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THAT EVENING, GORDON took his dinner in Angie’s office at Daily Bread. Angie had texted him things were busy, and he didn’t want to make extra work—or deprive her of a paying customer by taking up a table in the dining room. He’d eat the staff meal, which was generally made up of leftovers or something quick, easy, and cheap. Tonight, it was a mac and cheese casserole with chunks of chicken and vegetables. Worked for him.
Angie had left the airline itinerary on her desk with a note saying they had twenty-four hours to change plans. She popped in, harried, but excited. She loved when things were busy—as long as there weren’t kitchen or staff problems like the ones she’d mentioned a few days before. The light in her eyes said things were lots-of-customers-busy, not dealing-with-mistakes-busy.
“Do the flights look okay?” She grabbed the corner of her apron and dabbed her face. “The red-eyes were cheaper, but not by much, and you said someone was going to meet us at the airport ... and asking them to get us at one in the morning, plus it’s a two-hour drive—”
Gordon waved his fork. “Slow down. This looks fine.”
“You’re sure? It would mean leaving late morning Thursday, so you’ll miss more work than you wanted. You’d have time to get a good night’s sleep before your interview.”
“Angie, I said this is fine. Shall I confirm?”
“That would be great. Gotta get to work. I don’t know why things are so crazy on a Tuesday, but—”
“You love it.” He stood, kissed her forehead. “Go see your people. I’ll be upstairs whenever you get done.”
She whisked away.
Gordon scrolled through his phone images, looking for a picture of Bud. Nothing. He’d need to access the station’s database which he couldn’t do from his phone. Would Bud be stupid enough to come through Mapleton if he’d killed his wife? Long shot, but better to cover all the possibilities.
Wouldn’t be the first crook to get caught for being stupid.
Gordon finished the last of his casserole, took his dishes to the sink area in the kitchen, and went upstairs. From his laptop, he accessed the database he needed and printed a picture of Bud.
He trotted downstairs and laid it on Angie’s desk. He found her at the pastry display case, slicing a chocolate cake.
“You want some?” she asked.
“No, thanks.” He explained Bud’s picture. “It’s a super-slim chance he’ll come in, but if he does, call me.”
“What did he do?” Angie asked.
“Probably nothing. I have a few questions to ask him.”
“Should we keep him here?”
“Nope. All I want is a quick heads-up.”
Gordon could tell Angie wanted to know more—a lot more—but he also knew she’d learned to respect the lines between Gordon the cop and Gordon the husband.
She laid the slice of cake onto a plate, took it and a piece of apple pie and worked her way across the dining room to deliver them.
Gordon took a quick detour through the parking lot, scanning for Bud’s Tacoma. Looked like a busy night at Finnegan’s, too. Bud’s truck wasn’t in the lot. Gordon strolled around the block. No sign of the truck parked on the street, either. Remembering what he and Solomon had talked about, Gordon called Dispatch, asked them about vehicles registered to Bud and his late wife.
“Right, Chief. Officer Solomon requested that information as well. Two vehicles, registered in both names. One’s the red Toyota Tacoma, the other is a blue 2018 Camry.” Tessa gave him the plate numbers.
Gordon thanked her and revisited the city lot and neighboring block. No sign of the Camry.
He popped into Finnegan’s, alerted Mick. “You have my cell. Call me. Up until ten, anyway. After that, call the station.”
“Got it,” Mick said. “You want anything?”
Gordon declined. Enough work for one night. Bud wasn’t a known killer, and Gordon was trying to enforce his self-imposed don’t take work home rule.
What else was he going to do while he waited for Angie to finish working? He needed a hobby. One that required enough concentration so he could leave work behind. When Angie brought work home, most of the time it was testing recipes. Should he try to take up cooking? Something they could share?
Then he remembered what she considered his kitchen skill set—setting the table.
No potential hobbies intrigued him enough to try, so he went upstairs and turned on the television. The Rockies were playing.
With the game as background noise, Gordon followed up on the plane tickets, then composed an email to Mayor Butler letting her know when they’d be arriving. He downloaded the receipt for his ticket, attached it to his message, and hit Send.
That done, Gordon switched his attention to the game. He lasted a few innings, but the Rockies were down by five and going downhill. He shut off the set and wandered to the bookshelf, but he’d read all of his books, and Angie’s taste didn’t match his. The book he’d started on his e-reader wasn’t luring him in.
Conceding his restlessness was caused by the job, he gave in and worked on his list of questions and things to look for in Pine Hills. Angie would have her own approach, but he included things he thought would be important to her—to them—such as a job in the food industry. He hadn’t asked about salaries when he’d talked to Mayor Butler, but even if the Chief job paid enough to allow them to be a one-income family, Angie would never be content not working.
Footfalls on the stairs said Angie was coming home. Eight-thirty. Not late at all. A bubble swelled in his chest, and the unbidden grin spread across his face as it always did at her approach. He knew it always would.
“Done early?” he asked as she came into the apartment. She carried a plate with a slab of chocolate cake.
She set the plate on the coffee table. “Not early. Just not late. I’m trying—really trying—to turn over additional responsibilities to the staff. They can close, clean up, and deal with the financial reconciliation. I need to let them do that more often.”
“Good for you. Everything’s set with the plane tickets.”
She popped into the kitchen and returned with two forks, handing him one. “This was all the cake that was left. Not much else to do with it but eat it.”
“Happy to help.” Gordon grabbed the legal tablet he’d brought home. “I made a list of questions for the trip. Can you think of anything else? I figured you’d have your own list.”
She forked up a generous bite of the cake and took the notepad, chewing, nodding, and wrinkling her nose. “Looks like you’ve covered almost everything. I’m guessing they’ll give you a tour of the police department, so you can see what kind of equipment they have, but it’s not on your list.”
Gordon took the notepad and added Equipment to the list. “It’s a no-brainer, but in case my brain malfunctions, better to have it written down.”
Angie’s cell rang, and she fished the phone out of her pocket. “It’s Megan.”
She moved toward the bedroom. Was Megan calling with a decision for their event business? Was she planning to join Justin in Washington?