

“I’m all yours, Rosetti.”

Jack read aloud from Asha’s notes as I drove across town, back toward Linda and Calvin’s house. We discovered that Wilson Jeremiah was eighty-one years old and had lived alone in this house since he bought it at the age of twenty-one. Judging by the stack of complaints he regularly filed with the local police, his main hobby was being judgy.

“I can’t stand nosy neighbors,” Jack said, as we climbed out of the car and looked up at Wilson’s house. “I just can’t fathom being so bored I’d get off complaining about people.”

“I can think of a lot of things I dislike as much as grumpy, old neighbors,” I offered, making my way up the front walk as I listed things off. “Murderers. Thongs. Stalkers. Wedgies. Men who—”

I was interrupted halfway through my list of dislikes as the door was pulled open before I’d made it to the front steps. Wilson Jeremiah stood towering over us, looking very disgruntled. His nose hair was visible from a distance, bristling out his nostrils like two brooms.

“What do you want? I’ve got a sign that says no soliciting.” Wilson pointed to his front door which was wallpapered with No Soliciting signs. It was so bizarre it was almost a work of art.

“I see you’ve got a few signs saying just that,” Jack said mildly. “Don’t worry, we’re not selling anything. I’m Agent Russo, and this is Detective Rosetti. You’re not in trouble, sir. We’re just here to discuss your neighbors.”

“Which ones?” Wilson looked intrigued by the idea of discussing his neighbors. “They’re all problematic. I’ve got a list. You want to come in and see my list?”

“Sure,” I said, with a shrug at Jack. “That’d be great.”

We followed Wilson into his house. He was the original minimalist. I got the feeling he hadn’t updated a single thing in this house, including the carpet, the wallpaper, or even the toaster since at least the seventies.

He had one couch in the living room and one TV. That was it. A lone cobweb hung from the corner of the room. But it was the view out the bay window that caught my attention.

I nodded to Jack. It presented a direct line of sight to Calvin’s house...including the roof.

“Nice view,” Jack remarked. “I’ll bet you can see the comings and goings pretty well on this street.”

“All of it,” Wilson grumbled. “Every last clandestine affair.”

“Seems like some of your neighbors like to set out holiday decorations early, eh?” Jack squinted down the street where a tiny set of Christmas lights was wrapped around the trunk of a skinny tree. This was the first time in his life he’d ever had a Minnesotan accent. “Seems like that’s not within the bounds of the HOA agreement.”

“Finally! Someone who understands.” Wilson disappeared, rooting around in his kitchen for something. He returned a moment later, scanning Jack with newfound appreciation. “I keep a notebook.”

“Of course you do,” Jack said graciously.

I glanced at Jack, a twinkle of admiration in my eye. He’d done a good job of getting the older gentleman comfortable with our presence. Now if only he could tell us who shoved Calvin off the roof, we could be out of here and have the case wrapped by lunch.

Wilson gestured toward the putrid-green couch. I sat down gently, half wondering if a cloud of moths would fly up the second I touched down. Wilson had to haul a dining room chair out of his kitchen to sit across from us.

He carefully opened his notebook. I could see from here that he had dated and labeled each page in meticulous writing. He read through a few pages quietly before looking up, almost surprised to find us still sitting there.

“Well?” he asked. “Who’s causing you trouble these days?”

“It’s the house across the street,” I said, thinking that was probably obvious. “Calvin and Linda.”

Wilson didn’t seem to get the idea that we weren’t here about a Christmas lights setup gone awry. He looked confused.

“Are you aware that the man who used to live in the house, Calvin, passed away recently?” I asked, trying to feel out the situation. He’s already been interviewed by Peters and Curly, so I knew that he knew.

“Oh,” he said with a frown, like this little factoid wasn’t still on his radar. “Yeah. That.”

I cleared my throat. “Were you home when it happened?”

“I already answered these questions.”

“I know, but the situation is different now. We’ve opened an official investigation into Mr. Romley’s death. We’d appreciate your cooperation since we know how thorough you are in your neighborhood watch.”

Wilson took his time combing through his journal entries with a hint of pride buzzing off him by my praise. I listed off the approximate date and time of death in the hope it would help him move a little quicker. It didn’t.

“Ah, yes,” Wilson said some seven minutes later. “I was giving my Snitch her dinner.”

“Snitch?”

“My cat,” he said, like I should know that. “She prowls the property and lets me know when we have unwanted guests. Hence her name.”

“Of course,” I said.

“I stepped away from my perch for a few minutes to get her dinner. I had been watching that idiot shovel snow off the roof before that.”

By “that idiot,” I assumed Wilson meant Calvin.

“I was going to stay and watch, but my Snitch is on a strict schedule.”

“What time does she eat dinner?” I asked.

“Seven oh five.”

That lined up with the time of death that Dr. Lucas had estimated, based on the autopsy results. It was helpful to narrow down that window even further—if Wilson proved trustworthy.

“How long were you gone to feed your cat dinner?”

“Probably fifteen minutes or so. I like to sit with her while she gets started. It’s not good to eat alone.”

I thought this advice to be a little funny coming from a man who seemingly did everything alone, but alas.

“What did you do after you finished”—I paused—“accompanying your cat for her dinner?”

“I returned to my perch,” Wilson said, like of course that’s what he would do. “The idiot had called it a night. He had apparently given up shoveling his roof. I had already called the police about it, but they said he wasn’t breaking any rules by being an idiot.”

Wilson shook his head, like he severely disagreed with this concept. I had to admit, sometimes I wished that “being an idiot” was a good enough reason to arrest someone. We shared a moment of quiet camaraderie.

“I made myself a peppermint tea. I always do that around seven thirty as I settle in for my evening show. I’m a very regimented person. I start my day with a coffee and the newspaper, and I end it with a beverage and a show on the telly. While I was fiddling with the clicker, I looked out and saw a prowler.”

“A prowler?” I asked. “Someone on your property?”

“On that idiot’s property,” Wilson said. “I figured it was another idiot coming to try and steal stuff.”

I was getting the impression that Wilson called just about everyone an idiot, and the only thing that differentiated one idiot from the next were slight nuances in his tone.

“I looked closer, and then I saw the prowler hiding in the bushes. But by that time, it was dark, and I had to squint. I called the cops again. It took those idiots thirty minutes to show up. I could’ve had my head chopped off in that time. It’s plain irresponsible. What are our tax dollars going toward, anyway?”

I nodded. He seemed to forget that I was looped in with those idiots.

I had to imagine those idiots were probably tired of being called five times a day to come check out other idiots.

“Do you know what they found?” Wilson finally looked up. “It was that idiot laying there on the ground, that whole time. Totally dead. Not a prowler in sight.”

“By that idiot, you must mean Calvin.”

“Yeah. The one shoveling off his roof in the dark. Not the best choice.”

“How did you know he was dead?” I asked. “Did you leave your house?”

“Of course not. I thought there was a prowler out there who might chop my head off. I waited in here and watched the whole thing like an episode of TV. I filed a complaint about all the commotion too. Way too many flashing lights on a Friday night, not to mention the fact that a few cops banged on my door and asked me a bunch of questions. Don’t get me started on the fact that I have to answer them all again. I couldn’t get to sleep until way later than my bedtime with all the fuss they were making over that idiot.”

“That idiot died.” I was in awe of this man’s complete apathy. “I think a little fuss is expected.”

“He was already dead,” Wilson said. “I don’t see the big deal. They could’ve hauled him away and then come back in the morning.”

“Okay, then.” It took me a minute to gather my bearings. “When you were looking out the window that evening, did you see anything else suspicious?”

“Aside from the idiot shoveling his roof and a suspected prowler that was really a corpse, no.” He paused. “Are you looking for something specific?”

“We’re wondering if you saw an altercation between Calvin and anyone else. Did he have any regular visitors, specifically anyone who might have had a problem with him?”

“I assumed that idiot just fell off the roof,” Wilson said. “Is that not what happened?”

“The results of the autopsy suggest there are injuries beyond what we would expect from a rooftop fall.”

“Well, how about that.”

Wilson looked truly surprised by this information. That did not bode well for us. While I thought it pretty safe to assume Wilson hadn’t killed Calvin, I had hoped he might’ve seen something. A car, a person strolling on the sidewalk...a tussle on top of Calvin’s house.

“Well, I can’t say anyone pops into mind off the bat. I mean, Calvin and Linda over there have a weird situation which is suspicious in and of itself, but I think she was gone that weekend. If she was going to kill him, I bet she would’ve done it eons ago. I saw her get in a taxi before Calvin died which usually means she’s going down to Florida to visit her sister.”

“Sure. Nobody else who regularly visited him?”

“Calvin wasn’t there half the time. I can’t think of anybody who visited him there at all.”

“Can you remember anything else about that night?” I asked him. “A random car on the street? Someone suspicious walking by? Any detail that could help us?”

Wilson looked acutely pained by this question. Like he’d waited his whole life to be needed by the cops, and now that he had held a front row seat to a murder—and he’d missed it—he was exceptionally disappointed in himself.

He looked sadly down at his notes. “Unfortunately, I don’t recall anything else of note.”

We thanked Wilson for his help. I gave him a card and instructed him to call the number on it if he remembered anything else.

“I see what you did there,” Jack said as Wilson watched us retreat down his front path. “You gave that man a card with my name and direct line on it.”

“Did I?”

Jack groaned. “My phone’s going to be ringing off the hook with all his complaints. Did you see the size of his file? That someone, mind you, labeled Garbage?”

“Hey, boomer,” I said kindly. “Good news. Phones don’t have hooks anymore.”

While we were in the area, we popped in across the street to pay Linda another visit. This was our first time seeing Calvin’s wife since his death had become an official investigation.

Linda didn’t have a whole lot to say about the news except, “Huh.”

We left her place a few minutes later when she started asking if she should schedule a hair-dye session so her roots aren’t showing. Just in case we need that picture for the paper after all.

“Strike two of the day,” Jack said as we plopped back in the car. “I hate days like this. Such a waste of time.”

“None of this was a waste of time,” I argued, heading back toward the precinct. “We have to throw a lot of spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks. It’s part of the process.”

“Why does it always have to be a mess?” Jack grimaced. “Spaghetti on a wall. Why can’t people just use a fork?”

Between the Atticus wild-goose chase and the neighborhood-watch letdown of the Romley case, we were both craving some sort of lead—something to go on that didn’t feel like a complete waste of time.

Jack and I then paid another visit to Calvin’s mother, but Diane didn’t have anything new to add. She claimed that nobody in their right mind would want to hurt her son. Not to mention, Calvin didn’t have a lot of friends anyway. She confirmed that Calvin spent a lot of time living in her basement, working odd jobs, and playing games on his computer.

“To be honest,” Diane said apologetically, “I can’t believe my Calvin had enough motivation in his bones to get himself murdered. He was pretty laid-back and easygoing. Sort of liked to scrape by rather than really excel, you know? Have you checked into his ex-wife? Calvin always said they ended on pleasant terms, but I just don’t know if divorce is ever truly amicable.”

“We’ve spoken with Linda,” I said. “It appears she has a pretty airtight alibi.”

Diane looked appeased, if not slightly disappointed. Sometimes, having an answer—any answer—was better than no answer at all. It was easier to have a place to put blame and anger. When there were no answers, it just left everyone in limbo.

After we left Diane’s, we returned to the precinct. Jimmy had made progress on plowing through files and warrants, and Asha had knocked out a few leads too.

“Sorry, guys,” Asha said. “Linda Frank is not your gal. She was in Florida. I’ve got flight tickets, credit card receipts, and eyewitness testimony that she wasn’t in the state when Calvin died.”

I spent the next few hours flipping between my computer and my stack of papers, reading up on Calvin Romley. I jotted down names and addresses, and generally tried to paint a picture of a dead man’s life.

It was interesting, this part of my work. One day a guy like Calvin was here, the next he was gone. He hadn’t had time to get his affairs in order. He had texts that were still in draft mode and appointments he’d missed because nobody had realized he was in the morgue.

This part of my job could feel invasive. But it was a crucial step, too, identifying who Calvin had been close with. Who he might have upset. All to get to the bottom of the biggest question of all: who had motive to come after him?

As late afternoon rolled around, I called it a day at the office. I’d interviewed all our current leads, and I needed more. Something would turn up in Calvin’s files, something revealing from his personal life, his texts, his emails—something. I just needed to find it.

I grabbed a stack of files and headed home to continue my reading at the penthouse. I beat Gem home and set up shop on the kitchen table, reviewing case files with a glass of wine.

“You beat me home,” Gem said slowly as he entered the penthouse in his suit, looking tired after his workday. “And you cooked dinner? For both of us?”

“I mean, sort of. If you call this cooking.” I gestured to the hot pizza that had been delivered a few minutes prior. “I ordered it from my very own phone, though, and paid with my very own credit card. That counts, right? I also opened a bottle of wine.”

“That counts.”

I stood and brushed a kiss on his cheek. “Also, it’s sweet, but you don’t have to act surprised. I know you have my movements tracked.”

“I get notifications when my personal elevator is used.” Gem was a touch defensive, but it was offset by the softness of his voice, and the warmth of his touch as he pulled me toward him for a welcome-home kiss. “I can disable them if you want.”

“Nah,” I said. “I prefer you know. I like when you come visit.”

“I like that you’re finally feeling at home.” Gem sat down at the table, then nodded to my files. “Still working?”

I contemplated my answer while I reached for a slice of pizza. My stomach was growling. I’d somehow forgotten to eat lunch.

“I struck out on a few leads today for two different cases. I know there’s something in Romley’s files, and it’s driving me nuts that I can’t find it.”

Gem kissed my forehead, then reached for a glass of wine. “Speaking of cases, I’ve got a real zinger for you today. Bloody brilliant.”

Gem’s accent was something that seemed so natural to my ears these days that I barely noticed it. However, it came out more when he was very excited or super mad. Today, he was eager to tell me something.

“Is this about your book?” I asked.

“Sort of. Get this: the author went missing.”

“In real life?”

“In real life. Missing. Vanished. A mystery novelist, just gone.”

Gem reached for the remote, flicked his TV on, and searched for a clip. He played it for me. A reporter appeared on the screen, standing outside of a beautiful family home in Minneapolis.

“It’s rumored that Louie LeBleu is missing in action,” the reporter said. “His family hasn’t commented yet, but—”

“Are we sure this is real?” I muted the TV. “This guy seems like he’s full of hot air. All he said is there’s a rumor.”

Gem looked surprised by my quick dismissal. “Ah, maybe you’re right. I admit, I just saw the headline, and I didn’t get time to read up on it yet between meetings.”

“Are you disappointed?” I ventured.

“No. It’s great if he isn’t missing,” Gem said. “I guess I just got swept up in the theatrics of it. What a story that would make. A mystery author goes missing.”

“I like that you let yourself get swept away sometimes,” I said. “I wish I could let myself get swept away more often.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m so jaded and cynical that I don’t believe anyone.” I set down a piece of crust. “It’s very helpful in my line of work, but it’s not the most romantic trait outside of the office.”

“I think you’re perfect just the way you are.” Gem slid a hand on my thigh and gave a reassuring squeeze. “Have you always been like that?”

“I was a serious child. I could never understand how other girls would get obsessed by boy bands or celebrities. I just didn’t get it. I always knew that Cinderella wasn’t real. Movie stars don’t fall in love with their fans. Princesses don’t get saved. So why get my hopes up for something like that happening?”

There was a tiny smile on Gem’s face, like he kind of wanted to say something, but had thought better of it.

“Do not comment on me and you.” I frowned. “You might be Prince Charming, but I am hardly Cinderella.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“I don’t wear blue dresses nor do I have mice friends. And I most definitely do not know how to properly clean a floor.”

“But do you have a pumpkin carriage?”

“Yes, and that can’t be helped.”

Gem laughed, pulled me toward him. I rested my head against his shoulder and just waited. But he was waiting for me.

“I wished I was more like other girls,” I admitted. “I wanted to be obsessed with a crush. I just couldn’t do it.”

“You probably couldn’t afford to do it, Kate. That sort of thing is, often, a luxury.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to experience being swept up in something. Your childhood was short-lived. From what you’ve said, when your father went to prison, things changed. Your mother became a single mom. You didn’t have a lot of belief in love. You didn’t have the time or the resources to focus on anything but surviving.”

I took warmth from Gem and just absorbed it like he was a heating pad.

“I can only imagine that as the oldest, responsible daughter, you took on some of those burdens yourself. Tell me you didn’t try to make yourself smaller. Tell me you didn’t try to be the perfect daughter so your mother didn’t have another thing to worry about.”

