“Yeah," I said. "I think that could work out.”
“Oh my God. Thank you.”
“No problem.” I tried not to stare at her wine too much.
“You OK?”
I nodded.
“My mother died about two years ago,” I said, suddenly.
Charlie said nothing for a moment, but I saw the crease lines of worry settle around her eyes. “You never said anything.”
“It was before you came to work with me. And I don’t talk about it.”
She nodded, accepting the explanation.
“She was a drinker. And she hit it pretty hard when my dad left when I was younger. You always think, oh, she’ll stop, but she never did. Eventually I stopped trying to convince her. I moved on with my life. I used to be an English teacher, did I ever tell you that?”
“Yes,” she said, softly.
“This… this job, it was all an accident, a passing interest that got out of hand. But I’m pretty good at it. That’s why I stopped drinking. When she died I started hitting it just as hard. Roxanne got tired of it and had a chance to get out. She took it, and I don’t suppose I can really blame her. I mean, I saw what an absentee husband did to my own mom.”
I sipped the ginger ale. I was so goddamned sick of ginger ale, Coke Zero, apple juice, Diet Pepsi, all of it.
“I stopped drinking because I was better without it. Better at the job. Better at being me, I suppose.” I laughed here, a short, cheerless grunt. “Christ, that’s so American, right?”
She smiled at that.
I took a breath. “You want to work with me some more, be an investigator, we can make that happen. If you want to do it, you’ll either do it with me or go work for someone else, and I’m not breaking in anyone new.”
If she was unimpressed with my attempt at being emotionally indifferent, she didn’t let on. “So you’ll stay? You want to keep working cases?”
“Yes. But two things. One: I want you to stay in school. You’re close now and you shouldn’t throw it away. We’ll figure it out. You’re too smart to be that stupid.”
“OK. Thank you.”
“And two: Maybe it’s time to get a bit more selective. Take a break from following the wayward hearts of London for a while. Look into different cases. I’ll figure that out when I get back. I’m taking a few weeks off, like I said. And no, I have no idea where I’ll go or what I might do.”
“You’re not really a beach guy.” She smiled again. A good smile, a real one borne of relief and a little excitement.
“I don’t think I even own a pair of shorts.” I was serious.
Charlie’s mother walked into the kitchen. We had been so engrossed we hadn’t heard her get up. “Anyone want to play some cards?” she asked.
Charlie looked at me, eyebrows up.
“Sure,” I said. I cleared some clutter from the table, and Charlie went to fetch the deck from the living room.
“Thank you for coming today,” Mrs. Colbourne said. “I know you must be busy.”
“I’m actually not when it comes to stuff like this. So thank you for having me. Really. I appreciate it.”
She smiled and sipped her almost-empty brandy. She leaned in a little closer, and patted my arm, signalling conspiratorial confidentiality. “You’ve been working so hard lately. You need to spend more time with Charlotte. She needs both of us, you know.”
I paused. I could hear Charlie fussing about in the next room, calling out to her mom that she didn’t know where the deck was.
“I’ve had a lot of work to do,” I said. Against everything, I felt myself misting up. I was so tired all of a sudden. “There’s been… a lot going on.”
“She misses you. You know that,” Mrs. Colbourne said.
“She’s pretty tough. But please, don’t worry. She and I are going to be OK.”
She took my hand and looked me in the eyes. Even with what she was saying, with who in this moment she thought I was, they were clear and sharp. “You have to try. You have to try. The both of you.”
I nodded, quickly but sincerely. She squeezed my arm and sat back, seemingly satisfied.
Charlie came back in, holding up a well-worn pack of Bicycle playing cards triumphantly. “What are you two chatting away about?” she asked, sitting and shuffling.
“Your mom wanted to know what it’s like being a big shot detective,” I said, giving Mrs. Colbourne’s forearm a return squeeze.
“Oh, really?” Charlie asked, starting to deal. “And what did you tell her?”
“I told her I had no idea.” I picked up my cards and loosened my tie a bit. “I said I don’t know any.”
Thank you for reading this Crooked Cat novel. If you have enjoyed it, we and the author would be grateful for a review. Thank you.
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