This was the last thing Parish wanted to do. The very, very last thing. But she was doing this for Melissa. Wasn’t she? Following Melissa’s paranoid fantasy that Lydia was a killer. Parish was sure she would prove Melissa wrong. But what if? What if?
She was talking to herself as she walked over to the George Street Diner, a classic diner that the Three Amigas used to go to once a month when they needed some good home cooking. They hadn’t been here for a long time. Whenever she and Lydia had met in the last few years—and it happened less and less often—Lydia always wanted to go to the newest, trendiest, most expensive restaurants.
Parish’s coat wasn’t warm enough. This happened every November, when the temperatures dropped and she was still in denial that winter was coming. The tape that held the recorder to her chest felt itchy as she walked. Be sure not to scratch yourself, Kennicott had warned her. He was in a van around the corner with a technician and would be listening in. She checked her watch. It was a few minutes after three. Lydia was always late, so she wasn’t worried.
At the door of the diner she saw there was still a lineup inside. Cold weather, people wanted comfort food. Damn, she should have got here earlier to get one of the booths by the window.
“Well, would you take a good long look at whom the cat dragged in,” she heard a familiar voice say before she saw Ash, the spirited Irishwoman who owned and ran the diner. She grabbed Parish’s sleeve. “Your amiga is already here. She got here half an hour ago to get a booth,” Ash said.
Lydia never got anywhere early.
Ash tugged Parish through the crowd. The diner was long and narrow, with the kitchen counter on the left and red-cushioned booths on the right along the sunny south-side wall. Lydia was in the last booth, not on her cell phone, not looking at her laptop, not checking her watch. Waiting quietly. That was another first.
“I’m so sorry about your Melissa,” Ash said in her warm Irish accent. “She’d come by here when times were rough, and we’d feed her.”
“You did?” Parish said. All these things she was learning about Melissa’s life. Now that it was too late.
“Family. You never give up on family.”
Lydia stood and Ash looped her arms around both of them for a group hug. “Now the Three Amigas will be the Dynamic Duo, right?” Ash said.
“Nance, thanks so much,” Lydia said, when they sat back down alone.
“We’ve been friends for…”
“Sixteen years,” Lydia said. “And you know what all this has made me realize?”
Lydia teared up and brought her hands across the table. Parish held them.
“All those rich people who wanted to chummy up to us once Karl won the trial and got elected. They all think he’s going to be the next mayor. Guess how many of them have called?”
She formed her forefinger and thumb into a circle. “Great big zero. But you, even though I’ve been such a lousy friend for the last few years—”
“You haven’t been, Lydia. Our lives have changed—”
“Not true. I have been terrible. And who is the only person I can talk to? You.”
Yes, me, Parish thought. Trying to trap you and get you arrested for murder. Some friend she was being. She could feel herself start to sweat. The stupid tape was itchier and itchier.
“It shouldn’t have taken Melissa being killed to wake me up,” Lydia said, still holding Parish’s hand. “I’m not asking you to forgive me or believe me. Please give me a chance to show you how important you are as my friend.”
She let go of Parish’s hand.
What was she doing here? Parish asked herself. She picked up a menu from the metal holder by the window. “Why don’t we start,” she said, “by having some food?”