I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t. Gem had a way of making connections between points that I’d never be able to do. It was probably one of the reasons he was so successful in both life and business; he could see things in ways that other people couldn’t.

I shrugged. “You didn’t have an easy childhood either. It doesn’t do much to dwell on it.”

“No, but I just want you to know that I see you. I see everything you went through. You have the biggest heart of any person I’ve ever met.”

I didn’t realize I was crying. Not big crocodile tears, but silent, discreet ones. The most unassuming cry I’d ever had. I wasn’t a crier by nature, but something in the unexpectedness of the gentle moment had caught me off guard.

I looked up to give Gem a kiss, to thank him for being every bit the Prince Charming I knew he truly was. But before I could, an image on the TV screen flashed, and it stopped my heart cold.

My whole body went still at the photograph displayed on the screen. The TV was muted, but the picture had been rolling throughout our conversation. It wasn’t until I saw the face of the author who had supposedly gone missing that it felt like the floor fell out from beneath me.

“Kate?” Gem’s voice sounded urgent and concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Him.” I nodded at the screen. “Your missing author—Louie LeBleu—is my secret admirer.”

thirteen

It took me a few minutes to catch my breath. Gem seemed utterly stunned by the development.

“I’m sorry.” Gem moved like he was rusty old machinery—slow and stiff. “Are you saying that Louie LeBleu is the creep stalking you at the precinct?”

“Yeah. Except he introduced himself as Atticus.”

“That’s a character in his novels,” Gem said slowly. “The villain.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. In the book, the killer leaves behind notes signed as Atticus. This guy is the overarching villain for the trilogy. I’m only on the first book, but I know he comes back in the following books. The author is working on the third book right now. It’s supposed to be the conclusion where Atticus finally gets caught…or not.”

I tapped my fingers against the table. “Do you think this whole thing could be some sort of wild marketing ploy for his books?”

Gem simply looked up at the TV, watching the silent screen, considering.

“It can’t be a marketing ploy,” I answered myself. “Louie LeBleu could get in serious legal trouble for what he’s doing. Why would a successful author risk everything for a marketing ploy? I don’t buy it.”

“I can’t imagine he’d ruin his reputation with a schtick. He’s very big in the local Minnesota markets, and this sort of thing could destroy him. I actually bought the novel from a bookstore across the street,” Gem said. “The store had extra autographed copies because they’d just hosted a release party with Louie for his second book in the series.”

We both looked at one another.

“They’re open until seven,” Gem said quickly. “The lady who sold me the book raved about it. She said Louie was a delight to have for the event. She might still be working.”

We both grabbed our things and were in the elevator before we could say another word. We entered the bookstore minutes later. Gem scanned the space for the bookseller he’d interacted with recently.

I felt the urge to call someone at the precinct and let them know I’d broken open the Atticus case. But the thing was, it wasn’t even a real case. The question was—had Louie LeBleu actually gone missing? Or was he playing some sort of twisted game that blurred the lines between fiction and reality?

A voice rang out over the smell of books and roasting coffee beans. “Mr. Gem, are you ready for the second book in Louie LeBleu’s series?”

Gem’s face relaxed into a smile. “Absolutely. It’s great to see you again, Carly. I am enjoying the Dead Man Walking trilogy tremendously. My girlfriend here was looking for a book too.”

“I was?” I studied Gem. This was news to me.

“A romance, preferably,” Gem said. “With a big, fat happy ending. Lots of marriage. Tons of kids.”

Carly grinned in my direction. “I can help you both with that.”

I’m pretty sure my ears were getting hot. I was pretty sure I’d never picked up a romance book in my life. They intimidated me, with all those male muscles on the covers.

“Kate here is new to the romance genre.” Gem was having a ball putting me on the spot. “Ease her in gently.”

“Eh.” Carly waved a hand dismissively. “I say let’s throw you into the deep end. Hard and fast, if you know what I mean.”

Then Carly gave me a wink that told me exactly what she meant.

“While you’re choosing some books for us,” Gem said, “do you mind if Kate asks you a few questions? She’s interested in any information you might have on Louie LeBleu.”

“What sort of information?” Carly frowned. “I’ve only met him once. He was great at our signing, though, the perfect guest.”

“Do you happen to know how I could get in touch with him?” I asked. “That might be easier.”

“I don’t generally give out that sort of information,” Carly said. “I’m sure you have good intentions, but Mr. LeBleu is a very busy man, and—”

“This is not about him being a famous author,” I said. “I’m not a fan—”

“What Kate is trying to say is that she’s a detective with the TC Task Force,” Gem said. “She’s working on a high-profile case. She’d like to discreetly ask Mr. LeBleu a few questions about it.”

“Look, I normally wouldn’t do this,” Carly said, lowering her voice. “However, seeing as Mr. Gem is one of my most loyal customers, I’ll take the risk. I’ll admit that something strange happened with Mr. LeBleu after his signing, so maybe you being here is actually a good thing.”

“I will keep this private,” I promised her. “I’m just gathering information.”

“When Mr. LeBleu was here for his signing, his daughter, Amy Lynn, was with him, assisting. That part is pretty normal, to bring an assistant. Especially as he’s getting up there in age,” Carly said. “The crazy thing is that his daughter came back to the bookshop today. Looking for him.”

“Looking for him?” I asked. “Like he was missing?”

“Amy Lynn seemed to think so,” Carly said. “She gave me her personal number and said that if her dad stopped in, I should call her.”

“Did she say what she thought had happened?”

“A little,” Carly said. “She implied that her dad’s mind has been starting to go. That Mr. LeBleu gets confused occasionally. Like he’ll show up at the wrong place or the wrong time.”

“That’s helpful,” I said. “Would you give me Amy Lynn’s number? If she’s concerned about her father, I’d like to offer my help as a detective.”

“I think that would be fine,” Carly decided. “Let me ring you up, and I’ll write her number on the receipt.”

Ten minutes later, I stood outside with a naked man chest book cover and the phone number of Louie LeBleu’s daughter.

I dialed the number while Gem waited nearby holding a bagful of books. Carly had really taken advantage of Gem’s bank account and loaded him up. But Gem had seemed happy to pay in exchange for Amy Lynn’s number.

“Hi, is this Amy Lynn?” I said into the phone. “My name is Detective Kate Rosetti. I got your number from a bookseller in St. Paul that you spoke with today. I understand you might be looking for your father?”

“You have information on my dad?” Amy Lynn sounded breathless. “Do you know where he is?”

“Can we meet in person? Where are you located?”

“I’m on the freeway now. Tell me a place.”

A short walk later, Gem and I entered a coffee shop in downtown St. Paul. It was an easy stroll from the bookstore, and Amy Lynn had said she could be there in fifteen minutes.

I had no idea what Amy Lynn looked like, but I knew the second she entered the coffee shop. I was nursing a decaf flat white while Gem sat beside me with Louie LeBleu’s second novel cracked open and a mint tea steaming before him.

I waved to the harried-looking woman standing at the door. The way her eyes darted around the room was a dead giveaway that she was looking for me. She rushed over and sat down in a flurry of chilly air and a faux-fur jacket.

I was just asking Amy Lynn if she wanted a beverage when she impatiently shook her head. “What do you know?” she demanded. “Where’s my dad?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” I quickly reintroduced myself with my full credentials, then did the same for Gem. “Amy Lynn, I’m looking for your father because I had a few interesting conversations with him this week.”

“I don’t understand. How do you know him?”

“I didn’t. I don’t,” I said. “He came down to the precinct to talk to me.”

“To interview you for his book? I know he has a few trusted cops he runs things by on occasion,” she said. “He likes to get the details as correct as possible.”

“Not exactly.” I paused. “He actually confessed to a crime.”

Amy Lynn was already shaking her head. “That’s not right. It can’t be. My dad hasn’t done anything.” She studied me, taking in my calm and unwavering composure. “You’re really serious?”

“Yes.”

“What...” She swallowed and glanced helplessly at Gem, before looking back to me. “What sort of crime did he confess to?”

“Murder.”

“No. He would never. He has the kindest heart of any person I’ve ever met. I know he’s my dad, so I’m biased, but he is a great man. It’s just a shame...” Amy Lynn’s eyes welled with tears. “He’s been struggling with his memory lately, getting confused and forgetting things.”

“Does he have an official diagnosis, like Alzheimer’s or some type of dementia?”

“Not yet. He’s been resistant to anything like that because he doesn’t want anyone to find out. He…” Amy Lynn let out a long, slow breath. “He wanted to finish this last series out. Then he promised he’d seek professional help.”

I blinked. Was this a convenient excuse, or was she telling the truth? When I’d met Louie LeBleu as Atticus, he hadn’t seemed confused. He seemed quite confident. Still, I could see the hurt and pain in Amy Lynn’s eyes. Her reaction seemed genuine.

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “Those are awful diseases. It’s obvious you love your father and are just doing your best to help him.”

“Yeah,” she said, halfway to a sob. “I’m trying, but it’s hard. I’ve had to cut down my hours at work because I’m afraid to leave him alone for long. I went to one meeting at the office, and look what happened. He disappeared.”

“Can we start from the beginning?” I asked. “Give me some background on your father.”

She nodded, then stilled. “If he was confessing crimes to you earlier this week, why didn’t you arrest him? Or call me sooner?”

“I didn’t know his real name,” I said. “Also, there’s been no evidence of a crime. There still isn’t. I only figured out that the man I knew as Atticus was Louie LeBleu when I saw him on a newsclip this afternoon.”

“He went by Atticus?” Amy Lynn’s voice was a gasp. “That’s the name of his villain.”

“Like I said,” I repeated. “It would be helpful to start at the top.”

Amy Lynn did as I suggested, launching into a story that detailed the slow decline of her father’s mind. It had started years ago in tiny ways. Forgetting small details in his novels. Misplacing kitchen utensils and car keys. It grew slowly until he was occasionally struggling to remember how to get home from familiar places.

“I argued with him about this often,” Amy Lynn said. “I asked if he’d be okay with me hiring a live-in aide, and he said no. Not until he’d finished the Dead Man Walking trilogy. I told him he could still finish it even with help, but he disagreed.”

“Why?”

“He said people might find out, and then they’d accuse him of using a ghostwriter. Or they’d worry the quality of his work would suffer. Or he’d be put in a ‘looney bin’ and wouldn’t ever be able to finish his work. Eventually, I moved in with him because I couldn’t keep going back and forth between places.”

“It’s a selfless thing you did,” I said. “I’m sure he appreciates it, even if he doesn’t have the ability to tell you that.”

Amy Lynn’s shoulders slumped, but instead of sadness, it was almost relief. Like maybe she’d just needed someone to simply recognize the silent work she’d been doing to help her father.

“The thing is,” she continued, “we did end up hiring a ghostwriter anyway. We found this guy a while ago. Bear in mind, my father hated the idea of a ghostwriter. He takes immense pride in writing every word himself.”

“I understand.”

“But I finally gave him an ultimatum. Hire a ghostwriter or get professional medical help,” she said. “I said if he couldn’t put out a quality book, then the publisher would do it for him anyway, and he wouldn’t have any control. At least this way, my father would retain as much control over his books as possible, even though he wasn’t writing every word. At least he still touched every word through his edits and feedback.”

“That explains the fingerprints,” Gem muttered.

“Huh?” I said.

“The fingerprint analyses,” Gem said. “I’ve heard in Louie LeBleu books, he always gets the details right. But in this book, the fingerprint analyses came back from the lab in an hour, and that stuck out as being unrealistic.”

“Ah,” Amy Lynn said. “Yes. My father wouldn’t have made that mistake, but his ghostwriter might have. It could have slipped by easily, even though my father reviews all the drafts.”

“Amy Lynn, how long has your father been missing?” I asked.

“Well, today’s not the first time he went missing,” Amy Lynn said. “Yesterday, he disappeared for a few hours. He has no recollection of it. He called me from inside a nearby Target and asked me to come pick him up. I was at the grocery store, and I hadn’t even realized he’d been missing. I thought he was home reading a draft of his book. I thought it had been safe to leave him for a short time while I shopped. I was wrong.”

“That was the first time he visited me,” I said. “He showed up in a car that I traced back to an employee of a local diner.”

“The Griddle?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

Amy Lynn looked relieved. “My father’s a regular there. He can walk to it from his house. I’m not surprised someone from there gave him a ride.”

“After the precinct, the employee then gave your father a ride to Target,” I said, “which is where you found him.”

“Can you tell me what my father told you about”—she cleared her throat—“this murder he supposedly confessed to?”

“He asked to speak to me specifically at the precinct. I met him in the lobby where your father introduced himself as Atticus. That’s when he confessed to murdering someone. It was like he was challenging me to a game, almost.”

“That’s something his character Atticus would do.” Amy Lynn’s face paled. “I’ve been working closely with my father and his ghostwriter on the books. Overseeing things, really, but I’ve read several drafts, so I’m quite familiar.”

“The thing is, we don’t have any evidence that a crime has been committed,” I said. “No body has been found. There is no evidence whatsoever that what he said is true.”

“I’ve been researching,” Amy Lynn said in a hushed voice. “I spoke with a neurologist on the phone, and the doctor confirmed that delusions like that can happen with something like dementia or Alzheimer’s. He suggested that my father might be especially prone to this sort of thing because he’s so closely connected with his characters. I think he called it something like experiencing delusions of identity.”

“Have you seen your father do this, where he thinks he’s one of his characters?” I asked. “You must have if you Googled it.”

“Yes. Recently. One night, I went into his study to help him get ready for bed, and he looked at me and clearly had no clue who I was. He started talking about all the murders he had committed, and how he’d gotten away with them. It took me a beat to realize that everything he said was something Atticus had done.”

“That had to be alarming.”

“It freaked me out, especially before I put it together that he was experiencing some sort of delusion. That’s when I knew my father needed more help than I could give him.”

“How long do these episodes usually last?”

“I don’t know. It’s only happened once that I know of. But it was enough that I rarely left him alone anymore. I could never anticipate when it might happen again.”

“Your father came by the precinct this morning in a truck he’d acquired with cash. We’re looking for the vehicle and your father.”

Amy Lynn’s brow furrowed.

“He mentioned to the car’s previous owner that he was staying in a cabin. Do you guys own a cabin?”

“We don’t.” Her eyes widened. “But his editor does. My dad has holed up at his editor’s cabin before when he was on a deadline. He’s published by a local publishing house, and his editor owns a cabin near the Canadian border.”

“This is a place he’s familiar with?” I asked.

“Yes, definitely. My dad loved to go there when he had tough spots in his books. This cabin is seriously out there. No internet. An outhouse. Real bare bones, which my dad liked. No distractions. If he mentioned a cabin, it’s probably that one.”

“I’d like to call local law enforcement up there,” I said. “I’d drive up there myself, but with your concern for your father’s safety, I think it’s more important to reach him quickly.”

“I have the cabin’s address in my email somewhere. My dad had been talking about going up there to finish this stupid third book,” Amy Lynn said. “I told him he should just forfeit the rights to his publisher. It was stressing him out...”

She kept mumbling as she pulled out her phone. She gave me the address as I looked up the number for the police up north. I waited while a woman confirmed she’d send a cruiser over to check on the cabin.

Twenty minutes later, the three of us had barely moved at the café, aside from Amy Lynn ordering a coffee. Finally, my phone rang, and I answered the call from the local cops up north.

“We found him, ma’am.” The police officer spoke on speaker. “Your father is safe and unharmed, Ms. LeBleu. He was a little disoriented, but physically, there are no obvious signs of injury.”

Amy Lynn burst into tears, letting go of a huge part of the stress and anxiety that’d been plaguing her since this morning.

“Is he there now?” she asked. “Can I drive up to collect him?”

“Of course, ma’am. Your father’s right beside me.”

“Amy Lynn?” The voice I knew as belonging to Atticus came over the line.

Except it wasn’t his voice; it lacked the confidence of Atticus. This voice was shaky and thin, vulnerable.

“Dad?” Amy Lynn managed.

“Honey, I’m up at Phil’s cabin. But I...” I could hear him clear his throat, I could hear the frustration and disappointment in his voice. “I don’t know why I’m up here. I’m in a truck that’s not mine. I guess I probably came here to finish the book, but I didn’t bring my computer. I just... I don’t know, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” she said. “I’ll be right there. You just hold tight.”

It was with a teary hug that Amy Lynn thanked me, and then set off for the four-hour drive north to collect her dad.

Once she was gone, it was just me and Gem and Louie LeBleu’s book. We both looked at the picture of Louie LeBleu on the back with fresh eyes. He wore a hat and sunglasses in his author photo, which was probably why I hadn’t recognized him from the back cover of the book on previous occasions.

