by Liz Johnson
Jackpot. There was definitely something brewing between those two.
Holding in his chuckle, he covered himself. “I mean, how long have you been partners?”
Pink rushed up Serena’s neck from under the collar of her white button-up, and she stared at the front of her folder like it held the codes to Fort Knox.
“Just a few months.” Josh reached out to shake hands. “Good to see you again.” His grip was firm. “Let us know if you hear anything.”
“Will do.”
Zach didn’t wait for them to drive off before hurrying back inside, making a beeline for his desk. Picking up his phone, he punched in a familiar number. It rang three times before rolling over to voice mail.
“You got Phil. You know what to do.”
After a long beep, Zach plastered a smile onto his face that he hoped made it into his voice. “It’s Detective Jones. I need a little info on a guy you probably know. Call me back.”
*
Julie counted every tree, studied every sidewalk crack and read every sign they passed. Green leaves had begun sprouting on the saplings along the street, their thin trunks bending beneath the weight of the wind. Dark lights lined the signs of the popular haunts, all of them foreign to her.
“Anything?”
It was only the third time in an hour of driving through downtown Minneapolis that Zach had asked. Even with a hopeful tone, the question grated on her. Maybe because she would do anything to be able to give the answer that he wanted to hear.
It was the answer she wanted to give, as well.
It just wasn’t true.
Pressing her forehead against the cool pane of the passenger window, she squeezed her fists until her nails bit into her palms. “Not yet.”
He sighed softly, like he didn’t want her to hear his frustration. He’d been calm all morning, ever since asking her to go on a drive to see if they could jog her memory with a familiar location. Actually, the invitation had caught her off guard. He’d kept his distance for the past several days, checking in but never spending time alone with her.
Perfect. She’d scared him off with her almost kiss.
She wanted to knock her head against the window. Maybe that would help her memories return. Or at least knock out the recent embarrassing ones.
A knot in her stomach twisted; a voice in her head screamed that he just wanted her out of his house and his life.
“We’ll find something that’s familiar.”
She chanced a look in his direction. His grin was genuine and a little lopsided, white teeth gleaming in the late morning sun.
He stopped at a light and pointed toward a row of night spots. “This is a pretty busy area after eight or so. Any of these facings ring a bell?”
They all had generic names like The Dive and Mom’s Place. But the green door adorned with shamrocks and McNulty’s emblazoned above it couldn’t be ignored. It certainly drew her eye. She just couldn’t be sure if it was because of the color or that Ramirez had mentioned it when she was at the station. Or that she’d been there.
“How far away is Webster Park?” His eyes flashed in her direction. “I’m not stupid. I know you have a hunch that I was right here that night.”
He laughed, joining the flow of traffic again. “I never thought you were stupid. I just didn’t think I was quite so transparent.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not like you’re a cop who needs a good poker face or anything.”
His shoulders shook. “Glad to see that a knock on your head hasn’t hurt your sarcasm even if you can’t remember if you were sarcastic before.”
She nearly smacked him in the arm. He was making fun of her amnesia. And she wanted to laugh. That wasn’t fair.
Yet it was such a refreshing change.
“Thank you.”
Snapping his head in her direction, he raised his eyebrows. “For what?”
“I guess there are too many things to list. But right now, thanks for not coddling me.”
With a wink, he pulled onto the main road that took them out of the downtown district and past a big green sign announcing Webster Park. “Let’s get out of here. Maybe we’re in the wrong city altogether.”
Zipping along in his sedan, the trees melded together, the buildings giving way to the peace of more rural Minnesota. Just for a minute. Her heart rate slowed, her chest rising and falling in an even, easy rhythm. When a fresh set of skyscrapers filled the horizon, a band tugged around her lungs. It didn’t stop her from drawing a breath, but it wasn’t quite as smooth as it had been.
“Welcome to Saint Paul.” With a flourish of his hand, he indicated the entire city before them. “That’s the Xcel Energy Center on your left, where the Wild play.”
“The wild what?”
“The Minnesota Wild.” Squinting at her, he shook his head. “Any self-respecting Minnesotan doesn’t miss a hockey game.”
“How do you know I’m from Minnesota?”
His jaw dropped, and he stared at her without blinking. She guessed that her expression mirrored his as they held eye contact for a long second. “What if you’re not from here?” He spoke slowly and softly, the question and all of its follow-ups tumbling across his face. “I’ve been narrowing down missing-persons reports to Minnesota, but if you’re not from here, that’s why it’s not showing up. I’ll look again with a broader search as soon as I get back to the station.”
This could change everything. There was no way to know for sure unless someone really was looking for her. But what if…
She let her mind wander to the possibilities as he turned onto a side street. A stunning hotel to their left boasted of the area’s history and beauty. Its angled arms seemed to welcome guests with a hug. An iron portico covered a red carpet to the lobby doors, which were adorned with gilded scrollwork and handles. Doormen in top hats and white gloves greeted guests at their car doors.
The Saint Paul. Simple name for extravagant splendor.
Too bad she didn’t remember ever staying there.
