“Frank. It’s a solid name, Stevie. What troubles you about Frank?”
“It sounds like we don’t care enough to come up with something creative for him, that’s what’s wrong with it.”
“Well, Stephania,” Win drawled, extra British at the moment, “then you come up with something better.”
I’d been snippy with Win since we’d gotten into the car to head to Tito’s funeral. I know it was due to the fact that I’d found that darn picture and I was having some feelings about it I was incapable of identifying.
I didn’t even know if it was really him. I just knew the woman was gorgeous and they were in Paris and I’d have to tell him what I found because I hated secrets. But right now, I just wanted to pick a name for our dang dog and mourn Tito.
“Snowball!” I shouted as though I’d found the meaning of life, while passing the boatyard on my way to the church where the service for Tito would be held.
“Snowball? Bah. Half the population owns or has owned a pet named Snowball. Really, Stevie. How much more original is that than Frank?”
“Well, it’s better than Lassiter. Sounds like a name you stole from some romance novel,” I scoffed, gripping the steering wheel as the heavy rain battered the windshield.
“What have you against romance novels?”
“Nothing. I love them. Sop ’em up with a biscuit. I just don’t want our dog to be named after some over-endowed stud cowboy who wears tight T-shirts, has a rock-hard jaw, perfect teeth, sweats glitter and diamonds, and carries around his emotional baggage like a saddle.”
“Can one ever be too over-endowed?”
“Maybe not, but they can be too mouthy.”
“No Snowball,” he groused.
I decided to change the subject before I blurted out something I’d regret. I needed more time to process that picture.
“Remind me to hunt down Sandwich. I’m sure he’ll be at the funeral, and I know he’s probably got more information. He won’t like it, but I’m going to worm it out of him anyway.”
“The way you wormed the last bit out of him?”
Rolling my eyes, I pulled into the parking lot of the church, my hands clammy from nerves. “Fine. So I’m an epic fail at flirty. I’ll think of another way to dazzle him, don’t you worry about a thing, pal.”
“Will you be all right going in alone for a moment?”
Heaving a sigh, I watched as mourners poured through the wood doors of the church by the dozen. “I’ll be fine. Why?”
“I’d just like to pop in and check on Bel and Dog. Make sure Bel’s got this covered and Dog is behaving whilst they get to know one another. He did agree to babysit and help Dog acclimate. It’s the least I can do, but I’ll be right back.”
My heart chugged, warming with a glow. Win could be so sensitive to others’ feelings. A rare trait in a spy, I’d imagine.
“You go. I’ll be okay. Promise.” I adjusted the Bluetooth in my ear and popped the car door open. “Hurry back, though. You never know if someone might show up who looks suspicious.”
“Who looks suspicious?” Forrest asked, making me jump. Dressed in a dark suit with a black tie, despite the reason for his outfit, he looked handsome and strong. “Share my umbrella?”
I smiled up at him as he held his red-and-white-striped umbrella over my head and gave a small laugh. “Yes, thank you, and it’s nothing. Just more renovation drama. How are you?”
Forrest’s handsome face went grim. “About as well as can be expected, I guess.”
Chester came up from the rear, slipping his arm through mine and patting my hand. The scent of his Old Spice in my nose comforted me. “There’s my girl. Sad day today.”
As we hit the bottom of the church steps, I nodded. “It sure is.”
“You hear they brought Tito’s girl in for questioning?” Chester asked.
Nodding, I replied, “I read it in the paper just this morning. It’s standard stuff, I’d think.”
Chester grunted. “I dunno. Maybe not after the way that Nelson fella was grumblin’ in the coffee shop today.”
“So what else is new? Officer Nelson is always grumbling,” I joked.
“Well, this mornin’, he had plenty to say to his buddy Gorton there about that Bianca—”
“Gramps,” Forrest chided, thwarting further speculation. “No gossiping. You promised. Let the police handle this.”