It was heartbreaking to think about this man losing his ability to do the things he loved. I couldn’t imagine being in Amy Lynn’s shoes, watching it happen to her own father.

“Come here, Kate.” Gem tucked me under his arm. “You did a good thing today.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did a good thing,” he repeated. “And it’s not just because it’s your job. You should be proud of yourself. I’m sure proud to be with you.”

fourteen

The next morning, I climbed out of the car at the precinct and did a double take as Melinda’s car pulled up beside mine. Mostly because there was a second head in the passenger’s seat of her vehicle.

The head was attached to a human body, which was somehow even more mind-boggling. I waited impatiently for Melinda to get out of the car. I didn’t have long to wait before Dr. Gavin Lucas stepped out of the other side of the car. Boy, we were having lots of surprise carpools to work this week.

“Shut up,” Melinda whispered under her breath to me the second she got within earshot. “I love you, but you need to keep that mouth of yours closed, Kate Rosetti.”

I snorted a laugh and fell into step beside her as she power walked into the building. Dr. Lucas looked amused. He didn’t even try to keep up with her.

“You free for lunch, Mel?” he called after us.

“Yes,” Melinda said without turning, her ears joining her cheeks in a reddish hue. “See you later.”

She couldn’t even look at me until we got upstairs. Melinda followed me over to my desk and stood there silently while I grabbed a cup of coffee and powered on my computer. I wondered if this was what it felt like to own a puppy.

“Yes?” I finally asked. “Do you need something, Dr. Brooks?”

“Dr. Lucas is downstairs in my office,” Melinda mumbled. “I can’t look him in the eye after last night, so I’m camping out here for now.”

I held up a hand. “That’s too much detail. At least wait for drinks at Bellini’s to dish, or you’ll give Jimmy a heart attack.”

“It’s not...” Melinda’s face pinkened further. “Not because of that, Kate. We only talked, but for a very long time. By the time we finished chatting, I offered for him to stay in the guest room because it was too late to kick him out.”

“That sounds like a pretty good night?”

Melinda shook her head, looking almost miffed. “It’s too complicated between us.”

“Well, what’d you talk about?”

“Everything? Nothing?” She shrugged. “Conversation just flowed.”

“Usually, that’s good.”

“We live across the country from one another.”

“People move.”

“We both like our jobs.”

“Seems like you like each other too.”

Melinda sat down in a huff on a nearby chair. “How are things with Atticus? Any progress on the Romley case?”

I filled Melinda in quickly on last night’s events. She looked crestfallen when she heard the truth about Louie. “That is so sad,” Melinda mused. “What an awful disease.”

“I did speak with Amy Lynn last night after she reached her dad,” I said. “They were both doing just fine. They were going to stay the night at a hotel and drive back this morning.”

“I feel for Amy Lynn too,” Melinda said. “But I guess the silver lining is that nobody was actually murdered with a golden nail?”

“That is an upside.”

“What about Calvin Romley?” she asked. “Any developments?”

“We interviewed Wilson Jeremiah, his neighbor. He’s a nosy older gentleman who was this close to witnessing the whole thing. Unfortunately, he had to feed his cat and missed the actual skirmish on the rooftop.”

“Shame.”

“Although, I do wonder...” I frowned. “Something is not adding up.”

“I know that look. It’s a hunch.”

“Look, we know Wilson was looking out his window around the time of Romley’s death. That man noticed everything, including a single Christmas light lit too early. If there was a suspicious car parked on the road, he probably would have seen it. The man keeps a list of unfamiliar license plate numbers.”

“So he’s the Grinch in suburbia.”

“Basically. But Wilson didn’t say he saw a suspicious car that night. If the event was premeditated, it would be reasonable to assume the killer parked around the block so as not to be seen. But what happened with Romley doesn’t seem premeditated.”

“Let me remind you, we don’t know exactly what happened with Romley.”

“No. But we believe he may have fallen off the roof, and we believe he may have been punched in the face just before his death. A punch in the face doesn’t feel premeditated to me.”

“It usually isn’t.”

“And neither is a fall,” I said. “So if it wasn’t premeditated, then the murderer wouldn’t have had a reason to park around the block.”

“Agreed.”

“If that’s true, then either everything happened superfast, and Wilson just happened to miss it in the fifteen-minute window he was away, or it could be something else. What if there was no car to be seen? What if the person who killed Calvin lived close enough to walk?”

“Are you talking about Linda?”

“I mean, maybe,” I said. “But Asha has already confirmed her alibi in Florida. Plus, I don’t see a motive. As strange as it is, it seems like Linda and Calvin had an arrangement that worked for them. Now that he’s dead, she’s going to have to find a new place to live.”

“I still can’t believe he was married,” Melinda said, the first time she’d really addressed this matter since she’d learned the truth. “And that he lied to me about everything.”

“Some people are liars,” I said. “But maybe we should give Calvin the benefit of the doubt since he’s too dead to speak for himself. Maybe he was so intimidated by your beauty and your brains that he didn’t want to come off poorly, so he omitted a few important details. Maybe he intended to tell you if things progressed.”

“When?” Melinda huffed. “When we got engaged, and suddenly I figured out we couldn’t get married because—oh yeah—he already was?”

“True,” I said. “I’m just trying to be nice to the dead guy.”

“Well, I can’t say anything mean, or I’ll sound like the Grinch,” Melinda said.

“Speaking of the Grinch,” I said. “I want to swing by Wilson’s house one more time. Just to ask him about any cars he’s been seeing loitering on the street lately. Maybe he didn’t see the car on Friday night, but maybe he noted it in his notebook in the weeks leading up. It’s a really long shot, but it’s a shot.”

“See if you can snap a picture of his license plate list,” Asha said. “I can run them and see if we can get connections to Calvin.”

“Perfect. While I’m out, can you also work your magic and see if you can find any connections between Calvin and anyone who lived within walking distance of him? Specifically anyone who might have wanted him dead? If the hypothetical face-puncher lived within walking distance, that would also explain the no-car situation.”

“That’s a little broad, chica,” Asha drawled, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

When Jimmy and I pulled up outside of Wilson Jeremiah’s house, I thought I’d find his face pressed to the window. I figured he’d have our license plate scribbled down before I stepped foot on the sidewalk.

Instead, when I climbed out of the car, I frowned at the lack of twitching curtains. My alarm bells started to go off when I saw the newspaper sitting on his front steps. Yes, it was odd for there to be a newspaper at all on his front steps in the digital age, but that wasn’t what sparked my curiosity. It was the fact that the paper was still sitting there, completely untouched.

Wilson Jeremiah took pride in being a structured sort of man. He’d mentioned reading the newspaper as part of his morning routine with a cup of coffee. I wondered idly what might have pulled Wilson away from his normal daily grind.

That was when I saw the cat. Out on the front lawn, prowling around as if looking for mice. Like a wild animal. No way would Wilson Jeremiah let his precious Snitch out on the front lawn without watching him like a hawk. Something was wrong.

“Jimmy, something’s wrong.” My legs had unfolded themselves before I was done speaking. “Something’s wrong with Wilson.”

Jimmy groaned. “Of course there is.”

But he dutifully stood by my side as we crept up the front steps. When I got close to the cat, I dropped to a crouch and held out a hand.

“It’s okay, Snitch,” I said. “We’re here to help you. How did you get outside? Is your, uh, dad inside?”

Jimmy just shook his head at me. Then he made a weird sort of hissing sound that was apparently soothing to the cat because Snitch strode right up to him and twined around his legs. But when Jimmy reached down to pick him up, the cat wormed through his arms and darted away into the bushes.”

“Come on.” I nodded forward. “The front door is open a crack. We’ll have to come back for Snitch. Call for backup.”

As Jimmy called for backup, I drew my weapon and paused at the door. After Jimmy finished the call, he, too, drew his weapon and made his way to my side.

“Mr. Jeremiah, it’s Detective Kate Rosetti. I’m coming into your home,” I called. “The door is wide open, and I’m worried about you and Snitch.”

No answer again.

A slightly unsavory whiff hit me then. Slightly metallic. It was enough for me to nudge the door the rest of the way open and hurtle around the corner.

There, lying on the floor in front of me, was Wilson Jeremiah. He was sprawled before the window he loved to peer out of so much. In a pool of his own blood.

Jimmy quickly cleared the kitchen and the rest of the house before joining me in the living room.

“Jimmy, look.” I nodded down at the body where a glint of gold sparkled from Wilson’s forehead.

Someone had killed Wilson, all right. With a golden nail right to the forehead.

Within the hour, Wilson’s house was flooded with detectives and cops. Melinda and Dr. Lucas arrived together. On Sturgeon’s orders, Dr. Lucas took the lead as ME while Melinda hung back in the wings. We didn’t know for a fact that Wilson’s case was related to Calvin’s, but out of an abundance of caution, it made sense to let Dr. Lucas handle the situation.

As soon as reinforcements arrived, Jimmy and I put everyone to work. I first sent a team of local cops out to hunt for Snitch. The cat would need a new home with Wilson’s passing, and I hated to think of the poor animal out on the streets, trying to return home to an empty house. It was possible we could locate Wilson’s next of kin, and one of them might be willing to take in Snitch.

Meanwhile, Jimmy got a few officers up to speed on the situation and sent them door to door to canvas the neighborhood. Ironic, really, considering Mr. Wilson was the unofficial neighborhood watch. Except he was dead, so he wouldn’t be telling us anything.

Next up, I spoke to forensics. They were dusting for prints, looking for forced entry, collecting evidence from the scene. I knew I wouldn’t get much from them until they’d been able to take everything back to the lab and process the evidence, so I left them alone and turned my sights on someone who might be able to help me.

I sidled over to pick Dr. Lucas’s brain, but my mind was already whirring with the obvious connection to Louie LeBleu. I couldn’t help fixating on the one detail that threw this whole situation for a loop. Just days ago, the man calling himself Atticus had walked right into the precinct saying he’d killed someone with a golden nail to the forehead.

I had been waiting for this scene—a murder scene where the victim sported a golden nail in his head—all week. But now that we’d uncovered the truth about Atticus, this murder didn’t seem to fit. It didn’t fit at all, and yet the connection to Louie was undeniable. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Do you think Louie LeBleu...” Melinda asked, as I joined her side to watch Dr. Lucas work. “Could he be involved with Wilson Jeremiah’s death?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The connection isn’t making any sense, but there is a connection. I just need to figure out why.”

“Do you have a TOD yet?” I asked Dr. Lucas. “Any estimates?”

“I’ll have something for you soon. He’s been dead for a while, though. I’d guess eight-to-twelve hours.”

“Let the cops know an approximate window,” I told Jimmy. “That way they can ask the neighbors if they saw anything suspicious at that time.”

“On it,” Jimmy said, disappearing out the front door.

I turned back to Dr. Lucas. “I’m guessing Wilson wasn’t killed by the golden nail to the forehead? There’s not enough bleeding around there for that to be the COD.”

Dr. Lucas looked up at me, a touch exasperated. Then he looked toward Melinda. “Does she always do this?”

“Can’t stop, won’t stop,” Melinda said. “Yes, she’s always like this.”

Dr. Lucas sighed. “It’s very likely the nail was added post-mortem. There’s a significant contusion on the back of his head that probably knocked Mr. Wilson out first. Might have killed him. I won’t know for sure until we get him in the lab.”

“Do you know what we should be looking for in terms of a murder weapon?” I knew I was running low on my questioning time with the M.E., and I could feel his patience waning. “Like a baseball bat or something?”

“I’ll follow up with you once I have more information,” Dr. Lucas said. “For now, keep an eye out for anything big and hard.”

“Big and hard,” I muttered. “That’s not very specific.”

“I think he just wants you to leave him alone,” Melinda whispered. “He’s trying to focus. Let him do his job, and you’ll have your answers soon enough.”

We finished up at the crime scene a little while later, just as Dr. Lucas was instructing to have the body transported back to the lab. I hadn’t found anything “big and hard” with blood on it, or an obvious murder weapon, so I had to assume it had been carried out of the house by the killer.

“Big and hard,” I muttered to Jimmy as I climbed back in the car beside him. “Dr. Lucas sent me on a wild-goose chase.”

“I mean, big and hard is probably accurate,” he said. “But yeah, I see your point.”

“Speaking of things we didn’t find, I couldn’t find Wilson’s notebook either. It seemed like something he kept readily available, so it’s odd to me that it wouldn’t be easy to find.”

“That’s interesting,” Jimmy said. “I didn’t see one either. Forensics didn’t make any mention of logging a notebook into evidence. Makes you wonder if someone killed him and swiped it.”

“But there’s really only one reason anyone would want that notebook,” I said. “And it’s if they thought their name was in there next to incriminating evidence.”

“You’re thinking that the murderer is the same person who killed Calvin, and they’re paranoid Wilson was going to snitch on them?”

“I think it’s the best motive we’ve got so far.”

“Doesn’t explain the nail in the forehead,” Jimmy said after a pause. “Especially a golden nail. You got thoughts on Louie LeBleu? Do you think it’s possible that he’s involved?”

“I don’t know.” I sounded miserable. I felt miserable. The last thing I wanted to do was bother Amy Lynn and her father all over again after everything they’d been through. But I had to do my job, and my job was to investigate leads where I found them.

“You can’t hide what Atticus said to you,” Jimmy said. “It’s not your fault that you’re doing your job, Kate.”

“I know. But I don’t think Louie could’ve killed Wilson,” I said. “For multiple reasons. We don’t know the time of death for sure yet, but it’s possible that Amy Lynn and her father were still out of town when Wilson was killed.”

“True, unless they lied about their whereabouts. And look, even I admit that’s a real long shot. I’m just saying we need to consider all the options, however unlikely.”

“Okay, but the physical element doesn’t add up either. I know Wilson’s not exactly Arnold Schwarzenegger, but honestly, I’m not sure Louie could have overpowered him even if he wanted to.”

“No, but what if Amy Lynn and her father were in on it together?”

“Why would they be?” I asked. “What’s their connection to Wilson Jeremiah? What motive would they have to kill the nosy neighbor on the block?”

“I don’t know, Kate. I’m just saying, these are the questions we need to be asking. I know you don’t want to, but we can’t ignore it either.”

I knew Jimmy was right.

“Because there is a connection,” Jimmy pointed out. “Any way you look at it, Louie LeBleu told you about a murder with a golden nail to the forehead. And now, you’ve got a murder with a golden nail to the forehead.”

fifteen

I reluctantly made my way up the front path of Louie LeBleu’s Lake Harriet cottage. At the end of the day, Jimmy was right, and I knew it in my gut.

Even if Louie had an alibi, and even if I didn’t think he’d killed anyone, there was still an undeniable connection between him and Wilson’s manner of death. It was my job to find out why. If for no other reason than to find justice for Wilson Jeremiah, who deserved that much.

I’d spent a portion of my night yesterday reading up on Louie after my meeting with Amy Lynn. I’d learned that Louie was seventy-seven years old. He’d been widowed for twenty years and had one child, Amy Lynn. He’d lived in this house since he’d purchased it at the age of thirty with his wife.

Louie hadn’t seen much success until one of his series landed on the New York Times bestseller list when he was nearly sixty years old. After that, he’d begun carving out a name for himself as a local Minnesota author, much like John Sanford or Vince Flynn.

Jimmy was already on the stoop. “Stop dragging your feet, Rosetti. You’ve gotta do your job.”

“My job sucks.”

“Are you really figuring that out now?” My partner stared at me. “You’ve been shot at, stalked, chased, almost murdered...but this is the part you don’t like?”

I shrugged. “We all have our kryptonite.”

The door opened shortly after Jimmy knocked. No more delaying the unpleasant task ahead. The look of relief and appreciation on Amy Lynn’s face made what I had to say next even worse.

“Detective Rosetti,” Amy Lynn said in a rush. “Have you come to check on my father? He’s taking a nap now; we only got back an hour ago, and he’s wiped. I can’t thank you enough for your help yesterday. Would you like to come in for some tea while you wait?”

I followed Amy Lynn into the house. I didn’t think I could sustain pleasant small talk, so I dove right in instead.

“Actually, we’re here with a development,” I told Amy Lynn. “For an active investigation.”

“Why is there still an active investigation?” Amy Lynn puttered into a kitchen with daffodil-yellow walls and put on a silver teakettle. “My dad is okay, really. And trust me, we’re looking into full-time help. We’ll get him an official diagnosis and find the best care.”