“I’d like to stay here someday.”
“You and me both.” He laughed. “But I’d have to make commissioner before I could afford that.”
She shot him a glance as he turned again.
A historic, red-and-white railroad car sat on the sidewalk at the base of an office building. All the corners were curved, except the windows, which made up the top half of the wall all the way around. Several steps led up to a wall of rectangular windows, which framed an entrance at the center of the car. A lighted arrow at the top pointed to free parking, and the letters across the side of the car announced Mickey’s Diner.
Her stomach clenched, fire erupting through her temple. Images flashed across her mind’s eye, gritty and not fully formed. She grabbed for Zach’s arm, needing something stable.
He shot a look at her hands, then into her face. “What’s wrong?”
Tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, she could only point at the diner with a frantic finger.
He turned in the direction she indicated. “Mickey’s? Are you hungry? I could eat some lunch.”
“No.” Squeezing her eyes closed and forcing her mouth to form the words, she said, “I know that place.”
TEN
Zach slammed on the brakes, jerking against his seat belt and getting a long honk from the car behind him for it. Ignoring the other driver, he whipped an inadvisable U-turn around a low median and tore into the parking lot next to the famous diner. It had just emptied out following the lunch rush, and he pulled into an open space near the end of the diner car.
With the car safely in Park, he took a shaky breath before turning toward Julie. “What did you just say?”
Her eyes were bigger than usual, unblinking. She was seeing something beyond what was right in front of them. She’d had the same look when she’d seen the mom and baby at church the previous Sunday.
What was she seeing? He desperately wanted to ask, but he couldn’t risk interrupti
ng the thoughts and memories as they formed, so he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while his knee bounced. Shooting up a prayer that this would break open the case and remind her who she was, he waited.
After an eternity of silence, save for the late lunch-takers motoring in and out around them, she blinked. Her lips pursed as though to speak, but then relaxed. Again she began and stopped herself. And finally in a hushed tone, “I don’t know if I’ve ever been here before, but I know I know this place.” Her shoulders rose as she glanced in his direction. “I think I might have been here with a man.”
His stomach dropped. “Was it Frank Adams?” Or her husband? He couldn’t give voice to the second question, and he sure didn’t want to analyze why.
“I don’t think so. He had dark hair, but he wasn’t…” She cocked her head to the side, eyes again trained on the red stripes around the diner’s curved white edges. “I think he might have been my…”
Her pause made his heart pound three times as hard as normal. Deep breathing did nothing to release the tension building in his chest, so he plastered a fake smile in place, hoping she wouldn’t notice how hard he had to work to keep it there.
“I think it was my dad.”
It was more question than statement, but it did the trick. Blood rushed through him, setting his fingers tingling and letting his lungs expand.
“Can you tell me his name?”
“No.” She shot him a sideways glance and a sheepish shrug. “This remembering in bits and pieces isn’t doing us much good, is it?”
“Hey, you’re doing great. Every memory is one closer to remembering what happened to Kay and who attacked you.” That earned him a grin that made his stomach warm. “Want to go inside and see if it brings up any other memories?”
“Yes.”
They walked the several steps up to the red front door, and as he opened it for her, he pressed a hand to the small of her back. She led the way into the single room. To the right sat a few red-and-white booths. To the left there was a long shining counter with fifteen-or-so red vinyl stools. Steel shelves and warming pans and stoves lined the wall on the far side of the counter.
A cook in all-white, his apron stained with the day’s special, looked up from where he slung hash browns. “Welcome to Mickey’s. Grab a seat at the counter.”
Julie didn’t have to be told twice, heading straight for the only two adjacent empty stools. Plopping down on one, she smiled at a waitress in a classic, pink diner uniform. Her white collar and cuffs on her sleeves were pristine. Her once all-white apron had a brown streak across the front, but at least her uniform was in better shape than her counterpart’s.
“I’m Marge,” she said, plopping a menu in front of each of them. Leaning her elbows on the counter, she rested her chin on her hands. “Ever been to Mickey’s before?”
Zach glanced at Julie before she said, “I think so.”
“Well, then, welcome back.” She winked a faded blue eye below long blond bangs. “Take a look at the menu, and I’ll be right back.”
Marge bustled away, taking a plate from the cook and sliding it in front of the guy sitting next to Julie. He dug into an enormous hamburger with two patties and oozing with melted cheese.
Zach wanted that.
Julie took a little longer to decide, her gaze shooting around the interior of the car, analyzing the wooden panels and red vinyl. Occasionally her eyes drifted toward the windows and the buzzing street just beyond.
“All right, you two, what’s it going to be?” Marge said, still halfway down the row, picking up plates and an empty ketchup bottle on her way toward them.
Julie’s eyebrows pinched together. “Pancakes. Lots of them.”
Marge chuckled. “You want eggs or bacon with those?”
“Nope. Just pancakes.”
“And I want whatever that guy’s having.” Zach pointed to their neighbor, who nodded in agreement.
Julie leaned toward the man’s elbow, squinting at the melting mess of goodness. “What is that?”
