IT ALL SEEMED too neat, too easy, but that didn’t mean Constantine Bowie wasn’t the killer, did it? The next few days were all about paperwork, lots and lots of it. I don’t think most people have any idea how much ink it takes to put a murder case in the drawer, especially one of this magnitude.
Not even when the FBI and the Secret Service are both arguing that justice has been done.
There were endless meetings to come, and after that, public hearings. A full congressional investigation had already been promised, amid all kinds of unchecked speculation on the Hill and in the media. The country was buzzing: about Tony Nicholson’s client list, about the involvement of Secret Service, and even about who else might still be out there as part of Bowie’s murder spree.
Once the paperwork was behind me, I put in for the rest of the week off. I left the office late on Wednesday and went straight to the hospital. Nana was looking a lot more peaceful these days, like an angel, which was kind of nice and also hard to take. I stayed awake most of that night, just watching her.
Then Aunt Tia spelled me early on Thursday, and I managed to catch Bree still in bed when I finally, finally got home. She was just starting to stir as I spooned up next to her.
“Do whatever you want,” she whispered softly. “Just don’t wake me up.”
But then she laughed and turned over to kiss me good morning. Her feet and legs stayed tangled up with mine under the covers.
“All right, then, just do whatever you want to me,” she said.
“This is nice. Remember this?” I said.
She nodded with her forehead against mine, and I was thinking maybe I never had to be anywhere else but here. Ever again.
Then the bedroom door opened. Of course it did. “Daddy, you home?” Ali poked his head around the corner and jumped up onto the bed before we could tell him to go away.
“Little man, how many times have I told you to knock first?” I asked him.
“About a million,” he said, and he laughed and wormed in between us anyway.
Not to be outdone, Jannie was there soon enough, and the two of them started chattering at us like maybe it wasn’t six thirty in the morning. Even so, it was kind of nice to be all together again.
By seven, I was frying up a batch of bacon, egg, and tomato sandwiches while Bree made coffee and poured the orange juice. Jannie and Ali were scanning the morning paper for my name, and I even had a little Gershwin playing in the living room. Not the bedroom with Bree, but not too shabby either.
Just as I was flipping my breakfast creations out of the pan, a phone chirped from upstairs, loud enough to be heard over the music.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me, standing there with my greasy spatula in hand.
“What?” I said, all wide-eyed and innocent. “I don’t hear anything.”
That got me a chorus of cheers all around the table, and even a little pat on the butt from Bree.
Whoever it was, they had the good sense not to call again.