“Amy Lynn, do you remember how I met your father?” I asked. “He came into the precinct and confessed to a crime.”

“Right. His Atticus delusion.” Amy Lynn turned, waiting for the teakettle to boil. “What about it?”

“This morning, we discovered the body of a man who had been killed...in the exact same way that your father described.”

“Okay.” Amy Lynn shook her head. “How can you be so sure this is linked to my dad? I mean, of course it isn’t, but why would you think that in the first place?”

“There’s something I didn’t share with you the first time,” I said. “A specific detail that your father mentioned. It’s rather unique.”

“Are you here to arrest him?”

“No,” I said. “I’m just investigating a connection. The timing of his confession and this murder are too close to ignore.”

“Maybe it’s not a coincidence,” Amy Lynn said. “Maybe there’s an explanation for it.”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

Amy Lynn paused, then frowned. “Hold on a second. I think I might know what the detail is.”

Then Amy Lynn abruptly vanished from the room. The teakettle started whistling. Jimmy went over and idly switched off the stove while we waited for her to return.

“Is this our cue to leave?” Jimmy muttered five minutes later. “Did the woman climb out a back window?”

Just then, the author’s daughter swept into the room with a huge stack of papers in hand.

“It was a golden nail to the forehead.” Amy Lynn looked directly at us. “Wasn’t it?”

Both Jimmy and I stared at her. I purposefully hadn’t told her that information. I was withholding that detail as part of the investigation.

“That’s how your victim died,” Amy Lynn said. “A golden nail right in the center of the forehead.”

Jimmy looked uneasily at me. “She’s not wrong.”

Amy Lynn put down the stack of papers with a giant huff. She jabbed her finger at a passage of text on the kitchen table. “My father was experiencing a delusion as Atticus when he confessed to you. Which means he’d speak and act like Atticus. And, in the final installment of the Dead Man Walking trilogy, Atticus breaks out of prison and leaves a golden nail in his victims’ foreheads after he murders them.”

“Yes,” I said. “That would be the connection.”

“I’m telling you,” Amy Lynn said, “my father’s been eating, sleeping, dreaming about the ending to this book. He’s obsessed. Further supporting the idea that my father is blurring the lines between fiction and reality.”

“I see. We don’t have an exact time of death, yet, but we have a loose window. Can you provide details on where you were last night?”

“As you know, I went up north to collect my father. I spoke to the cops when I got up there, so I’m sure they’ll verify that for me quite easily. We checked into a hotel late, maybe around eleven p.m.? We checked out early this morning and drove back. We stopped at a gas station along the way, and I’m sure they have cameras, or you could probably check my credit card.”

“Thank you. That’s helpful.”

“Look, detectives, my father lives for his work,” Amy Lynn said. “Even before he started experiencing real blurred lines between reality and fiction, he could be sitting at the dinner table but not really be there. He’d be living in the pages of his books. Ever since I was a child, he’d do that. I swear it’s the only thing that kept him going, after my mom died. He’d just lose himself completely in his manuscripts. He didn’t do this.”

“If that’s true, then the real question,” I said, “is who else knows about this detail?”

Amy Lynn met my gaze. “Me.”

“Not only you,” I said, remembering our conversation last night. “There’s obviously someone else who would be privy to this detail. His ghostwriter.”

“That’s true,” she said. “I can give you the information I have on him, if that would be helpful?”

Amy Lynn proceeded to fill us in on the ghostwriter’s details. According to Amy Lynn, the man’s name was Aaron Green, and they’d found him online and hired him through a reputable contract-type website. They’d hired him a few years ago when Louie had first begun having memory issues, and they’d been working with him ever since.

Aaron had signed an NDA and several contracts that were pretty standard in the ghostwriting world for each project. Legal agreements that detailed how Aaron would be paid, and that his name wouldn’t appear anywhere for credit.

“We hired the ghostwriter midway through the first book,” she said. “We hired him when the deadline was approaching and my dad couldn’t seem to get words on the page.”

“What did your dad think of the ghostwriter?” I asked. “How was their working relationship?”

“Initially, he hated the idea of a ghostwriter. I told you that,” Amy Lynn said. “But once he came around to the idea of viewing it as a collaboration, he was grudgingly okay with it.”

“Did they get along?”

“They never talked on the phone,” Amy Lynn said. “They’re both succinct and blunt, and they exchange information over email. It’s actually a pretty simple transaction. My father sends over an outline and instructions, and Aaron writes a few chapters and sends it back. My dad will mark it up, and send back suggestions and more of an outline. Sometimes there’s a bit of discussion, but honestly, not as much as you’d think. They work smoothly together, which was why we’ve stuck with the same guy for years.”

“They’re friendly enough?” I asked. “No bad blood between them?”

Amy Lynn frowned. “I don’t think so. I have access to my dad’s email because of his memory issues, and I even interacted with Aaron over email a few times. He’s always very polite. On time. Doesn’t make a fuss over anything. Really, he makes it easy.”

“That’s great,” I said. “And his work is good?”

“It’s good enough,” she said. “He’s not going to win a Pulitzer, but that’s okay. My dad’s mind isn’t totally gone, and I think he enjoys reworking the text into his own voice. It’s a good system for where he’s at right now.”

“Thanks for being so helpful,” I told Amy Lynn. “So there were no issues between you or your father and this ghostwriter? No hard feelings?”

“Do you really think Aaron framed my dad? Isn’t that extreme?”

“I’m just trying to collect as much information as possible. I’ll follow up thoroughly on all leads. But someone knew about this detail, and it seems like someone might’ve wanted to frame your father.”

“I can’t think of my father ever complaining about Aaron,” she said. “Unless there was a feud that I didn’t know about. I’ll look through his emails and see if I can find anything.”

“Is there anyone else that would know about this detail?”

“Not that I can think of,” Amy Lynn said. “Like I mentioned, my dad was extremely private. He didn’t show his work to others until he considered it done on his end.”

I asked to borrow the stack of papers Amy Lynn showed us, and she willingly handed it over, along with all the information she had on Aaron. Then we promised to follow up with her as soon as we’d spoken with Aaron.

We were in the car when Asha called us. I’d already texted her about the Aaron Green revelation and had asked her to get any details she could, and she had delivered speedily.

“I’ve got Aaron’s address for you,” Asha said. “But the house isn’t under the name Aaron Green. It’s under the names Kurt and Kristin Sullivan. I can’t find a bank account for this Aaron fellow either.”

“Aaron’s probably not his real name,” I said. “It could be a pseudonym for publishing or something. Lots of writers go by pen names.”

“I’ll keep digging,” Asha said. “In the meantime, the address should get you started. I’m sure that’s where his IP address is originating from.”

“I can’t believe it’s a local person,” I said. “What are the chances? With the World Wide Web, this writer could’ve been located anywhere.”

“Well, that part is not a coincidence,” Asha said. “I found the original job posting from Louie. He and Amy Lynn were looking for a local writer specifically. It says right in the ad that Minnesota culture and locales are baked into his books, and he preferred if the ghostwriter was either a local or well-versed in the area.”

“Well, that’s great for us,” I said. “Can you also look into Louie’s editor? I know he’s from the area too. They found Louie up at the editor’s cabin. Amy Lynn swears the editor hasn’t seen a draft of the book yet, but I want to cover my bases just in case Louie shared the book without Amy Lynn’s knowledge. I’m not convinced the ghostwriter did this, which means someone else knows about the detail.”

“You got it.” Asha paused. “Did you tell Sturgeon you got a break?”

“Yeah. He’s got Russo and Dunkirk on standby until we get to Aaron’s place, just in case.”

I concluded my call to Asha, then drove toward Woodbury, a growing suburb east of the Twin Cities. I hopped off I-94 and cruised to a newish development that ended in a cul-de-sac with a cookie-cutter array of homes sprayed out at the end.

Aaron’s address—the one legally belonging to Kurt and Kristin Sullivan—was the house in the middle. It had a Minnesota Vikings flag waving outside the front door and a basketball hoop out front with a deflated basketball sitting next to it. A bike perched against a tree. A hopscotch board was drawn in chalk on the neighbor’s driveway.

It looked like your average, middle-class home. Not like the home of a killer.

I texted Russo and Dunkirk that they could probably hold off on driving out to the suburbs for now. I really didn’t foresee a shootout happening in broad daylight. Plus, I still had Jimmy.

I knocked on the front door to Aaron’s house, completely unsure what to expect. A middle-aged mom writing by the cover of night? A dad living out his dreams of an exciting life while on diaper duty?

The door flew open a second later, and whatever I expected—she was not it. A young woman stood on the other side of the door, maybe nineteen? She had bright red hair sticking out in almost horizontal ringlets. Swatches of freckles were spattered across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes stared back, a piercing blue, her lips a contrast in bubblegum-pink gloss. She wore huge globular earrings that looked like they weighed fifteen pounds.

“Yeah?” she said around a mouthful of gum.

“Hi, there. My name is Detective Kate Rosetti, and this is my partner, Detective Jones,” I said, “and we’re looking for a man who goes by the name of Aaron Greene. Does he live here?”

At this, her face went completely pale. “Nobody lives here by that name.”

“Does anybody use that pseudonym for a writing career, maybe?” I asked. “Your dad, maybe? Could I get your name, please?”

“I’m Betsy. Why do you want to know about Aaron Greene?” she asked. “What’s it to you?”

“We’re homicide detectives, investigating a murder,” I said. “Nobody is in trouble yet, but we do have a few questions to ask your father.”

After a long, long pause, the woman looked me dead in the eye and said, “It’s not my dad’s contract with Mr. LeBleu. It’s mine. If you have any questions about him, you need to ask me.”

I blinked. “Yours? You’re…the ghostwriter for Mr. LeBleu?”

“This is why I use a pseudonym.” Betsy sounded annoyed. “Because when people see me, they don’t think I can do the job.”

“I appreciate your help,” I said. “Can we ask you a few questions about your work with Mr. LeBleu?”

“I’ve signed NDAs.”

“I understand, but we’re investigating a murder,” I said. “We can either have a friendly conversation that remains discreet, or I can pull warrants and make a big, splashy scene.”

Betsy sighed. “Come around to the back. I’ll get us some lemonades.”

“Start from the top,” I said, once we were all situated on the little patio in the backyard with cans of lemonade. “How did you get involved with Louie?”

“I hate school. I like to write,” she said. “I’ve always written, but when I turned sixteen, I had my dad help me open a checking account after my mom ran away with her boyfriend. It wasn’t long after that I realized I needed money to put in it. And it wasn’t long after that I figured out that I could get paid online for writing—and nobody had to know who I was or how old or what I looked like.”

“I see.”

“I started small, little gigs here and there,” she said. “You won’t believe the stuff people will pay for online.”

“I dunno,” I said. “I’d probably believe it.”

“Anyway, all these little jobs got my confidence up. I stumbled across this big, well-paying gig and, on a lark, I applied for it. I never in a million years thought my sample would get chosen.”

“But it did?”

“Sure did,” she said. “I’m a fast writer, I’m funny, and I’ve read enough mystery books in my life to write them while I’m sleeping. Any details I’m not sure about, I just Google. I’m a great Googler. Probably on some FBI lists by now.”

“Why did you care about making money?” I asked. “You still live at home, I’m assuming, with your dad?”

“With my dad. When my mom moved out, things were hard on my dad. She was the breadwinner of the family. My dad works, but he just barely scrapes by on one income with the mortgage. I told him we could move somewhere cheaper, but he wanted to stay here for me. I figured if I could help out by buying some groceries or something, it might lessen the burden on him, so I tried to pick up some odd jobs.”

“That’s really thoughtful,” I said. “Does your dad know you’re earning an income?”

“No. He’d feel bad about it, for sure. But men, sometimes. I swear.” Betsy shook her head. “I’ve been buying groceries with my money for months now, and I’m pretty sure my dad just thinks the fridge automatically refills when it gets low.”

I snorted a laugh. “My dad would be the same way.”

“Are you telling me the fridge doesn’t automatically refill?” Jimmy said with a wink.

Betsy gave us a small, hopeful smile, relaxing a little bit for the first time since the mention of Louie LeBleu.

“I like working with Louie,” she said. “I set up all my online accounts under the pseudonym Aaron Greene. It was easy to do. You put whatever name you want for your avatar. My bank account is under my real name, which I’m sure you can find if you actually look into it. It’s not, like, a deluxe level of pseudonym-ing. But it didn’t need to be.”

I’m sure Asha was already pulling that info. Boy, was she in for a surprise.

“I only did a male name because I knew the genre was mystery and thrillers, and there’s still discrimination against women in the industry, despite the fact it’s the twenty-first century.”

“I understand,” I told her. “I’m a female detective.”

Betsy nodded in understanding. “I got the job on merit. And I love it, legitimately. I’d already read all of Louie’s books before, so it was easy for me to pick up where he left off. We work well together. He gives me outlines, I write the words, he sends back feedback. On we go. I don’t ever complain or make a fuss; they’re not my books, I get that. I’m just happy to get a paycheck.”

“I see.”

“We’re in the final stages of the last book in his trilogy. It’s a really good book, if I do say so myself. I came in on the tail end of the first book to help him reach his deadline. It was supposed to be just a one-book-trial contract, but we liked working together, and he extended it.”

I could hear the enthusiasm radiating from Betsy. It was obvious she loved what she was doing. She was young, yes, but she was passionate and hardworking. That counted for a lot. I highly suspected it was that enthusiasm that bled into her work and had gotten her the job in the first place.

“I read all the time—widely. I know my writing isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. It just needs to be good enough for Louie to work with. I splatter paint on the canvas, and he refines it.” She frowned as she said that. “Is this about Louie? That’s how you found me. Did he do something?”

“We’re trying to find that out.”

“Homicide...” Betsy looked between us. “Is Louie dead?”

“No,” I said.

“Did he kill someone?”

“There has been a murder,” I said. “The murder is tied to information found in Louie’s unpublished novel.”

Betsy’s big blue eyes widened further. “You think I did something? Heck no. I can write about blood, but I can’t handle it. I faint at a finger prick. Maybe I had an alibi. When did this person die?”

“The autopsy is still underway,” I said, “but I can say with confidence it happened sometime between last night and this morning.”

“Well, that wasn’t me,” Betsy said. “I was babysitting last night, and then I came straight home. You can check. It’s that house there.”

Betsy nodded to an identical house, just across the cul-de-sac. I looked too. Chalk was all over the driveway, and toys were strewn in the front yard. Sure looked like kids lived there.

“There are Ring cameras all over the place. If you don’t believe me, I’m sure you can pull footage of me going there and coming home.” She paused. “I’ve been watching those kids for a few years.”

“Do you know anything about Louie’s relationship with his editor?” I asked. “Did he share an early draft of this book with his editor or anyone else that you know of?”

“Louie didn’t share any additional details with me. We never spoke on the phone or even discussed our personal lives. But I don’t think he shared his drafts with anyone but me and maybe his daughter. I know they work closely together; sometimes she’d even be the one to reply to my emails.”

“Did you tell anyone what book you were working on?”

Betsy stared at me like I was nuts. “Do you really think anyone would believe me if I said I was the ghostwriter for Louie LeBleu? I wear purple eyeshadow. Also, I’d never risk my dream job by blabbing and going against my NDA.”

“This has been enlightening,” I said. “Also, congrats on your writing career. My boyfriend loves the series. You should think about putting out your own books.”

“Maybe I will.” Betsy downed her lemonade like it was a shot. “It’s gotta be better than college.”

sixteen

The girls and I found ourselves at Bellini’s that night for early drinks and dinner. In particular, I was anxious to hear Melinda dish on the details of Wilson Jeremiah’s autopsy. Apparently, Dr. Lucas had just finished up and was preparing his report. I also wanted to check in with Asha on how her snooping on Calvin’s neighborhood had gone.

“What I can’t understand is why the Romley case and the plot of Louie’s book intersected,” I said, once all of us were squished into a booth. “Or, more accurately, how.”

“Well, I don’t have the answer to that, but unsurprisingly, Dr. Lucas confirmed that based on the absence of vital reactions such as bleeding, tissue bridging, or inflammatory response around the nail tracks, the injury with the golden nail was inflicted postmortem.”

“Whoever put the nail into Wilson’s forehead did it after his death,” I said. “Which means it was put there for a reason. Like a calling card. We just need to find out the connection between the killer and the golden nail, and it’ll unlock this whole case. Asha, are you having any luck scouring Calvin’s neighborhood?”

“I’ve been looking into online connections like you asked, but it’s difficult when it’s so broad,” Asha said. “I even expanded my search to include Wilson’s online presence, but that man didn’t even have the internet, so I doubt he’s connected to his killer via the World Wide Web.”