“Mickey’s Sputnick,” Marge supplied. “It’s a classic, and just about as life-changing as space travel.”
“I’ll testify to that,” their neighbor said around a big bite of burger.
“Is that a favorite of yours?” Julie asked.
“Sure is. I come in here at least once a week for one of these.”
Julie made a minimal sound of curiosity.
“Absolutely. Best burger in the area.”
“And you work around here?”
“Yep.” He pointed out the window. “I manage the box office at the Xcel Center.”
A genuine smile lit Julie’s features. “The Wild.”
“That’s right. You ever come to the games?”
“Umm…not really.”
The guy bit off another hunk of meat, shoving it into the corner of his mouth before continuing, “It’s a good job. I like it.” He swallowed after two chews, and Zach half expected to have to do the Heimlich to save the guy’s life. “I mean, it’s not what I want to do forever, but it pays the bills. And the hours aren’t too bad. Plus, I get to see the hockey games. And I can walk down here for a Sputnick whenever I need it.”
Marge slipped their plates in place, and Julie poured syrup over her pancakes in a perfect spiral while asking, “So what is a forever kind of job?”
“I’d really like to run a bait-and-tackle shop.”
Zach couldn’t see her face, as Julie had her back to him, but she must have looked confused, as the other guy explained.
“Fishing gear and stuff. My buddy Gary and me want to open a store with stuff for year-round fishing. Maybe even sell shanties for ice fishing. We’ve been fishing together since we were kids. Lived next door to each other and my dad took us out to the lake every weekend. But I don’t get out there as much as we used to.”
Julie’s new friend rambled on about the types of fish he liked to catch, which ones were best for eating and what he and Gary were going to call their shop.
She nodded at the details, cutting into her stack of pancakes without even looking at them. The smell of maple and butter surrounded them as she took her first bite.
Zach should take her with him when he had to talk with witnesses and suspects. She hadn’t done a thing but show a little interest, and the guy was pouring out his entire life story. Zach’s investigations never went quite that smoothly.
Marge wandered by, raising an eyebrow at him.
Sliding open his jacket to reveal his badge without announcing it to anyone else, he quirked an eyebrow. She looked up and down the row of stool-dwellers before stepping toward him.
“Can I help you with something?” Her voice was low enough that he had to catch more than half her words by reading her very pink lips.
He ticked his head toward Julie. “You ever seen her here before?”
“Her?” Marge’s forehead shifted with deep, uneven wrinkles. “I don’t think so.”
“How about your cook? He seen her?”
She stepped away, whispered to the man in the white paper hat and pointed in Zach’s general direction. The cook looked up from the flipper in his hand and gave Julie a long look. The corners of his mouth angled down, and he shook his head.
So Julie remembered Mickey’s, but the staff, who had clearly been here for at least a century, didn’t know her. What was her connection to this place?
The phone in his pocket vibrated. Pulling it out, he checked to see who was calling. The screen said only Unlisted. Tapping Julie’s shoulder, he interrupted her conversation with the fisherman.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” She glanced at his phone and back up at him. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah, I’m just going to take this outside.” He slipped out the door and past a couple headed up the stairs. Around the corner of the diner, he could still see Julie through the window as he answered the call. “This is Jones.”
“Hey. It’s Phil.” The
man sniffed loudly. “I got your message. What’s up?”
“Took you long enough to call me back.”
“Hey, man. You want me to call you back or not? Some of us have lives and stuff.”
Right. A life. That’s what he called spending every day looking for his next hit, crashing on a dealer’s couch or at a shelter, if he was lucky. That wasn’t a real life. Real life was doing something that mattered. Something that made someone else’s life better.
He caught Julie’s profile out of the corner of his eye as she threw her head back, laughing at something her new friend had said. Oh, man, she was beautiful. All flashing brown eyes and full cherry lips. And the way she leaned in to really listen to the man who meant nothing more to her than a fellow diner.
Oh, she was trusting. She’d believed him when he promised that he’d help her, promised to keep her safe.
Now he just had to make good on that vow.
And that meant getting whatever he could out of his informant. “Whatever you say, Phil. I just need to know how to get in touch with someone you probably know.”
“What’s it to ya?” His syllables were soft, slurred together from too much to drink, no doubt. Once a world-class thief, drugs and alcohol had turned Phil into a shell of the man he’d been. He jumped at his own shadow now. But he still knew who was who in illegal dealings in the Twin Cities.
“What do you need?”
Phil’s laugh was hoarse and filled with phlegm. “What I need, you refuse to give me.”
“That’s because it’s still against the law.”
“Sure.” Zach could almost hear the shrug in the other man’s voice. “You got a sleeping bag or something? It’s still pretty cold at night down by the river.”
“Maybe. You ever heard of a guy named Frank Adams?”
“Frank?”
A gust of wind kicked up his jacket, and he slipped his chain holding his badge inside his shirt. “Yeah. I heard he’s from these parts, and he might be working a job. You know where I can find him?”
“Nah. Keep your sleeping bag. I don’t even need blow that bad.”
