twelve
sunday, april 20

“Seems like old times,” Cheski reminisced. He cleared the work table to make space for Katrina’s homemade chips and dip. “It doesn’t even seem that bad coming in on a Sunday.”

Lamendola grabbed a handful of chips.

“No double-dipping this time around,” Cheski ordered his partner. Then he wheeled in a filing cabinet. “Same place as before, CeCe?”

“Sure, by the window.” I pointed. “But don’t block the view. We need to see the water.” I pulled back a set of threadbare curtains circa Betsy Ross.

Frank and I had emptied one of the extra bedrooms in Harbor House earlier in the day. It was the same room we had used for Teddy’s investigation. The last time the police had descended upon Harbor House, the arrangement had made sense; my life had been threatened by Teddy’s killer, and the police had been on-site for my protection. This was different.

“This is completely unorthodox,” I’d said, fingering the ancient curtains. Frank nodded his agreement. “Then why are we doing it?”

“It feels right,” he’d said, and shrugged. “Plus, I think I’m going to need regular access to both you and Charlie. It seemed to work out for us the last time.”

I was skeptical. Charlie was a computer whiz, but my contributions at this point in Bob’s case were some rough drawings of a doughy man and a pair of calves. Helpful, but not crucial.

Frank crawled under a computer desk and fiddled with loose cords. “Maybe we could talk about Dr. Grovit’s next steps when we’re done here,” he called from the floor.

Well, I certainly didn’t expect that comment from Frank. I stared at his feet wondering if the rest of him would make an appearance so I could evaluate his expression. May we talk about Dr. Grovit’s next steps? Do you even need to ask? I took a quick inventory of the newly converted room. Hmm. Was it possible Frank’s secondary office had nothing to do with Bob’s case? A seed of an idea was planted. Was Bob’s case just a cover to be closer to me?

Frank came out from the under the desk. “Will you have time later?”

“Of course,” I said. I worked hard to soften my face to hide my surprise. It was a ridiculous question—I had nothing but time. I didn’t have a regular job, and my only responsibility was self-sustainment. My mind, in response to Frank’s questions, spit out sarcastic zingers, but I held back.

I wondered if Frank was practicing his own form of transference. If he treated the whereabouts of my potential child like a real case, he could work on it like a cop and remove himself emotionally. I realized he had been doing this since we originally learned about my missing genetic material. He always referred to the whereabouts of my eggs as “your child” as opposed to “my niece or nephew.” In reality, I suspected the theft of my eggs and Teddy’s sperm was highly emotional for him. It might explain why he had moved his office to Harbor House. He needed me for support, because if he discovered I had a child and that child was the product of my eggs and Teddy’s sperm, then he’d be meeting his niece or nephew. Since Frank was adopted and learned about Teddy only after his death, he’d never had blood family around him. If it were me, I’d want to be holding someone’s hand when I made the discovery.

Fine, I thought. Let’s do it your way. We’ll pretend you’re here for Bob. In the end, Bob’s case will probably benefit. I wanted to kiss Frank, but then he’d know that I knew his true motivation for setting up a secondary office in Harbor House. I turned my head back to the window and allowed myself a gotcha smirk.