“Not to mention,” I said, “Calvin only lived in the neighborhood part-time. His wife still had the house more than half the time. Being that Calvin lived with his mom most of the time, who would’ve known he’d be at the other house on Friday night?”

Lassie slid her gaze to Melinda. “How are you taking that news now that you’ve had some time to process? That Calvin had a wife while he was dating you?”

“We didn’t really date,” Melinda said flatly. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Except that was a big, fat lie, and we all watched Melinda take a gigantic gulp of her margarita. That was a dead giveaway. Melinda was more of a sipper than a gulper.

“Okay, fine.” Melinda buckled under the pressure from our stares and also the tequila. “I’m upset about it. But I feel like I can’t be upset about Calvin’s omissions because the man is dead. I can’t even ask him why he didn’t tell me and confront him about it like an adult. If I find myself feeling mad at him, all I can think of is that I’m mad at a dead guy.”

“It’s not a sin to have emotions,” Lassie said. “The man duped you into believing he was single. Even if he was mostly separated from his wife, he should’ve disclosed that little fact.”

“It’s water under the bridge,” Melinda said. “I’m moving on.”

“Just don’t let this hold you up,” I said. “You do deserve real love, Melinda. The right guy will turn up at the right time. Don’t let that right guy pass you by because you’re upset about the wrong guy.”

Melinda looked into her drink. She wasn’t ignoring me, but I could tell she didn’t have much to say either.

“I think what’s going to crack this case open is motivation.” I purposefully spared Melinda from further analysis by turning the attention back to the case. “Right now, we’re lobbing theories about how these cases are connected. But I think it’s equally important to consider the why.”

“It’s not even a one-victim case anymore,” Lassie said. “Whoever did the killing, assuming it is one person who did both, has now murdered two people. That’s a lot. I mean, one is too many. But two—this person is really doubling down on the bad-guy thing. They’ve started to rack up a body count.”

“That’s a good point.” I licked a bit of salt off the rim of my glass. “Unless maybe the killer doesn’t see the first crime as murder. Maybe he saw it as an unfortunate accident.”

Melinda and Asha nodded. Lassie furrowed her brow.

“Let’s say the killer climbed up onto the roof with something to say to Calvin,” I said. “Things took a turn for the worse. The killer whacks Calvin in the nose and panics when Calvin falls off the roof and doesn’t move.”

“That must have been an urgent conversation, though,” Lassie said. “Who in their right mind would climb onto a roof to chitchat with someone else?”

“Urgent. Or important. Or even just passionate.” I reached for a cheese curd. “Maybe Wilson’s death is just the result of proximity. Maybe Wilson did see something, and he just didn’t realize what he’d seen was a murder. Maybe Wilson’s death was the killer trying to protect himself from getting caught.”

“Which makes the first death accidental,” Lassie said, “and the second death a necessity. The killer can really rationalize anything away at this rate.”

“That theory would support the local-murderer hypothesis,” Asha said. “You were already wondering if Calvin’s killer might’ve walked to the scene, hence the reason you have me looking into the general neighborhood. Wilson was known for being nosy, so if the killer knew about Wilson, he might’ve killed him just to be safe.”

Melinda was nodding along with Asha. “That’s true. Maybe it’s not even that Wilson did see something, it’s that the killer was familiar with Wilson, and knew he spent a lot of time staring out his front window.”

“It took a while,” I said. “Why didn’t the killer go after Wilson sooner?”

“I have to wonder if that was us,” Melinda said quietly. “If it’s possible that the killer caught wind of Wilson getting interviewed by the police. If the killer happened to see you guys going into or out of the house—or even hear about it—maybe he got spooked.”

“It makes more sense that way,” Lassie agreed. “If the first death was an accident, then this guy probably didn’t set out to be a cold-blooded killer. He probably didn’t act again sooner because he didn’t want to act. Maybe he felt you were forcing his hand.”

I glanced down at my plate, suddenly not hungry for the half of a cheese curd still between my fingers.

“You were just doing your job, Kate,” Melinda said quietly. “You didn’t cause Wilson’s death any more than I caused Calvin’s. I know the situation isn’t the same, but you can’t blame yourself.”

I pushed the thought out of my head, mostly because I just didn’t have space for it. I couldn’t wallow when a murderer was still running loose. The best thing I could do for Wilson and Calvin and everyone else involved in the case was to put the person responsible behind bars.

“What’s Dr. Lucas going to report as the cause of death?” I asked Melinda. “Is it the blunt-force trauma to the back of the head?”

“Yes,” Melinda said. “Resulting in severe intracranial hemorrhage and brain swelling. There was a scalp laceration which resulted in the blood on the ground that you smelled too.”

“Any idea of the murder weapon?” I asked.

“It’s too early to say specifically,” Melinda said. “Dr. Lucas hasn’t even finalized his report. I’ll let you know as soon as I know.”

“Here’s what I’m not getting,” Lassie said. “Why were you invited to the funeral, Melinda? It sounds pretty clear that you and Calvin barely knew each other.”

Melinda shrugged. “He must have told his mother something different. She was convinced he was half in love with me.”

“Did he ever say that to you?” I jerked my gaze up. “I need to call Diane. How did she get your number to call you in the first place?”

“I don’t know. Maybe his phone? The cops returned his possessions to Diane. She could’ve looked up his recent contacts from his texts,” Melinda said. “Or maybe he told his mother about me and shared my contact information?”

“Maybe,” I said. “But maybe not.”

“What are you suggesting?” Lassie asked.

“Neither Melinda nor Calvin seemed heartbroken over their breakup. He never even replied to her,” I said. “Yet his mother seemed convinced he’d ‘met someone’ before he died. We got so caught up in Melinda’s history with Calvin, not to mention the fact that Calvin was—shock!—married. I didn’t stop to consider he could’ve met someone in between Melinda and his death.”

Melinda sucked in a sharp breath. “You think the person he told Diane about—wasn’t me?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s worth a shot. I’m going to head out for the night and give her a call before it’s too late. Asha, can you dig into Calvin’s dating records even deeper? See if he might’ve been in a relationship with an entirely new person?”

Asha pushed aside her half-drunk margarita and helped herself to a cheese curd instead. She cracked her knuckles, and grinned. “I’m on it.”

seventeen

With a new to-do list and a burst of fresh hope, I gave Diane a call. She told me that she was still awake, and I could stop by her house. I made it to her neighborhood in twenty minutes. I was very grateful I hadn’t made much of a dent in my margarita because I was now feeling buzzy with investigative energy.

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” I said. “I won’t stay long. I just wanted to clarify a few things with you.”

“Of course.” Diane ushered me into the kitchen I’d been in before. She’d already prepared two cups of tea, so I helped myself as she sat across from me. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

“I was just wondering how you got Melinda’s phone number,” I said. “As we touched on before, it turns out she and Calvin didn’t have as much history as we thought. So how did you know to call her?”

“I pulled up his dating website on his computer. I guess he’d left it automatically logged in, or whatever. She was the last person he’d messaged.” Diane dunked her teabag a few times. “It’s not like they said anything provocative on there. They just had a little chat back and forth, and then she gave him her phone number when they agreed to meet for dinner.”

“Sure.”

“With Calvin mentioning he’d met someone, I just figured…” She shrugged. “The timeline made sense. It wasn’t all that long ago.”

“Did you look at his phone?”

Diane shook her head. “I don’t know his password. I didn’t care enough to turn it on either. What would it change? It wouldn’t bring my son back.”

“I’m so sorry. I understand how hard this must be for you.”

“When Calvin mentioned meeting someone, did he imply in any way it was Melinda?”

“Not specifically,” Diane said. “You understand my son was a grown adult. Yes, I know he still spent a lot of time here, but I tried to value his privacy. He didn’t bring women here. So, I guess I couldn’t say for sure that it was Melinda. I just matched it up with the timeline.”

“Can I take his computer and phone with me?” I asked. “It might be helpful in determining if there was someone else involved.”

“You think he might have met a different woman?”

“I think anything is possible.”

“Of course,” she said. “Take whatever you need. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”

I took Calvin’s computer and phone with me to sign into evidence. On the way back to the precinct, I decided to drive past Calvin’s house. The local cops had never found Snitch that night, and I had found myself wondering about the cat.

Surely a little guy attached to his owner like that wouldn’t go far? The house had been locked up in the wake of Wilson’s death, so Snitch couldn’t get back inside. I’d have to send a few cops over to tack up signs in the neighborhood about the missing cat and see if we could bring him in safely.

As I cruised down Calvin’s street, a phone rang—but it wasn’t my phone. I glanced down, surprised to find Jimmy’s phone in the passenger’s seat. It must have fallen out of his pocket when I’d dropped him off at the precinct after visiting Betsy. I’d ditched him in a hurry in order to meet the girls at Bellini’s.

“Hey, this is Kate Rosetti.” I answered the phone so Jimmy’s wife wouldn’t worry. “I’m so sorry to answer Jimmy’s phone, but I just realized it’s in the front seat of my car. He must have forgotten it here after the shift.”

“Oh, no worries. Thanks for answering.” Jimmy’s wife paused. “I thought Jimmy was at that burrito place again. We have apps on each other’s phones to track our locations. We agreed to do that after the last time he almost got shot.”

“Well, that’s understandable. But I can assure you Jimmy’s back at the precinct playing cards with the guys. I’m en route there, so I’ll drop his phone off shortly.”

“Thank you, Kate. When you see him, can you tell him that I made couscous and salmon for dinner, so he shouldn’t eat before coming home?”

“He’s lucky to have you,” I said. “I will definitely pass that along. I’ll have him call before he heads out.”

“Good night, Kate.”

As we hung up, I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. I was out of the car before I could process what I was doing and across the road in a few seconds. Bingo. My cat instincts had been correct.

“Hey, Snitch,” I said, softly approaching the probably-stressed-and-hungry cat. “I’m sorry about Wilson. Can I take you somewhere warm until we can find you a new home?”

The cat stared at me like I was a nut. I felt like a nut, talking to a cat like this.

Granted, I was an idiot when it came to properly caring for animals. I liked animals; I just didn’t have a lot of experience in owning one. My job didn’t allow a lot of time to care for other living things, and I’d never subject an animal to a schedule like mine.

“Hey, little buddy, you don’t have to be scared. I’ll make sure you have a safe place to go.” I went to sit on the ground, then paused. I figured Snitch was probably hungry. “Should I find you some food?”

“What the hell are you doing out here?” a voice called from across the street. “Why are you talking to that cat?”

I stood to find Linda, Calvin’s wife, standing there in a robe with her arms crossed.

“This is Wilson’s cat,” I said. “I’m trying to get her somewhere safe until I can contact Wilson’s next of kin about taking her in.”

“You need a cage,” Linda said. “Snitch doesn’t know you. She’s not just going to waltz into your arms.”

“Do you have a cage?”

“I do,” Linda said with a huge sigh. “I had a cat when I moved in with Calvin. The poor thing passed away a few months after I married Calvin. I still think she hated him so much it killed her.”

“That’s very sad. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” she said, sounding a lot sorrier about her cat’s death than Calvin’s.

“You can borrow the cage,” Linda said. “I’ll go get it.”

Instead of going back inside to get the cage, she crossed the street, then dropped to her knees beside me and started making noises that could only be described as otherworldly. Like she was speaking Parseltongue for cats.

Snitch eventually strode right up to Linda and wrapped himself around her leg, purring. Linda picked the cat right up and nuzzled her like a baby.

“Oh sure,” I said. “I need a cage, but you don’t?”

“Nah. Snitch likes me.” Linda scratched the cat’s ears. “She sneaks over to have dinner at our place after Wilson goes to bed sometimes. The man cared about his cat, but man, he sort of skimped on the quality of the cat food. That man was a real cheapskate. I’ve been leaving a bowl out for her at night ever since he died. I know she comes around, but it’s been really late, like the middle of the night.”

“So the cat’s familiar with you?”

“Yeah, I guess. We’re buddies.” She paused, then looked over at me. “If you need someone to, you know, look after her for now I’d be happy to. At least until you find out who’s taking her in. It’s probably best for Snitch to keep her living situation as stable as possible.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” I said. “Can I give you some money for food and supplies?”

“Sure,” she said.

I didn’t really expect her to say yes, so I fumbled for my wallet and handed over the cash I had in it.

“Thanks for taking Snitch in,” I said. “I know Wilson would really appreciate it. I do too.”

“Did you find out who killed Wilson?” she asked. “Or Calvin, for that matter?”

“Not yet. I’m hopeful we’re making progress.”

“How come you didn’t tell Calvin’s girlfriend he was dead?”

I was confused. “Are you talking about Melinda?”

“No.” Linda shook her head. “Some chick named Danica showed up here a few hours ago saying that Calvin had blown her off. I told her that’s probably because Calvin is dead. She just burst into tears and left without saying another word.”

“Calvin had a girlfriend?”

“I mean, I guess I don’t know if they were officially dating, but all signs point to them being something, don’t you think?”

Then Linda turned and stomped back into her house with her brand new, very furry roomie.

I stood there in shock for a long minute. Then I quickly climbed back in the car, driving to the precinct, wondering who in the world Danica was...and how we’d missed her.

I found Jimmy in the middle of a card game back at the precinct. I set his phone on the table.

“You forgot your phone in my car, partner,” I said. “By the way, I spoke to your wife, and she wants you to know that you’ve got salmon and couscous waiting for you at home.”

“Is that an innuendo?” Dunkirk asked. “What’s a couscous?”

“I dunno,” Jimmy mumbled. “I sure hope it’s an innuendo.”

Jimmy frowned at his phone, then dialed his wife and left the room to speak to her in the hallway. I headed over to touch base with Asha. I dumped Calvin’s computer and phone gingerly on her desk.

“Merry Christmas,” I said. “Calvin’s technological possessions. Hopefully this will help in your search.”

“Merry Christmas to me.” Asha looked up with giddy glee. “I’ve got news for you, too, honey.”

“Is this about the woman in Calvin’s life, named—”

“Danica?” We both said it at the same time.

“You owe me a Coke.” Asha winked at me.

“Who is she?” I leaned in toward Asha. “How did you figure it out? How have we missed her for so long?”

“It’s not that long,” Asha pointed out. “This has really only been an investigation for a couple days.”

“Was she an actual girlfriend Calvin just didn’t tell anyone about?”

“That’s what I’m getting,” Asha said. “I connected the two because I think Calvin spent time at her place, gaming.”

“Ah. True love.”

“For Calvin, certainly,” Asha said. “I didn’t notice her address before because Calvin frequently gamed at cafés or whatever. I’m assuming he’d do that when he wanted to get out of his mom’s house. But I noticed he’s played from this IP address a few times. I just didn’t realize it was residential.”

“Gotcha. So they’d spend time together playing games online.”

“Bingo,” Asha said. “I’ll do more digging, but I figured you might want to ask Danica yourself. Here’s her address.”

I took the slip of paper with the address, then looked at the clock. It was late.

“She’s online now.” Asha looked up at me. “Take Jack with you since it sounds like Jimmy has dinner plans.”

The card game was breaking up anyway, and it didn’t take long to convince Jack to ride along with me back toward Calvin’s house. I’d literally just come from this direction not a half an hour before. As we drove, I filled him in on the developing case.

“By the way, you’ll be impressed to hear this part,” I said with a waggle of my eyebrows. “I sort of even saved a cat tonight.”

“I’m sorry.” Jack shook his head and looked out the window. “I just don’t believe that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not a cat person.”

“How do you know?”

“Do you like cats, Kate?”

I rolled my eyes. “Define like.”

Jack gave a grunt of laughter.

“Fine. I guess you could say I fostered the safe passage of Wilson Jeremiah’s cat, Snitch, to a new home. A home with a very competent cat mom who is not me.”

“Now, that I can believe.” Jack glanced over his shoulder as I parked on the street outside of Danica’s address. “This house is only a mile and a half away from Calvin’s. A walkable distance, especially if someone was upset. Or not wanting to be seen.”

“This is true.”

My whole body was vibrating as Jack and I made our way to the front door of a tiny house set on a flat lot. We were getting to the point in the case where one right move could blow the whole thing wide open. We were getting close.

“One question,” I said to Jack as he raised a hand to knock. “If Danica killed Calvin, why would she show up at Linda’s door asking about him? She’d know where he was. Dead.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “Unless she’s trying to play the part of the confused and bereaved girlfriend?”

“Man, Calvin had a lot of those,” I said. “Melinda. Linda. Danica.”

“He’s probably getting more action dead than he was alive.”