When we reached the top of the wide stairs leading to the church doors, I had to swallow hard when I caught sight of Maggie. Wearing a simple black dress and matching flats, she looked like the weight of the world rested squarely on her shoulders.
Reaching out a hand to her, I pulled her into a light hug. “I’m so sorry, Maggie,” I whispered as her body shuddered in my arms.
She pulled away first, her eyes full of unshed tears when she said, “My Taco, he like you, Stevie. He so sorry for calling you bad name. He tell me he want to make things good.”
Rubbing a soothing circle across her shoulders, I nodded. “And he did. Promise. It’s okay now, Maggie. It’s all water under the bridge, right? Please, if you need anything, anything at all, let me know, would you? I’d be happy to help with whatever you need.”
I left her with those words and Forrest, so he could convey his condolences before I began to sob along with her, scurrying inside the church vestibule to find a seat for the service.
“I’m back,” Win murmured, his presence hugging me with warmth.
Pressing my fingers to the unconnected Bluetooth in my ear, I simply bowed my head, clenching my eyes shut as the organ music began to swell.
The turnout was as expected, nearly everyone from Ebenezer Falls piling into the church to pay their last respects. No matter what Tito had or hadn’t done, the community had loved him, respected him and Maggie.
A blown-up picture of Tito with his family, a wreath of flowers perched on the corner of the frame, sat by his mahogany casket. Seeing his face—cherubic, his eyes gleaming—made my throat tighten as Forrest slid into the pew beside me and grabbed my hand.
Maggie, her sons and Bianca took their places in the first row of mourners, each of her boys holding their mother’s hands.
I couldn’t even consider watching Bianca for signs of guilt after hearing about her questioning. I just couldn’t get with the idea she’d kill her father, no matter how hard I tried. Right now, my focus was just on getting through this moment and being as silently supportive as I could.
As the services began, I lifted my chin and fought the sting of tears. But it wasn’t only because Tito was dead. It was because I was failing. I had nada in the way of suspects and no new leads to speak of. I know it isn’t my task or even my responsibility to hunt down Tito’s killer, but somewhere deep down, I feel like it is.
There’s this pulse of anguish, a thick thread of failure stitched around my soul that just won’t cut me loose.
Maybe it has to do with my past and how miserably I failed to help someone once before. Maybe I’m trying to right wrongs that I, in truth, won’t ever be able to truly fix.
But each time I help someone, be it living or dead, I’m like an alcoholic seeking redemption—atonement. I feel like I’m filling back up this metaphorical well with my name emblazoned on it. The well I’d drained when I went against my council’s orders, thinking I was helping a small boy, only to make things likely much worse for him.
The well labeled “Trying Desperately To Make Things Right.”
* * * *
I stood outside Maggie and Tito’s small ranch house and sipped at a plastic cup of white wine as mourners milled in and out, talking in hushed tones, their faces strained, their eyes somber.
Maggie was the quintessential hostess, seeing to everyone’s needs, a tissue in hand for the occasional tears when someone shared a happy memory of Tito. Food in heaping mounds was passed back and forth and wine and beer flowed freely. Mexican music played as small groups clustered together to toast Tito.
The pounding rain had stopped long enough to place Tito’s coffin at the cemetery, the horizon dotted with black umbrellas as I stood and watched from a small distance.
I seemed to upset Bianca a great deal and the last thing I wanted was for her to aim her rage at me again—or to be the cause of a scene. So I’d lain low and tried to let my mind rest.
But now, while I plucked the leafy stems of one of the arborvitaes lining the walkway to the Bustamantes, I began to kick myself because I still had no answers.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
“Will I go to jail if I don’t give them to you?” I asked Sandwich.
“Still holding a grudge?”
Leaning on my right leg, because my left was beginning to ache from the heels I wore, aggravated by my butt injury, I sighed. “Nah. I’m not grudging anymore, Sandwich. I’m so over being hauled off to the klink. I learned a lot while I was there, though. Can’t buy that experience for sure.”
