EIGHTY-EIGHT

THE coffee, it turned out, was more than a warm, invigorating beverage. My own house blend tasted comfortingly familiar, and the caffeine seemed to have a positive, head-clearing effect on my mind.

Could my own roasted coffee be the key to unlocking more memories?

Detective Quinn doubted it would be that easy.

He had brought up his EMT jump bag, just in case I relapsed and blacked out, but I was feeling fine and strong. Apart from my memory issue—and missing my daughter—I was glad to be here.

After I invited him into the kitchen, the detective pulled off his suit jacket and shoulder holster. He hung both on an empty chair, sat at the table, and stretched out his long legs.

I noticed Java and Frothy were glad to see him, enthusiastically depositing brown and white fur all over his slacks. I liked that he didn’t mind, and he appeared to enjoy scratching their ears and petting their necks as much as they enjoyed the attention.

“So fill me in,” I said. “What happened at the parking lot?”

“A small army of uniforms showed up from the local precinct and created a perimeter for the Crime Scene Unit. Then the Queens detectives arrived, and I told them what you would have—about Stevens’s presence at the time of the gunshot, which they’re going to confirm once they get a warrant for the security camera footage.

“I also let them know Stevens’s connection to the Annette Brewster case. And, thanks to your sharp eyes, pointed out the glove on the victim’s dashboard. I identified it as resembling a match to your glove with the bloodstain—the one we bagged for evidence last week.”

“Did they find Stevens?”

Quinn nodded. “They caught up with him in his car, driving to his home on Staten Island. They’re questioning him now. He claims he’s innocent. We’ll know more in the morning.”

“I’m going to hope for the best,” I said. “That Annette is still alive and Stevens knows where to find her—and who else was involved.”

“It’s a tangle,” Quinn admitted, scratching the new growth of stubble on his jawline. “Let’s hope it won’t take long to straighten out.”

I agreed. “There are still so many questions. Were Mullins and Stevens working together for Tessa? Or is Stevens working for Victoria? Was he trying to frame Mullins with that glove?”

Quinn drained his cup. “Good questions, Detective.”

“Good answers would be more helpful, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “But I’d say you gave us an excellent start.”

I was about to thank him for sticking by me—when the kitchen timer went off. As I pulled my chocolate chip snack cake out of the oven, Quinn made a fresh pot of coffee, and we continued talking into the night.