“Gross,” I said.

“But not untrue.”

Jack raised a hand and knocked. Then he knocked again.

There was a lot of pounding and a nearly five-minute wait before I called Asha to double-check on Danica’s online status. Asha assured me Danica was still online. Probably gaming with headphones on and unable to hear us.

Our patience paid off. When the door finally opened almost ten minutes later, a woman stood there with thick headphones over her ears. Danica had jet black hair, a curvy figure, and purple lip liner. Her red-rimmed eyes, however, were not the result of makeup. She looked tired and sad.

I introduced myself and Jack, then asked if we could come inside for a minute. Danica reluctantly agreed with a huge sigh as she led us into her living room.

Except it was less of a living room and more of a video arcade. Tubes of color-changing lights lined the walls and thrummed in time with background music. A projector launched the image from Danica’s computer onto one wall. A game was paused with big red buttons asking if she wanted to resume.

“Why did nobody tell me Calvin was dead?” Danica collapsed on the couch, finally removing her headphones. “I loved him.”

I glanced at Jack. “We didn’t know how to find you. How long have you been in a relationship with Calvin?”

“We met three months ago, but things only got hot and heavy recently. Once we got going, though, it was almost instant love. When you know, you just know—and we knew. Calvin even invited me to join his D&D game, and he doesn’t invite just anybody into that circle.”

“I’m sure,” I said solemnly, having completely forgotten what D&D actually stood for. I was feeling exceptionally old during this case and mildly out of my element. “How’d you meet Calvin?”

“On a dating app for gamers,” she said. “We started by playing online together a few times. Eventually, he asked to meet in person. We got dinner that evening, then came back to my place and gamed all night long.”

“Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

“It was.” Danica started crying again, harder this time. “How’d he die? Is he already buried?”

I filled Danica in as gently as I could on the logistics of Calvin’s death, including the reason we were here asking questions about it.

“They think it might not be an accident?” she sputtered. “Someone killed Calvin? It must have been Eddie. The way their last campaign ended was awful.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t follow,” I said. “What’s a campaign again?”

“It’s a term in D&D,” Jack said to me, before turning back to Danica. “Who’s Eddie?”

“He’s part of Calvin’s D&D game.”

“Does he live around here?”

“Yeah,” Danica said. “Most people from his game live in the area, even though they mostly play online. None of the guys like to leave their parents’ basements to actually play in person, and nobody can host anyway because they all live with their parents.”

“Can you elaborate on what happened to upset Eddie?”

“I should start by saying that these guys get very invested in their characters. This campaign has been running for a long time. I know it’s hard to understand from the outside, but trust me—to these guys, D&D is more than a game. Emotions get involved.”

“Sure,” I said. “What happened at the end of the campaign?”

“There was a pivotal dungeon crawl right at the end. A huge treasure chest was being guarded by an ancient dragon.”

“Obviously,” I said.

Danica did a double take at me with a frown. “It’s very serious.”

“Detective Rosetti’s imagination is…” Jack gave me a playful smile. “Somewhat stifled.”

“I can see that,” Danica said. “Do you want a cleanse, Detective? I’ve got a way with crystals and sage. The horoscopes I post on my blog are almost always accurate.”

“That’s right up Detective Rosetti’s alley,” Jack deadpanned. “Maybe we can revisit the sage thing once we wrap this case.”

“Of course,” Danica said. “I’m going to need some serious cleansing myself after all this bad energy.”

“Obviously,” I said again.

“Anyway,” Danica continued, “the twist in the dungeon crawl was that only one character could claim the artifact. I’ll spare you all the details, but long story short, Calvin ended up seriously betraying Eddie at the last second. A real jaw-dropping move.”

“You mean their characters?” I asked. “We’re still talking gameplay?”

“Yes, of course. Calvin pulled a surprising move that was a real low blow to Eddie’s bard. It threw everything into total chaos.”

I finally managed to reply, “Yikes.”

In my defense, I’d never been much of a competitor when it came to games in general. I also hated puzzles. The way I saw things, someone had already created this beautiful, whole picture. Then they went and broke it into pieces for someone else to put together. It felt like a waste of time. Just leave the thing whole in the first place, and nobody else has to put it together.

I preferred real-life puzzles. Like murder cases. Plus, I got paid to do those kinds of puzzles.

“Kate’s not big on puzzles and games,” Jack said aloud, as if reading my mind. “All that stifled creativity.”

“Ah,” Danica said, like this was huge in her understanding of me. She frowned in my direction. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s really okay,” I said. “Although, I do like to solve homicides, so maybe let’s stick with that. What happened after things went down with this massive betrayal?”

“That’s the problem. Things never settled and returned to normal. These guys had a good thing going for years, and all of a sudden, Calvin’s play in the game ruined the real-life camaraderie too. They haven’t played since that night, which was just a few days before Calvin died.”

“Did you have an opinion on Calvin’s move?” I asked. “The betrayal that upset Eddie?”

“I was there when it happened. Online, I mean,” Danica said. “Look, Calvin didn’t break any rules, but I completely understand why Eddie got mad. If I were Calvin, I don’t think I could’ve done that to my friend and slept at night.”

“Did Eddie make any real-life threats toward Calvin? Did he know about the other house Calvin stayed at when Linda wasn’t around?”

“I’m sure he knew about the house,” Danica said. “I know they chatted, and they’ve known each other for a while. And yes, to answer your question, in the heat of the moment, he probably said something stupid.”

“Like what?”

Danica looked pained. “I think he said something along the lines of You’ll never live this down, but I don’t remember for sure. Everyone was pretty shocked.”

“Huh,” I said. “I didn’t realize an online game could be so intense.”

“Yeah,” Danica said with a sigh. “That happens to stifled people like you who can’t get swept up in something fun.”

“I like fun,” I said weakly. “On occasion.”

“Think of it like a sports game,” Jack said. “People playing football or soccer or basketball are still just playing a game, at the end of the day. But there are lots of real-life emotions involved. Real-life drama. Real-life money.”

“Okay, I get that,” I said. “Did Eddie ever come over here and give you a reason to suspect that he might act on his threats?”

“Just spit out what you’re trying to ask,” Danica said. “You’re wondering if I think Eddie killed Calvin over a game?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see it,” Danica said. “There were real hurt feelings, but Eddie isn’t the... premeditated type.”

“What type is he?”

“The lazy type,” Danica said. “He works odd jobs to make ends meet. He delivers food or flips burgers as needed. He’s almost thirty and lives with his mom. He’s just not the motivated type.”

“Did you know Calvin was still married?” I asked. It was an abrupt change of pace, but I wanted to see her honest reaction.

“No.” Danica looked down at her hands. “Not until I showed up at his place asking why he blew me off for our gaming session tonight. I only knew his address because he’d left some mail here the last time he visited. He told me he lived with his mom.”

“He did,” I said. “Sometimes.”

“When I showed up at his address to confront him, I expected to meet his mother,” she said. “Instead, I got his wife.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Calvin and Linda weren’t still together except in the legal sense. Calvin did live with his mom, mostly,” I said. “He and his wife sort of time-shared that house, even though they were separated.”

“Is that supposed to help?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I just hope that if you and Calvin did really love each other, maybe it does help to know he wasn’t lying about everything. It seems like you cared about him.”

Tears streamed down Danica’s cheeks as she watched me. “I did. And maybe it does help—a little. Thank you.”

As I nodded, and the words from Diane popped into my head. Calvin’s mother had said something along the lines of, At least he found someone to love him before he died.

When I shared that with Danica, it made her cry harder.

“Maybe you’d like to meet Calvin’s mother,” I said. “I’m sure Diane would love to meet you. I feel like it might give her a sense of peace to know her son had fallen in love with someone like you before his death.”

Danica gave a big sniff. “I’d really like that. I felt like I was just getting to know Calvin when he got taken away from me.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” I said. “We’ll leave you be here, but before I go, I do need to ask you one more thing.”

The tears rolled to a stop, and Danica eventually pulled her salt-stained face upward to look at me. I could tell she was bracing for what came next.

“Where were you last Friday night?” I asked.

“Here,” she said with a shrug. “Alone.”

I nodded and stood with Jack. We thanked her for her time, and I gave her my card. I promised to put her in touch with Diane.

“By the way,” I asked her. “Do you know Eddie’s last name?”

“No,” she said. “But his username for some things is Big Taco. Maybe you can find him that way.”

eighteen

I called Asha from the car to report what we’d learned. I could hear her fingers already clicking on the keyboard as she set to work on locating an address and a name for Eddie.

“Do you know how many Big Tacos there are online?” Asha said. “I’ll find him, but it might take me a bit. Some of these gamers use VPNs and all sorts of fancy things. Although, having Calvin’s computer will be a huge help.”

“So fancy,” I said. “Should we wait up?”

“Considering this guy still lives with his mom and maybe doesn’t even have a credit card or a cell phone under his own name, it still might take me a while, even with Romley’s things. Get some sleep tonight, guys, and we’ll be back at it in the morning. It doesn’t sound like he’s going anywhere. He doesn’t have any reason to know you’re onto him yet.”

I hung up, then looked over at Jack. “Should we get someone to keep an eye on Danica overnight?”

“Why?”

“Last time I interviewed someone,” I said, thinking of Wilson, “he ended up dead within twenty-four hours.”

“You really think...” Jack didn’t bother finishing the argument. He pulled out his phone. “I’ll get a detail over here. There’s no sense in me and you freezing our asses off all night, especially if we have to report back to the precinct in”—he looked at the clock—“less than twelve hours. Let’s go home, Kate.”

I drove us back to the precinct. I dropped Jack off in the parking lot, and he didn’t even stop to go inside. I popped into the office to grab some of my things and check in on Asha, but she wasn’t in a talking mood.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around?” I asked her. “Keep you company? I think we’re getting close.”

“Go home, Kate,” she said without looking up. “You’ll only be a distraction.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Asha looked up, then said, quieter, “Go see Gem. If this breaks the case wide open, who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

She had a point there, so I returned to my car and headed downtown. I parked out front of Gem Industries, illegally using the valet spot. Except now it was legal, considering Gem had changed the rules…for me.

I handed my keys over to Johnny, the valet who worked nights during the week. We were on a first-name basis now. I suspected he’d gotten a healthy pay raise for helping take care of my vehicle. Mostly because he had told me so.

But once I said good night to Johnny and turned to walk through the front doors, I ran right into a familiar figure—and not the one I was expecting to see.

“Jack?” I gaped at the federal agent and took a step back. “What are you doing here? I just saw you, like, ten minutes ago.”

“More like half an hour.” Jack shifted uncomfortably, then looked toward the sliding doors. “I’m, uh—”

“Did Asha find something?” I fumbled for my phone to scan for missed texts. “You could’ve just called instead of driving all the way down here. Did she locate Eddie?”

“Kate, I’m going to stop you right there.” Jack cleared his throat. “I’m not here for you.”

It hit me like a sack of potatoes, just as a curvy pink bombshell came whirling out of the building in a flurry of feathers. Then I grinned as Bonnie came to an abrupt stop, staring back at me in surprise.

“Ah, I see what’s happening here.” I pointed between them. “You two kids have fun tonight.”

“Are you hungry?” Bonnie asked. “You can join us for a bite if you’re not busy.”

“I’m going to turn in, but thanks for the offer.”

Jack let out a grateful little smile. Then Bonnie took his arm and dragged him away while I headed inside the building.

When the elevator doors opened onto the penthouse floor, I found Gem waiting for me with a big glass of wine and a movie queued up on the TV.

“Long day?” Gem asked, pulling me into a hungry embrace. “Solve any murders?”

“No, but I almost rescued a cat.”

“I cannot believe that.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Humans, sure. A cat? I thought you were allergic.”

“Maybe we should get a cat,” I said. “Maybe that’s the next step in our relationship.”

“Maybe,” Gem said. “But I can think of a few steps that might come first.”

“Like dinner and a movie?” I paused as I snuggled next to Gem on the couch. On a lark, I turned to him and asked, “Is it important to you that I learn how to cook couscous if we get married?”

“Why cook couscous when you can order a pizza?”

I kissed him on the cheek. “I always knew you were my soul mate.”

“I’ve got Big Taco.”

I rubbed my eyes and sat up in bed as Asha’s voice announced her findings over speakerphone. The sun was just beginning to glimmer on the edge of the horizon, which told me Asha had probably been at work for the better part of the evening.

Gem rolled over, opened a groggy eye. “Who’s Big Taco?”

“You don’t want to know.” I shifted toward the edge of the bed, but Gem pulled me back. “Do you have an address for Eddie?”

“You’re going to want to come into the office for this,” Asha said, sounding cagier than normal. “I already called Jimmy too. This is an in-person sort of debrief. How soon can you be here?”

“Twenty minutes.”

I kissed Gem, giving up a few minutes of precious commute time. Then I ducked into a speedy shower. I was dressed and caffeinated and at the office in twenty-six minutes flat.

“I’ve got news,” Asha said when I arrived. “You are not gonna like it—either of you.”

“You’re looking at me with serious eyes,” Jimmy muttered. “What did I do to get involved?”

“You became a police officer,” Asha said.

“Besides that,” Jimmy said. “I can’t help that.”

“Turns out, you both already know Eddie,” Asha said. “He goes by another name when he’s working.”

“Huh?” I said. “Who’s Eddie?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Asha said directly to Jimmy. “You hired him.”

I gaped. My mind was clicking like someone was picking the lock, and tumblers were sliding into place one after another.

“Elmer,” I said. “Elmer is Eddie. Eddie is Elmer.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jimmy said. “You can’t be serious. Are you serious?”

“How’d you meet Elmer?” I asked Jimmy. “How did you find a personal delivery service to bring you food here?”

“We met at Burrito Baby,” Jimmy said. “Elmer lives right around the block. He’s a regular like me. After running into one another a few times while waiting for our orders, we got to chitchatting. I complained about what a hassle it was to have to drive all the way over to get my food because Burrito Baby doesn’t deliver.”

“What a hassle,” Asha drawled.

“Elmer mentioned that he delivers food for extra cash on occasion. He said he wouldn’t mind delivering to me, too, especially if I paid in cash. I took him up on the offer. I figured it was a win-win. He got some cash, and I saved on gas and time.”

“Why would he have given you a fake name?” I frowned. “Nobody was dead when he met you, so he wouldn’t have had incentive to lie.”

“I think he gives the name when he does odd jobs,” Asha said. “I saw him use the name Elmer several times on Craigslist, including on handyman postings. I think he just didn’t want people to know his real name because some of his side hustles border on sketchy. He was probably in the habit of doing it.”

“But I’m not sketchy,” Jimmy said. “Am I sketchy?”

“You met a random guy in a restaurant famous for baby-sized burritos, and you proceeded to set up an off-the-books food-service delivery,” I said. “That’s sketchy.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Jimmy seemed disappointed in himself. “I thought I was helping the kid out, and he was helping me out.”

“Eddie lives within walking distance to both Burrito Baby and Calvin’s place,” Asha said. “We also know he was mad at Calvin about the D&D campaign from your conversation with Danica.”

“That means he also probably knew about Wilson Jeremiah,” I said. “Either he knew Wilson’s reputation around the neighborhood, or maybe he’d heard Calvin complain about his nosy neighbor.”

“I know that for a fact.” Asha pointed a pink-tipped finger at me. “I pulled gaming transcripts between Eddie and Calvin, and on one, I found Calvin complaining how he’d been fined fifty bucks for not bringing his garbage can in on time, because Wilson reported him.”

“The only thing it doesn’t explain,” Jimmy said, turning to me, “is the nail in Wilson’s forehead that frames Louie LeBleu. How does that figure in? It can’t be a coincidence, can it? Could Calvin have known that teenage ghostwriter by chance?”

This time, I felt the blood draining from my face. “No. He did know about the nail.”

“How could he have known?” Jimmy frowned. “You said Louie LeBleu didn’t share his manuscript with anyone, and if he didn’t know the ghostwriter…”

“He didn’t need to,” I said softly. “Elmer heard Atticus’s confession firsthand.”

“Maybe Danica’s right,” I said to Jimmy as we drove toward Eddie’s address. “Maybe she needs to sage this whole street.”

“Huh?” Jimmy asked. “Isn’t sage a seasoning?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think so. It’s supposed to be cleansing.”

“Huh,” Jimmy said.

We drove back to the neighborhood that had experienced a lot of trauma in one week: Calvin’s death, Wilson’s death, Snitch’s rehoming, Danica’s discovery about her dead boyfriend, and now, possibly, Eddie’s arrest. It was a lot of crime for a postage-stamp-sized spot on a map.