“Good to know. So how’ve you been? How’s the house coming?”
“It’s getting there. By tonight, I hope to have a driveway.”
His nod was crisp as he rocked back on his heels. “How’s your butt?”
“How’s Jacob?” I hadn’t meant to bring him up, but I couldn’t stop myself. His name reminded me why my butt hurt in the first place.
“He’s in the tank for another twenty-four. Wanted to talk to you about that.”
“Really? Did you find some loophole aside from his assault and battery and now you’re going to charge me with something?”
“Still grudging,” he reminded with a chuckle.
“Okay, maybe a little. Sorry. What do you want to talk to me about that has to do with Jacob?”
Sandwich cleared his throat. “He was pretty riled up in the tank. Kept going on and on about you. Made a couple of threats. Just want you to be aware he’s released tomorrow. Could just be his drunk rambling. Could be he’s lookin’ for payback. We’ll keep an eye on the house for a while. Of that you can be sure.”
Perfect. Just what I needed.
“I’ll have Belfry make sure Enzo beefs up the security immediately,” Win said in my ear. “It’ll be a cold day on Plane Limbo before I allow that buffoon to put his hands on you again.”
He’d been quiet the entire service and at the cemetery—so quiet, I’d wondered if he’d gone off for some time alone. But like my knight in shining armor, he came to my rescue.
I nodded at Sandwich. “Thanks for the head’s up. So how’s everything with you?”
He lifted his index finger and waved it at me in warning. “Don’t you start with the questions.”
“Who, me? Don’t be silly. This isn’t a day to weasel information out of you. I’m insulted you’d suggest as much. I was just wondering if questioning Bianca kept you from your date with Winona Swift.” I winked and nudged him with a whistle. “Heard you were taking her to the Shrimp Box. Pretty fancy, Sandwich. Must wanna impress her.”
His face flushed bright red under the gloomy skies. “How did you know about Winona and the Shrimp Box?”
Moving to lean back on the brick exterior of the house for support, I shrugged my shoulders. “Who doesn’t know? I heard someone talking about it…somewhere. I can’t remember where. So did you make it in time to wow her with your good looks and charm? Or was it a super-long interrogation? Did Starsky and Hutch make an appearance?”
“Ah, Miss Cartwright. You’ve become quite predictable,” Officer Nelson chided, joining us and looking equally as smart in his black suit and shiny black shoes.
I took a sip of my wine and gazed upward at him. “Dang, Officer Unicorns and Lollipops, I hate when that happens. How can I turn this pony around?”
He smoothed his tie and buttoned his suit jacket. “You could begin by not grilling Officer Paddington.”
“You razzin’ my girl, Dana?” Chester asked, pushing his stout body through the thick of enormous men to come stand by me.
“Dana?” I asked, my eyebrow cocked in the direction of Officer Nelson, fighting the urge to laugh out loud.
Chester nodded his balding head and winked, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “Yep. Spent many a night up at the cabin with the grandkid, Dana did. Don’t know when he got so crotchety. Used to be he was always up to no good with Forrest. Can’t say when he lost that wild hare, but he sure is boring nowadays.”
Officer Nelson’s, a.k.a. Dana’s, face actually tinted a light shade of red.
“Aw, look at us. Me predictable and you boring. We should date,” I joked.
If Dana was red before, now he was really red, from the exposed length of his neck right up to his forehead.
But the joking stopped the moment I saw Mateo approach, dark and handsome. Tito would be proud of how his son had handled today. “May I speak with you, Miss Cartwright?”
Patting Chester’s arm, I slipped out and away from the men in blue and nodded, letting him lead me to the garage. “Of course, Mateo. What can I do to help?”
His face was tight, the skin paler than his usual olive complexion, his jaw clenched. “You can tell me why that suspected murderer was at your house yesterday.”