As a crowd of people moved past us toward the Verizon Center in Gallery Place, I looked incredulously at Bree.
“You’re kidding me,” I said. “Michaels actually told you to solve Walker’s murder in order to prove you were worthy of being COD?”
“I’m supposed to serve his head to Ned on a platter,” Bree said, upset. “I don’t get it. I thought I’d been doing a solid job.”
“You’ve been doing a great job.”
“I think he wants me to replace you, and you’re irreplaceable.”
“Well, thank you for that, I think, but you’re a damn fine investigator, Bree. If he’s redefining your job, go with it.”
“And how exactly am I supposed to find Walker’s killer?” she said, crossing her arms. “Charge in, tell you and Ned and the FBI and the Secret Service and the Capitol Police, ‘Butt out, Chief Stone is here’?”
I grinned. “I could actually see you pulling that one off.”
“Big help you are,” Bree said, and she looked so forlorn I hugged her.
“We’ll get through whatever comes our way,” I said, rubbing her back. “As long as we’re together, we’ll be—”
“Dad, c’mon! The game’s gonna start!”
I looked up the sidewalk toward the Verizon Center and saw Jannie in a blue down parka waving at me.
“Be right there!” I said, and then I put my knuckle under Bree’s chin. “Let’s set this aside for the next hour and a half, okay? Our boy’s in town.”
Bree nodded and smiled. “And I’m grateful for that.”
“Me too,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulder.
We walked to the Verizon Center, a massive athletics complex in Northwest DC, and gave the ticket taker our tickets. Pounding techno music poured out of the speaker system. We found Jannie, Nana Mama, and Ali sitting in a cluster in the tenth and eleventh rows above center court.
“How’s it looking?” I asked, taking a seat beside my grandmother, Bree sitting down behind me with Jannie and Ali.
“Davidson versus Goliath,” said Nana Mama, who’d been a basketball fan forever. “And I hate to say it, but with a few notable exceptions, Davidson wasn’t looking too strong during warm-ups.”
“Where’s the faith, Nana?” Jannie said, sounding irritated. “We could see the breakthrough tonight. Anything’s possible once things start.”
“The way Georgetown’s been playing?” said Ali, who watches a lot of basketball with my grandmother. “Davidson’s going to get stomped.”
The music changed, the recording taken over by a live pep band playing, “Final Countdown.” Members of the Georgetown University Hoyas men’s basketball team charged onto the court with a full light show in progress.
The local crowd went wild, clapping and stomping their feet while the Hoyas went through a few last-minute layup drills.
“Here come the Wildcats!” Jannie said.
The Davidson College team ran out in their sweats and started their own final warm-up drills. As Nana Mama had said, with a few notable exceptions, the Wildcats looked nervous.
My oldest child, Damon, was one of the exceptions. A six-foot-five guard and three-point specialist who usually came off the bench, he entered the court looking all business and ready.
Damon had played at Division II Johns Hopkins, my alma mater. He played so well in a summer league that he attracted the attention of a Davidson coach, Jake Winston, who offered him a walk-on slot if he transferred.
Under Coach Winston’s guidance, Damon had blossomed into a solid NCAA Division I player.
“C’mon, Damon!” Jannie cried as he dribbled in and made a nice jump shot. She whistled and clapped, and that made me happy.
My older son’s basketball abilities came late and had been hard fought for. Athletically, Damon had long been overshadowed by Jannie’s track exploits. He was the sixth man on a team ranked fifth in the Atlantic Coast Conference. She was being recruited by the top track schools in the nation.
So it was nice seeing my boy get his chance in the spotlight. It was even better seeing how much his little sister was supporting him.