Russo, Dunkirk, and Winkler were following us as backup. We had no reason to assume Eddie knew we were coming, but if he had killed two people, it was reasonable to expect he might be on edge and even armed. Asha had confirmed that nobody in Eddie’s house was a registered gun owner, but there were plenty of other ways to obtain guns or weapons.

According to Asha, Eddie’s mom had already left for her job as a teacher. She said that Eddie had already picked up an order from Burrito Baby this morning and had taken it home, where he was currently sequestered with his food, gaming online.

We’d secured the necessary warrants. Jimmy and I parked out front while Jack and the others parked around the block. Russo, Winkler, and Dunkirk approached cautiously on foot, keeping their distance so as not to spook Eddie with a show of force.

Eddie and his mom lived in an old but neatly kept two-story home. On one side of the house was a huge snow pile taller than me, the only remnants from the snowstorm. Even the warming temps hadn’t made a dent in the massive heap. Around back was a pool closed for winter. A couple of empty terracotta pots sat on the front steps.

I rang the doorbell, then Jimmy and I waited in tense silence for it to open. I could tell Jimmy was more on edge than usual this morning. Normally, both of us could manage to keep lighthearted, even in the depths of a grisly case. It was how we survived. But today, Jimmy was taking this one a little more personally than the rest.

When the door opened, I stuck my foot in the crack. Just in case.

“Hey, Eddie,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“Elmer,” Jimmy said. “How is it going?”

Eddie looked between us, his face draining of color. Then he cursed, turned on a heel, and sprinted for the stairs. He tried to slam the door, but it bounced harmlessly off my pre-placed shoe as I lunged forward and raced after him.

“We’ve got a runner!” I shouted over my shoulder at Russo, Dunkirk, and Winkler. “Get the back!”

Jimmy followed close on my tail. Dunkirk and Winkler would handle the backyard. I could sense Russo already bolting to cover the front yard in case of a side-window escape.

To my surprise, Eddie went up instead of out. I sprinted up the stairs after him, skidding to a stop at a small landing. I paused a moment as a door banged shut down the hallway. The lock clicked shut.

“Down the hall,” I called to Jimmy, making a tight turn.

“Eddie,” I called through the door. “We’re not going to hurt you. We just want to ask you a few questions—I swear. Please unlock the door so we can talk.”

“You’re here to arrest me,” Eddie said. “I didn’t kill anyone. Not on purpose.”

“Look, just let us in so we can talk. I believe you.”

There was a long pause, then Eddie said, “Fine. But just you. Detective Jones waits in the hall.”

“Sure,” I said. “That’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Jimmy hissed.

“It’s gonna have to be,” I said. “We’ve got tons of backup.”

Eddie unlocked the door, and I slid into the room. I closed the door behind me but made a point not to lock it. Eddie stood against the far wall, next to a window that was thrown wide open. He was eyeing the jump to the ground below with a look in his eye that had me nervous.

But he appeared unarmed, so I eased farther into the room with my hands up in an effort to ease him into conversation.

“Don’t jump out that window,” I said. “We’ve got detectives on the ground. You’ll just break your leg. Plus, we’ll get you on charges about evading the cops. If you turn yourself in easily, it’ll count a lot for you in court. You’re unarmed, so this can go really smoothly if you let it.”

“You don’t know anything.” Eddie’s gaze whipped to me. “You don’t have any evidence to arrest me. Also, you said you just wanted to talk.”

“You said you didn’t kill anyone on purpose, right?” I said. “I can work with that. We can get you a shortened sentence if you turn yourself in now, I’m sure. The good news, Eddie, is that I believe you. I don’t think you meant to kill Calvin at all.”

“You don’t?”

“Of course not,” I said soothingly.

Eddie’s computer was on, with two monitors playing gaming music softly. Two breakfast burritos sat on the desk in front of him, one of them still fully wrapped in foil, the other half-eaten. Asha’s intel had been spot-on.

“Well, good. Because it’s true. I wasn’t even trying to punch Calvin in the nose.” Eddie’s eyes darted around. “I accidentally punched him.”

I wasn’t sure how someone accidentally climbed up onto a roof and punched someone else in the face, but okay. It was a start.

“I understand,” I said. “This must have something to do with your D&D game. I understand you were really hurt by his actions.”

“You know about that?” Eddie froze. “Oh, Danica talked to you.”

“We’ve put it all together, Eddie. We know it was you up on that rooftop. The only thing to do now is cooperate.”

“But if you put it all together...” It looked like Eddie’s brain was working overtime to process. He turned to me with a new somberness. “That means you know about Wilson too.”

I swore under my breath. There was a change in Eddie at that moment. He’d gone from uncertain and pliable, to resolute and angry. His eyes flashed, and I could tell he was calculating his options.

“Fine. You got me,” Eddie finally admitted. “I’ll turn myself in. I swear I didn’t mean to kill anyone. Just let me explain.”

“Sure,” I said. “Start from the top.”

“It all started with the campaign,” Eddie said. “Calvin screwed me over. I was heated about it. That night, I’d had a couple of drinks and decided to just walk over and talk to him.”

“Was he up on the roof when you arrived?”

“He sure was,” Eddie said. “Calvin’s the real idiot here. If he hadn’t been shoveling snow off his roof, I would’ve punched him on the sidewalk, and then he’d be alive, and I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“But why’d you climb onto the roof?” I asked. “Why didn’t you wait for Calvin to come down?”

“I tried!” Eddie sounded exasperated. “I yelled at Calvin to come down and face me like a man, but he refused. He was just gonna sit up there until I left. I was mad enough—and drunk enough—that I just climbed up that ladder to say my piece.”

“Okay,” I said. “Where did things go south?”

“Calvin wouldn’t admit to any wrongdoing,” Eddie said. “He kept saying that he didn’t break any rules. Which is true, but man, his betrayal still hurts. His move lacked common decency.”

“You weren’t planning to hit him that night, were you, Eddie?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! If Calvin had just said sorry, I would’ve called it quits. But when he kept doubling down on how he didn’t do anything wrong, I lost my cool. I took one tiny swing at him just to get it out of my system. I didn’t know the guy didn’t have a shred of balance.”

I had to control my eyes from rolling. I figured it was downright reasonable that a man might slip on an icy roof after getting whacked in the nostrils.

“Calvin just fell after that.” Eddie gave a helpless shrug. “He slipped and took a tumble off the roof, and then he didn’t move. I would’ve called for help, but he was already dead. There was nothing I could do. I just...left. I guess the evidence sort of melted.”

“What about Wilson Jeremiah?” I asked. “Did the neighbor see you?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t be sure,” Eddie admitted. “But Calvin always complained about that man peeping out his windows. Whenever I walked by, the dude had his nose pressed to the glass, real creepy-like. I wasn’t going to do anything about it until I heard about you talking to him.” Eddie fixed his gaze on me. “I figured maybe the old man knew something, and I panicked.”

“What if Wilson had already ID’d you to us?” I asked. “Killing him wouldn’t have done anything but made it worse.”

“I figured he hadn’t given a description yet, or you would’ve arrested me,” Eddie said. “But I got worried maybe he’d remember seeing something. Or maybe he’d be able to pick me out of a lineup.”

“The golden nail artifact you left behind in Wilson’s forehead,” I said. “Explain that.”

Eddie’s gaze dropped to the floor. He was losing steam now.

“That was from Atticus,” I urged. “I know you heard that confession in the lobby of the precinct when you were dropping off food for Jimmy.”

“I just used what dropped into my lap,” Eddie said. “I figured if that dude was already killing people, what was one more body added to some serial killer’s tally?”

“Reports say you hit Wilson Jeremiah in the back of the head,” I said. “With what, exactly?”

“That’s none of your business.” Eddie was getting fidgety and skittish, sizing up the jump from the window. “I didn’t want to kill him. You forced my hand by talking to him.”

I followed his gaze, also sizing up the jump from the window. It looked like knee surgery waiting to happen.

“It’s me, Eddie. I’m coming in.” Jimmy opened the door, obviously sensing the break in conversation. He kept his hands raised and moved slowly. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s grab some food and finish this conversation down at the precinct. You’re doing great.”

“No way, man,” Eddie said. “You didn’t help me out. I thought you were my friend.”

“I thought you were my friend,” Jimmy said. “Why’d you involve me?”

“I wasn’t trying to use you,” Eddie said. “But after Calvin died, I figured it might not hurt to buddy up to you a little more to see if I could score some intel on what the police knew about his death.”

Jimmy sighed. “I’m very disappointed, Eddie.”

“Me too,” Eddie said, in a way that had real resonance. “But I’m not going to let you take me in.”

I couldn’t move fast enough to stop Eddie. He was already in action, reaching for something, anything, to use as a weapon. He found one sitting on his desk. A compact missile wrapped in tinfoil.

Eddie wound up like an MLB pitcher and chucked his five-pound burrito at me like a grenade. I wasn’t ready for the surprise shot, and the thing hit me right in the gut. The air woofed out of me like he’d pitched a bowling ball at my belly. I bent in half, trying to catch my breath.

My hesitation gave Eddie time to reload. He already had the second burrito in hand as Jimmy moved to draw his weapon. Unfortunately, this one wasn’t wrapped in foil. It was half-eaten. Fully explodable.

I clamped my mouth shut as guacamole splattered across my face and rice went down my shirt.

“Don’t jump, Eddie!” Jimmy said.

But it was too late. Eddie launched himself out the window before either of us could stop him.

“You didn’t shoot him,” I remarked to Jimmy as we both peered over the edge.

“Nah,” Jimmy said. “Russo’ll get him.”

Even as we poked our heads out the window, we saw Russo shout for Winkler and Dunkirk. The three men converged on Eddie, who had landed right in the pile of snow and gotten himself well and truly stuck up to his waist in slush.

By the time Jimmy and I hoofed it down the stairs and made it around to the side of the house, Eddie was in handcuffs. Russo looked up at me, then did a double take.

“What happened to you, Rosetti?”

Jimmy leaned over and reached up, plucking some cheese off my head. “Doesn’t she look good enough to eat?”

nineteen

We hauled Eddie back to the precinct and put him through the routine: booking, fingerprinting, mug-shotting, and the rest of it. I tried my hand at interviewing Eddie further, but he clammed up quickly and asked for a lawyer. Once the lawyer arrived, we were officially shut down, and Eddie was taken to county jail to wait for his arraignment.

While Eddie had been doing all that, I’d rinsed myself off as good as I could in the bathroom. I was about 60 percent presentable as a result. My face was clean, but I couldn’t do much about my hair or the hot sauce aroma that floated around me like a perfume. I did change into an oversized department-issued sweatshirt that didn’t do anything to complement my figure.

I finally got some lunch, then spent my afternoon wading through paperwork. I checked in on Amy Lynn and her father and let her know we had arrested the man responsible for Wilson Jeremiah’s murder. She let me know that her father had appointments lined up to get proper care for his memory issues, and then she thanked me for everything I’d done for them.

By the time afternoon rolled around, I was ready to celebrate the end of two rapid-fire cases that had converged in a very unusual way. I’d seen a lot of weird cases over the years, but I’d never had one that had concluded quite like this one.

“Anyone want to get a coffee or drinks?” I asked the general bullpen. “We could all grab some dinner to celebrate?”

“We can’t celebrate yet,” Jimmy said. “It’s not over until it’s over, and anyway, I have to get home. The wife’s got something on the menu that involves olive oil and green leaves. Sorry, Rosetti. Another time.”

I studied Jimmy, very confused. The man never once in his life chose olive oil and green things over burgers and beer, but I wasn’t going to argue. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf. A spinach leaf.

“Dunkirk, Winkler?” I asked. “Jack? Asha? Anyone?”

“Sorry.” Jack looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t offer an explanation.

I waited for an inordinate amount of time before asking him pointedly, “Are you too busy for fun, Agent Russo?”

“Actually,” he said. “I have a date.”

“Ah,” I said. “Bonnie.”

“I’m out, too, Rosetti,” Winkler said. “Dunkirk and I have other obligations tonight.”

Asha made her way from her desk into the shared bullpen. “Sorry, I can’t either. I pulled an all-nighter, looking for Eddie, and I need to sleep.”

She did look tired. I didn’t blame her.

I went out in the hallway to go looking for Melinda, but when I saw her and Dr. Gavin Lucas walking together, I didn’t bother asking what her plans were for the night. I wasn’t sure if they were heading for friendship or something more, but I wasn’t going to interfere either way.

I packed up my things, said goodbye to the boys and Asha, then headed for home. It wasn’t until I was halfway to Gem Industries that I got to wondering if the real reason everyone had ditched plans with me was because I smelled like a Taco Bell. I took one sniff of myself and a glance at my bulky sweatshirt in the mirror, and figured that probably, the answer to that question was yes.

I climbed out of my car, tossed my keys to Johnny, who was just starting his shift. The valet did a double take when he saw me. I wasn’t sure if it was the oversized sweatshirt or the cheesy hair, but it pretty much confirmed my suspicions that I wasn’t fit to be in public just yet.

“Have a good night, Detective,” Johnny said, eyeing me all the way into the building. “Tough day?”

“Yep,” I said. “You could say that.”

Johnny wasn’t the only person to do a double take as I huffed into the building. The way Ms. Karp eyed me when I came through the doors was like she didn’t recognize me. Her gaze whipped up, and she glared at me like she was sizing up a potential threat to the building.

“It was a burrito incident,” I said with exasperation. “I’m on my way to a shower.”

Except as I was explaining my state of dress to the front desk receptionist, I was swallowed up in a swarm of businessmen and women, all wearing varying shades of expensive black and gray. Lots of power suits. These people moved in a pack like they were on a tour.

“Sorry,” I said, trying to swim out of the crowd and fighting an upstream battle. “Excuse me.”

“Kate?” Gem’s voice broke through the haze. “What happened to you?”

I looked up to find Gem at the center of the fancy pack of businesspeople. His eyes locked on me, and I could see him wondering why I’d been dunked in condiments.

“Sorry about the mess,” I said again. “I was just trying to get upstairs to take a shower.”

Gem parted the sea of black-suited businessmen like a deity. He was at my side in a second.

“Is everything okay?” he asked. “You seem…cooked.”

“Yeah,” I said. “We just closed a case.”

He reached up, plucked a wilted piece of lettuce out of my hair. “Well, I’m just glad you’re in one piece. I will say, however, that you are…highly aromatic.”

“It’s a long story. I’ll let you get back to”—I gestured—“whatever this is.”

“A tour for my highest net-worth investors,” Gem said easily, like he was explaining these were some old classmates from high school. “Are you really okay? Do you need anything?”

“No. Don’t stop the tour on my account.” I lowered my voice. “It’s totally cool to pretend you don’t know me right now.”

I knew what high net-worth investors meant in Gem language. I was swimming in a pool of billionaires. I wasn’t even a goldfish in this scenario. I was a microscopic fleck of seaweed clinging to a shoe in this ocean. I couldn’t imagine it would be a good look for Gem to associate with me in front of these investors.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Gem said, putting his arm around my shoulder. He gave me a lightning-fast wink as he pulled me to his side. “Meet the love of my life, Detective Kate Rosetti. She just closed a huge, high-profile, very dangerous case today.”

The men in particular looked at me with some variations of confusion and disdain. One of the women gave me an approving nod. The others looked ambivalent, and I wondered if they might not speak English—which would be a huge boon for Gem indeed.

“I don’t always look like this,” I said. “It’s a burrito thing.”

“You know what they say,” Gem said. “In sickness and in sour cream.”

I looked up at him, hoping he could see how much this moment meant to me. How much every moment with him meant, really. There wasn’t a bad moment with this man. Even the bad moments were made better by being together, and wasn’t that love?

I wanted to throw my arms around Gem, but I didn’t want to get him messy. So I just said, as softly as I could manage, “When you’re ready, Gem, I’m ready.”

“Do you mean—” Gem’s eyes widened. “Are you saying…”

I just squeezed his hand, smiled, and slipped away.

When I arrived upstairs, I found Bonnie waiting for me as the elevator doors opened.

“You are a sight,” she said. “You’re making my eyes water.”

“It was really spicy hot sauce.” I stepped out of the elevator. “You’re not gonna want to do this laundry, let me tell you. Don’t bother offering.”

“I’m definitely not offering,” Bonnie said. “I can’t even eat taco sauce that spicy. I’d break out in hives if I touched your shirt, and anyway, I’ve got plans tonight. However, Mr. Gem asked me to get you set up before I left.”

“Set up for what?”

