Georgia made her exit a few minutes later and started back to Evanston. Ruth wasn’t the most likeable person: she was bitter at times, even catty. Georgia wondered if she was lonely—she hadn’t seen any get-well cards or flowers. She claimed she liked Dena, but she was judgmental about Dena’s personal life and the way she ran the group. Was Ruth a person who always found fault with everything? Or was she envious of Dena’s success? Maybe she had a crush on Dena, platonic or otherwise, that Dena did not reciprocate. She was ambitious too, based on her desire to take over the group.
Georgia glanced out the Toyota’s window. A guy in a BMW sedan zoomed past her in the wrong lane. He gave her the finger as he passed. She almost replied in like fashion but at the last second managed not to.
A news clip of Dena’s death flashed through her mind. Anyone who hired a killer had to have guts. And a burning hatred. Was Ruth capable of that much passion? Where would she have met Jarvis, anyway? Georgia made a note to cross-check Ruth’s background with Jarvis’s to see if there were any intersections.
Driving north, she passed her old gym in Andersonville. On the second floor of a small building, it used to be an overheated, smelly place to which only serious lifters flocked. But it had recently changed owners, and they’d remodeled. Now, judging from the custom lights hanging from the ceiling, it was suspiciously trendy. She’d found another overheated, smelly gym.
At the next red light a pang of worry struck her. What if she came up with nothing? She’d only been a PI four years; she had a lot more to learn. That meant investigating the way she’d learned to as a cop. Start with family members, widen out to friends, significant others, then work and professional associates. But that was the problem. With forty-two thousand people in the ResistanceUSA group, she could spend the rest of her life running down suspects. She hoped she was up to it.
She stopped in at the Jewel in Evanston and asked where the beef jerky was. The checkout girl pointed to another aisle. Georgia scanned the cashier’s lane first. There were three different brands. One looked like the kind of stale, cardboard meat strips from her childhood, but two had labels promising a softer, fresher chew. She picked up Applewood Smoked Beef. Looked interesting. She read the front and the back of the package, and dropped it into the handbasket she’d picked up at the front door. She grabbed a Smoked BBQ as well. Then she headed to the aisle, where there were half a dozen additional brands and flavors and chose several more. Back in the car, she popped one of the applewood strips in her mouth.
Some people loved the peppery, tough texture, but Georgia wasn’t “partial to it,” as her mother used to say. Beef jerky reminded her of chewing tobacco, truckers, and country music. She knew she was stereotyping, but it was a part of Jarvis’s world. “Find the beef jerky?” She took another bite. The email was too unusual to ignore. What did it have to do with Dena’s murder?
Back home, Vanna was in the kitchen, her papers spread over the small table. She was sketching a logo for an imaginary company the teacher had invented for a homework project. Charlie was in his baby seat, swatting a plastic giraffe and monkey that hung above his head.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Georgia smiled.
“Hi.” Vanna’s voice was soft and bright, their spat from the other night apparently forgotten.
“Here’s a snack.” Georgia dug out one of the packs of jerky and tossed it to her.
Vanna picked it up with a puzzled look.
“You don’t like it?”
Vanna screwed up her face as only a teenager could. “Some new fad?” she said disdainfully.
Georgia shook her head. “It might be related to a case I’m working on.”
“Oh.” Vanna tossed the beef jerky on the table and went back to work.
Charlie cooed at Georgia with the contented “I’ve just been fed” babble that came with a full stomach. If only life was this good all the time. Georgia leaned over and kissed them both on the tops of their heads.