“He has a special evening planned. I think he knew you had a long day and thought you might need to be pampered. He put me in charge of the details.” Bonnie gestured for me to follow her. “I went big.”

I followed Bonnie into Gem’s spacious bathroom. The lighting was dim, lit only by dozens of candles scattered across every surface. The water in the bathtub was running. I could smell floral fragrances hanging in the air.

“Bath salts,” Bonnie said at my long sniff. “I’ve got all the fanciest lotions and soaps and shampoos and everything else all laid out in a basket. The company I ordered this stuff from sent some free samples. Hope you don’t mind I took those.”

“Oh, Bonnie,” I said. “This is too much. I just need a quick shower.”

Bonnie gave me a disapproving look. “No, you don’t. You need to soak, Detective. You’re like a bowl that’s been left in the sink for two days and is all crusted over. Bask. Please.”

I winced. “Ouch.”

“The only way to go from here is up,” Bonnie said, as if that would make me feel better.

It didn’t. It made me feel like I’d dragged myself through Gem’s business meeting at rock bottom. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be in a relationship with a billionaire, let alone be married to one.

“Just trust the process,” Bonnie said. “I really do have to go, so can you handle things from here?”

“Of course.” I scoffed, like I hadn’t been bathing myself for the last three decades of my life. “Thank you for this. It’s very indulgent.”

“It’s self-care,” Bonnie corrected. “I’ve laid out the clothes you should wear after, on the bed. Mr. Gem’s orders—not mine.”

On that cryptic note, Bonnie disappeared. Presumably to her date with Jack. I didn’t notice until after she’d gone that she’d had on extra makeup and a pretty dress. I wondered if things were already getting serious between them, and hoped for both their sakes that they were. They each deserved happiness.

I took another sniff, then decided I really did need to soak. I got undressed and slid into the bath, feeling like I was ascending to a new level of life. Notes of lavender and rose drifted around me, and for the first time in days, I felt like I could truly relax.

In a hilarious twist of fate, I found a bath tray stocked with a glass of wine and a book—but not just any book. Louie LeBleu’s first book in the trilogy. The one Gem had been reading. The one Betsy had helped to write. I picked it up, turned to the first page, and let myself melt into a different world—a fictional world of detectives and killers—one that always had a happy ending.

“Self-care,” I muttered as I climbed out of the bath an hour later. “Who knew?”

I felt like a whole new woman. I’d read a quarter of a book…just for fun. A fiction book. And I’d enjoyed it! I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat and read something that wasn’t a nonfiction murder file.

On top of that, the bath salts that Bonnie had selected were divine. Even better, some of the scent had rubbed off on me, so I smelled a lot better than I had an hour before.

I slunk into the bedroom where Bonnie had promised my clothes would be laid out. To my surprise, it wasn’t a new pair of pajamas like I’d suspected. Instead, a beautiful gown lay on the bed, a shade of robin’s-egg blue so pale it was almost translucent. A very slight shimmer glazed over the top like magic.

I reached out a finger and touched it; the fabric was beyond soft. It felt expensive. It looked expensive. I was sure it was expensive. I just didn’t know why I was supposed to wear it tonight.

Then I spotted a card. I plucked it off the dress and read it.

To Kate:

Let’s celebrate.

—Gem

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise everyone else had ditched me tonight. I’d much rather spend my night celebrating with Gem, smelling like a field of flowers, than drinking a beer with Winkler and Dunkirk after having bathed in Velveeta.

I shimmied into the dress, figuring Gem would be back any minute, then I quickly dried my hair and put on some makeup. As I was fastening the earrings I found on the pillow, my phone beeped.

Gem: Car’s out front when you’re ready.

I made my way downstairs, grateful the lobby was mostly quiet by this point. At the exit, Ms. Karp stopped me.

“You look significantly better than before.” Then she cleared her throat. “What I mean to say, is that you look lovely. Also, this is for you.”

Ms. Karp handed over a beautiful faux-fur shawl that would look much better on her than on me. But at her insistence, I slipped it over my shoulders. The dress was next-to-sleeveless, and it was chilly outside, so I would need it.

Once I emerged out front, Johnny directed me into the back of a waiting SUV. I was shocked when nobody was in the car except for the driver. I glanced around, but Gem was nowhere to be seen.

“Good evening, Detective Rosetti,” the driver said. “I’ve been instructed to bring you to an address where you’ll meet Mr. Gem, if that’s all right.”

“Trust the process,” I muttered to myself. To the driver, I said, “Of course, that’s fine.”

I looked out the window as the car pulled away from the curb. It was well into evening now and pitch dark outside. I shivered with anticipation, wondering what fancy restaurant Gem had up his sleeve tonight. I only hoped it was in this country. I was too tired for a time-zone change tonight.

The car whisked me across the border of St. Paul and toward Minneapolis. I recognized the Stone Arch Bridge as we drew near the familiar and famed feature of the Twin Cities. The river rushed beneath the bridge, the sides of the riverbank flanked by trees and darkness and nature. Just beyond, the lights of the Twin Cities twinkled in either direction.

The car stopped, and the driver said that I’d find Gem waiting for me outside. Trust the process, I told myself again.

The parklike grounds were eerily abandoned. I’d never been here when it was completely devoid of people. I was pretty sure it was impossible to “rent out the Stone Arch Bridge,” but if anyone could do it, that person was Alastair Gem.

My breath caught in my throat when I saw him. He’d changed out of the suit he’d worn earlier. In its place, he’d put on a tux—less business, more elegant. His hair bounced with its playful curls, but they were mussed in the chilly air, like they had a life of their own.

The image of Gem standing there, looking at me like that, stole my breath. Not to mention the fact that beside him was a horse-drawn carriage, with real live horses. A driver sat in the front of the carriage, blending in like part of the fixture himself, as if to give us privacy.

But it wasn’t just any old horse and carriage. The carriage was lit entirely by thousands of tiny fairy lights. The dots of warmth illuminated the Cinderella-shaped carriage so that it looked like it was glowing, like it’d been yanked right out of the fairy tale itself. A few shakes of fairy dust, and I was convinced that thing could fly.

“Kate,” Gem said softly. “I know. It’s stupid. Maybe even cheesy.”

Gem looked uncertain as I approached. Very unlike him. He was charismatic and confident almost always, but tonight, there was a new and unfamiliar glimmer of doubt in his eyes.

This was his armor cracking. Allowing me to slip through the chainmail to be with him, snug in the innermost parts of himself. In those vulnerable spaces that nobody else saw. I recognized it for what it was: an absolute privilege to be that person for him.

My dress swept across the path as I moved toward him. “This is stunning, Gem. What’s the special occasion? Is this really all to celebrate Eddie’s arrest?”

“I didn’t know you’d caught Eddie when I planned this,” Gem admitted. “That timing just lined up conveniently.”

“But you said we were celebrating.” My brows furrowed together. “What are we celebrating, then?”

Gem inhaled a deep breath. “Hopefully us.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “We celebrate us all the time. At home. In our pajamas with wine and Netflix.”

Gem’s face cracked into a soft, wistful, pleading smile. Then he dropped to one knee before me and took my hand in his.

“Kate Rosetti,” Gem said, looking up at me with a hope that felt like it encompassed his entire soul. “I am not going to drag this out, because I know you hate sappy moments.”

I tried to respond, but I couldn’t speak over the bass drum that was my beating heart.

“I also know you wouldn’t want this to be a big deal, or a public event, which is why I’ve kept it private,” Gem said. “It’s just us.”

“That’s always what I prefer,” I whispered. “Just us.”

Gem squinted, studying every line of my face. “Kate Rosetti, I love you with my whole heart. I’ve loved you in some way since the day we met. I know you don’t believe in fairy tales and love at first sight, but there’s just no other way to describe it. I knew you were special from the minute I saw you.”

I felt my eyes welling with tears. I had a hard time feeling like I deserved to hear words like this from anyone, let alone a man as wonderful as this one.

“I’ve never doubted it was you.” Gem’s voice was a dirt road leading home. Dry, raspy, beloved. “It’s always been you. Only you.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry it took me so long to understand that.”

“It took you the exact right amount of time.” Gem’s grip on my hand tightened. “Kate, you have the heart of a princess, but I know you’re no Cinderella.”

I gave a short laugh. “What gives that away?”

But Gem didn’t laugh. His eyes held a graveness to them that just about broke my heart. I realized my hands were trembling in his, and my humor was an attempt to give him an out—to make light of this moment.

He wasn’t taking the bait. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed that from Gem—the way he would fight for me, right up until the very end of this...whatever this was. He’d fought for me from the day we’d met and had never given up.

“You’re no Cinderella because you’ve saved yourself. You don’t need me, nor do you need anyone else, including a fairy godmother,” he said. “The people in your life are there because you want them to be there.”

“Including you,” I whispered. “I love you.”

“In proposing to you, I’m not trying to save you. To change you or to fix you. You are perfect the way you are, and the reason I want to marry you is because I hope like hell I’m the man you’ll let live beside you in the beautiful castle you’ve built for yourself.”

I felt like my body was being held together by unshed tears and heaps of love. There was no other explanation for why I hadn’t fallen apart in his arms.

“Let yourself be swept away, Kate. Just this once.” Gem’s eyes glistened. “Marry me.”

I could only nod. And then nod, and nod, and nod, until I realized I was just shaking and crying. I couldn’t manage an audible “yes” until Gem hauled himself to his feet and curled me into his chest.

“Let yourself be swept away, Kate,” Gem repeated, whispering fiercely into my hair. “I love you so much that I can’t imagine a life without you.”

“Yes,” I finally managed. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Then Gem slipped a beautiful diamond on to my finger.

“A princess cut,” Gem whispered, because he probably knew I had no clue what it was. And in that moment, for the first time in my life, I felt like a princess. And this man had made it all happen, even when I’d believed it to be an insurmountable feat.

“It’s too much,” I whispered. “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s not enough.” Gem pressed his lips to my forehead. “But as long as it makes you mine, you can wear a rubber band for all I care. I just want you.”

When I stopped shaking for long enough to take a step without my legs collapsing from beneath me, I followed Gem’s lead. He helped me into the carriage, tucked me under a blanket beside him. The horses began trotting away, the clop-clop of their hooves pulling us over the bridge.

I glanced behind me, half expecting to see fairies fluttering in the distance.

“There’s one more thing,” Gem said, as we huddled beneath a blanket. “I want to give you a heads-up.”

I gave a good-natured groan, then leaned my head against his shoulder. “Don’t tell me there’s a catch to marrying you.”

“A small one.” I could feel Gem smile. “I know you hate being the center of attention, which is why I wanted this moment to be private.”

“It was perfect,” I whispered. “I want you to know it wasn’t about the dress or the diamonds or the carriage, although that was all wonderful. It’s how you made me feel. Nobody has ever made me feel as wanted or as seen or as loved as you have.”

“That is very much mutual,” Gem said. “And I’m not the only one.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve always said that you were bad at balancing a personal life and your career.”

“Yes. That’s a fact.”

“It’s not a fact,” Gem said. “And I’ve got receipts to support my theories.”

I grinned. “What are these receipts?”

“Look at the life you’ve built for yourself, Kate,” Gem urged. “I am the lucky one in this partnership. You’ve got to understand; people look at me and think I have everything. It’s true, I have everything the eye can see: wealth and prestige and power.”

“Sure. But you’ve earned it. You deserve it.”

“Nobody deserves that much money,” he said flippantly. “But you, Kate, have true wealth. In the time I’ve known you, you’ve drawn together a whole community of people. Your parents, your sister and Wes. Melinda, Asha, Lassie. Jack Russo. Jimmy. These people love you unconditionally.”

My throat was parched. I didn’t have a reply.

“You might argue that you didn’t bring your parents back together, or that you didn’t introduce Wes and Jane directly, but the truth is that the love and loyalty you radiate to the people in your life is pure and unbreakable. It is without bounds. The people in your orbit, Kate—we all just feel lucky to be there.”

The tears fell. I couldn’t stop them. I’d never looked at my own life through a lens like that. When I did, I had to admit, my heart felt full.

“You may have worked ‘too many’ hours on occasion, or you may feel you’ve been too slow to forgive your father,” Gem said. “But look at it how I see it: because you worked too many hours, people are alive. Because you made your father work to earn back your trust, he wholly understands how valuable that trust is, and is unwilling to break it again. Even what you believe are your flaws are things I believe are beautiful.”

“Okay,” I gulped, because I was crying too hard to say anything else.

“All I know is that at the end of the day, you are perfect for me.”

Gem took my face between his hands and pressed a long, lingering kiss to my lips. He kissed me until the carriage came to a stop, and cheers erupted on the other side of the bridge.

Gem gave me a sheepish smile. “What I was trying to say is that we can’t celebrate us without celebrating you, and that includes the people who love you.”

Gem swept an arm toward a waiting crowd, to a row of family and friends dressed in stunning gowns and handsome suits. Everyone important to me stood together, waiting outside a restaurant along the river’s edge to celebrate this moment.

I looked into the eyes of everyone I loved. My sister, pregnant with my niece, and her husband. My parents. The girls—Asha, Lassie, and Melinda, the latter flanked by Dr. Gavin Lucas.

The guys from the precinct were there. Jack stood beside Bonnie with his arm around her. Dunkirk and Winkler seemed like they were hunting for a refill on their beers, but at least they’d shown up. Even Sturgeon raised a glass when my eyes landed on him.

Then I spotted Jimmy, huddled next to his wife. I felt a rush of the most pure, platonic love as he smiled at me, outright tears streaming down his face. Not an ounce of shame for those tears as he raised a glass toward me and my fiancé.

I turned back to Gem, overwhelmed and grateful and complete.

“They’re not here for me,” I said softly, linking my arm in his. “They’re here for us.”

THE END

Epilogue

Dedication of Louie LeBleu’s final book in the Dead Man Walking trilogy:

To Alastair Gem and Kate Rosetti, for your belief—in me and in each other.

And to Betsy, without whom this book would not exist.

Author’s Note

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed another adventure with Detective Kate Rosetti and team.

I’m excited to say there will be more coming books in this series—please sign up for my newsletter at ginalamanna.com to be notified when they are available. And, if you enjoyed the book, please consider taking the time to leave a review at your retailer of choice. It is much appreciated and helps other readers find books they love!

Thank you for reading!

Gina

List of Gina's Books

Gina LaManna is the USA TODAY bestselling author of the Magic & Mixology series, the Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries, The Little Things romantic suspense series, and the Misty Newman books.

List of Gina LaManna’s other books:

Court of Isles

Cursed

Rom Coms

Hate Hex

Women’s Fiction:

Pretty Guilty Women

Three Single Wives

The Double Wife

Detective Kate Rosetti Mysteries:

Shoot the Breeze

Riddle Me This

Follow the Money

Riddle Me This

Nail on the Head

Sleigh All Day

Time is Money

Diamond in the Rough

Luck of the Draw

One in a Million

Shoot for the Moon

Dime a Dozen

If The Shoe Fits

Murder in Style:

Secrets and Stilettos

Lipstick and Lies

Mascara and Murder

The Hex Files:

Wicked Never Sleeps

Wicked Long Nights

Wicked State of Mind

Wicked Moon Rising

Wicked All The Way

Wicked Twist of Fate

Wicked Ever After

Lola Pink Mystery Series:

Shades of Pink

Shades of Stars

Shades of Sunshine

Magic & Mixology Mysteries:

Hex on the Beach

Witchy Sour

Jinx & Tonic

Long Isle Iced Tea

Amuletto Kiss

Spelldriver

Mint Julep

Mermaid Mimosa

MAGIC, Inc. Mysteries:

The Undercover Witch

Spellbooks & Spies (short story)

Lacey Luzzi:

Lacey Luzzi: Scooped

Lacey Luzzi: Sprinkled

Lacey Luzzi: Sparkled

Lacey Luzzi: Salted

Lacey Luzzi: Sauced

Lacey Luzzi: S'mored

Lacey Luzzi: Spooked

Lacey Luzzi: Seasoned

Lacey Luzzi: Spiced

Lacey Luzzi: Suckered

Lacey Luzzi: Sprouted

Lacey Luzzi: Shaved

The Little Things Mystery Series:

One Little Wish

Two Little Lies

Misty Newman:

Teased to Death

Short Story in Killer Beach Reads

Chick Lit:

Girl Tripping

Gina also writes books for kids under the Pen Name Libby LaManna:

Mini Pie the Spy!

Social Media

The best place to chat about Gina's books is in her Facebook group – LaManna's Ladies!

Join Here:

You can also follow Gina (and her boys) on Instagram:

Or follow Gina on Facebook: