“So you’re actually pinging on two cell phone towers?” I questioned.
“Correct,” Celeste nodded. “And where that coverage overlaps gives us a pretty good indication of where you might have been. But,” she cautioned, “it can still be pretty inaccurate. The towers your cell phone accesses for data or voice aren’t necessarily the closest in proximity. Several factors influence which towers handle the call or data request, like which one is most cost-effective.”
“In other words, it wouldn’t be responsible to base a case only on cell phone records,” Sarah observed.
“Exactly,” Celeste confirmed. “Ideally, you would want to have other evidence to corroborate the cell phone information, like an eyewitness or a credit card record for a business visited.”
I nodded my understanding. It was a start at least, and if we could compare the cell phone information to other records or witnesses, even better. “Would you be able to help us contact the service provider to get a head start on this?”
“Please,” Sarah added.
I caught Sarah’s side-long stare. “Yes,” I quickly corrected myself. “Please.”
“Manners are important, Miller,” Sarah remarked as Celeste left to start on the appropriate paperwork. “They’re the only things that separate us from them.”
“From who? Animals?” I guessed.
“No. Men.”
There was a bounce to Sarah’s step as we exited City Hall. I was glad to see her mood had improved since her interaction with Detective Ryan. The man had a talent for ruffling feathers.
“I thought you would have thrown Stanley’s name around like last time,” I cracked.
“Oh, no,” Sarah clucked. “Stanley’s our secret weapon. We can’t overuse him or he loses his power.”
“What do you think is the deal with Stanley and Celeste?” I asked.
Sarah walked to the driver’s side of her vehicle. “I have no idea. Let’s embarrass him and find out.” Her grin couldn’t have been bigger.
A chuckle was still in my throat when my phone rang. I fished my cell out of my jacket pocket; my laughter went silent when I saw my mom’s name come up on the phone.
Normally I wouldn’t have taken a personal call during work hours, but I rarely heard from my family. My parents didn’t text, and I didn’t use social media, so unless we called each other, I had no idea what was going on in their world.
I answered the call, anticipating the worse.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded in lieu of a greeting.
Was someone sick? Had my dad experienced a heart attack? Had there been a car accident?
“Why hello to you, too, sweetie.”
+ + +
“Cassidy? Is something burning?”
I stood in the hallway, frantically waving a kitchen towel in front of the smoke detector. Luckily I’d caught it in time—not in time to salvage dinner—but in time so the smoke detector didn’t detonate the entire building. My culinary shame would be confined to the apartment I shared with Julia and not the entire apartment complex gathered on the front sidewalk.
I’d been trying to make a pizza with a cauliflower crust to show Julia I cared equally about her heart and her waistline. But the burnt smell billowing from the oven let me know we’d be ordering real pizza that night.
Julia’s high heels clacked towards the kitchen. “Darling, what’s going on? I smell something burning.”
I abandoned the kitchen towel and the smoke detector. “I ruined dinner,” I sighed. “I ruin everything.”
I grabbed the pizza stone from the stovetop and hollered in surprise when I realized it was still hot. “Goddamn it!”
The pizza stone fell from my hand, the failed cauliflower crust with it. Both clattered to the kitchen floor and shattered on impact.
Julia grabbed my stinging hand and thrust it into the sink. She turned the kitchen faucet on full blast so cold water bathed my hand.
“Are you okay?” she worried. She stood close to my hip and we jointly watched the cold water cascade over my pink flesh.
“I’m a disaster,” I said numbly. “I can’t do anything right.”
Julia frowned. “That seems like a bit of an overreaction to burning pizza.”
“I just wanted to do something nice for you.” I turned off the kitchen faucet and inspected my hand. My palm and fingers were bright pink, but I’d survive.
“You do nice things for me all the time, dear.”
I bent down to pick up the broken pieces of cauliflower crust and pizza stone, but Julia stopped me. She ushered me to the dining room table and made me sit down. Instead of sitting down in her own chair, she sat down lightly on my lap.
“You’re a complete mess, Detective.” She pushed the hair out of my eyes. “What’s got you so agitated?”
I swiped at her hand, the one that had brushed the hair away from my forehead. “My parents want to visit.” I made a sour face. “More like my mom wants to meet for dinner, and my dad has no say in it.”
Julia’s features turned serious. “That’s as good of a reason to be frazzled as I’ve ever heard.”
I could feel her body shift and move as though she was about to stand up. My hands moved to her waist, and I held her firm against me. “You’re not supposed to say that,” I protested. “You’re supposed to be my rock.”
“And I will be.” She dipped her head so her lips brushed against mine. “When are they coming?”
“Tomorrow,” I grumbled. “They’re only in town for one day and then they’re going back to St. Cloud. Will you come with me?”
Julia pursed her lips in thought. “Cassidy—are you Out to your parents?”
I dropped my eyes. “Not exactly, no.”
“Not exactly?” she repeated.
“I didn’t date in high school, and then I was in the military for eight years. You’re my first relationship that counted.”
“Do they know I exist?”
“Uh …”
“Cassidy.” Her censuring tone had me hanging my head.
“I’m not close with them, you know that!” I squeaked.
Julia exhaled. “Would it be easier if I didn’t go to this dinner?”
“Easier, sure,” I admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you there.”
“You’re asking me to come to dinner with you and your parents … but you’re also asking me to pretend like we’re not in a relationship?”
I cringed. It sounded awful. “Yes.”
“So, I’m what—your roommate?” Her voice wavered between anger and disbelief.
“Would that be so terrible?” I proposed.
“Cassidy, I’m a grown ass woman. And so are you—sometimes. Are you really so concerned about what your parents think about whom you’re dating?”
“Weren’t you the one who wanted to be discreet in Embarrass?” I deflected.
“That was different. We didn’t have a label for what we were doing. We weren’t living together.”
I couldn’t defend myself.
Julia sighed and ran her hand over her face. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
I blinked once. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, but the displeased look remained on her features. “I of all people should be able to appreciate that when it comes to family, things can be complicated.”
I exhaled. “Thank you.”
“So, roommate, when and where is dinner? Do you want me to make a reservation somewhere?”
“They’re not fancy,” I warned. “I mean, they made me, so that should tell you something.”
She smiled at my self-deprecation. “So no Etoile Blanche, I gather.”
She named the fancy French restaurant where we’d once shared a meal with my Marine buddy, Pensacola, and his wife, Claire.
“Definitely not. They wouldn’t know what to do if there’s more than one fork at their place setting,” I noted.
“What will be easiest for them?” she asked. “I imagine they won’t wan
t to drive and have to park downtown. It can be a little overwhelming for even the most seasoned city driver.”
“Have you ever been to the Mall of America?” The words felt ridiculous the moment I said them.
Julia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Christ, I must really love you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Miller, party of four. Your adventure is about to begin.”
The Mall of America was a short drive outside of the Minneapolis city center, close to the Twin Cities airport. It first opened in 1992, and now boasted over 500 stores, an amusement park, an aquarium, two miniature golf courses, and a variety of eating choices. I’d implored my parents to meet at an actual restaurant—something more substantial than the mall’s Food Court. The image of Julia, in her pants suits and red-bottomed heels, sitting at a sticky table in a loud, crowded mall food court might have actually been worth the awkwardness, but I couldn’t do that to her. She was already setting her pride to the side to help me through a meal with my parents.
We’d met up with my mom and dad in front of the restaurant entrance. I’d simply introduced Julia by her name—no qualifiers about who she was to me: a friend, a work colleague, a roommate, the love of my life. They hadn’t asked for more information, and, like a coward, I was satisfied to let them think what they may.
My parents, Julia, and I followed the smiling hostess from the front of the restaurant to our table for four. We passed groupings of animatronic monkeys and elephants and larger-than-life insects until we reached our table near the robotic tigers. I felt Julia’s hand in the small of my back. It lingered for a moment before she pulled her hand away.
I regretted my decision to keep our relationship closeted. But my parents had a hard enough time dealing with a daughter who had PTSD. They already didn’t know how to approach my condition. Would I only be piling on if I added gay to that growing list of things that made them uncomfortable?
My parents claimed the booth seating against the wall while Julia and I sat in the individual chairs on the other side. Julia picked up her laminated menu and inspected the restaurant’s offerings. If the deep-friend appetizers and the two-for-one combos insulted her sensibilities, she at least had the kindness to school her features and hide her displeasure.
“This is something, isn’t it?” my mom openly marveled as she took in our animated surroundings. “I’ve never been to one of these before, but they have them at all the theme parks and in big cities, so I thought why not?”
“It’s a charming choice, Mrs. Miller,” Julia approved.
Julia’s words sat well with my mom; her pleasure unabashedly radiated across her features. I knew how she felt. A compliment from Julia was all I needed to smile, too.
My dad sucked on his teeth while he looked over the menu. “Kinda pricey,” he tersely observed. “Don’t know how I feel about spending $15 on a burger.”
“Don’t worry about the price, Dad,” I jumped in. “You guys traveled all this way; dinner’s on me.”
His frown lines deepened. “Don’t know how I feel about my daughter picking up the check either. Parents are supposed to—.”
“I know, I know,” I interrupted. “Parents take care of their kids.” I’d heard the mantra a million times. “But I’ve missed, like, your past ten birthdays,” I exaggerated. “Let me do this.”
My dad’s eyes flicked from my face over to Julia’s before returning to his menu. He was a proud guy who didn’t take handouts. Accepting my offer in front of Julia—a stranger to him—must have been eating away at him. But he didn’t put up further protest so I considered the matter settled.
I nearly shot to my feet at an animatronic clap of thunder and flash of lightning, which was followed by the sounds of rain falling in a lush forest. My body tensed and jerked, but I somehow remained in my plastic molded seat. It probably had something to do with Julia’s hand, which she’d innocently rested on my knee, hidden from my parents beneath the cover of the table.
My thigh muscles twitched erratically, but the subtle weight of her hand kept me anchored—tethered—to reality instead of being mentally transported to an Afghan desert.
My parents were too busy exploring their menus to notice my altered behavior. But even if they’d noticed, I knew they wouldn’t ask how I was managing my PTSD.
Julia’s shoulder pressed imperceptively into mine even though we had plenty of room on our side of the table. It was a nonverbal question, asking if I was going to be all right. I bobbed my head, more for my own benefit than hers. I could do this. I could handle outbursts of fake jungle sounds without losing my shit.
A waitress dropped by to take our food and drink orders. I wanted to request appetizers for the table, but I knew my parents thought pre-entrée food was too showy. I wondered what they thought about the woman sitting to my right. I was thankful she had somewhat dressed down for the occasion. She still looked like a million bucks in a cowl neck cashmere sweater, dark skinny jeans, and ankle boots, but at least it wasn’t her typical uniform of pencil skirt, Oxford blouse, and high-priced heels.
A server who wasn’t our waitress delivered our food to the table in a suspiciously short amount of time. Cheeseburgers and fries for everyone at the table. I’d been stunned when Julia hadn’t ordered something with more vegetables.
We dug into our respective meals. Table conversation was stilted until my mom opened up with a question: “Cassidy, are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”
I wasn’t expecting the request, but luckily my mouth was full of cheeseburger so I had some time to chew before having to respond.
I hated when my mom referred to St. Cloud as my home. I hadn’t lived fulltime in the city for a decade, and since then, my return visits had been sporadic and infrequent and typically ended with me leaving in dramatic fashion after fighting with my dad. I didn’t want this dinner to end in the same way, so I didn’t bother to critique my mom’s word choice.
“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” I told her. It wasn’t a lie; I hadn’t given much thought to the holiday since it was more than a month away, but I also had no intention of spending more time in St. Cloud.
“So, I guess that means you’re not planning on coming home for Christmas either?” my mom pressed.
I couldn’t help my exhausted sigh. “No, it doesn’t mean that, Mom. I’m kinda playing it by ear.”
“I get it. You don’t want to spend your birthday with your stuffy, old parents. I just thought it might be nice to have the family together for once.”
I rubbed at my face. I could sense my mom starting to gain momentum. I was in for a massive guilt trip. “Mom, we’re together right now.”
“Wait a minute.” Julia interrupted the trajectory of the conversation and turned in her chair to look at me. “Are you a Christmas baby? How did I not know that?”
“Christmas Eve,” I clarified. “But growing up I still basically had to share my birthday with Jesus.”
“Oh, it wasn’t all that bad,” my mom clucked. “You got a birthday cake every year. And think about all those children who don’t get anything for their birthdays.”
I stuck out my lower lip. “I still got the shaft.”
My mom dropped her voice to a low hiss. “Language, Cassidy.”
“‘Shaft’ isn’t a bad word, Mom,” I complained.
“Maybe not. But it’s vulgar. Julia—” she unexpectedly turned to my girlfriend. “What do you think about my daughter’s language?”
Julia looked as surprised as me to have been directly addressed, but the shock on her features didn’t last long. “I would have to agree with you, Mrs. Miller,” she responded. “I’m forever reminding Cassidy to refine her word choice. Just because she was in the military doesn’t mean she needs to talk like a sailor.”
I bit back an acrid response: You weren’t complaining about my mouth last night.
There was no mistaking the smug, triumphant look on my mom’s face. She was clearly pleased that Julia had sided with h
er. She reached across the table and patted the top of Julia’s hand. “Oh, you can call me Nancy.”
Dinner passed pleasantly enough, largely because we stuck to safe, neutral topics. How nice the weather had been lately. If the Vikings were going to win the North division this year. My mom shared the latest St. Cloud gossip, but nothing particularly scandalous. My dad, as predicted, ate his meal and kept mostly to himself, only offering up a grunt or a growl when prompted by my mom to participate in the conversation.
Before long, our empty plates had been cleared away and dessert menus had been refused. The only thing left to do was settle the check so my parents could head back to St. Cloud. My mom and dad excused themselves to the restroom; St. Cloud was only an hour and a half away from the mall, but my dad hated having to stop for bathroom breaks. I could vividly remember as a child having to hold my bladder on long road trips because he refused to deviate from his driving plan. Only scheduled stops were allowed.
While my parents were in the bathroom, I took advantage of their absence. I leaned close to my girlfriend and kissed her mouth. It was quick and chaste, but only because I knew my mom and dad would be back to the table soon.
Julia leaned her shoulder against mine. Just the residual heat from her body made my insides hum.
“How are you doing?” she asked. “I got worried for a second when I heard that fake thunder.”
“I was worried, too,” I admitted. “But no flashbacks. Go me.”
“Maybe you’re getting better?” she proposed.
I shook my head. “Let’s not get carried away.”
Julia leaned closer and tucked a stray blonde lock behind my ear. The hair hadn’t been bothering me, but I grinned knowing that it was an excuse for her to touch me.
“Your parents seemed to enjoy the restaurant,” she observed. “Your mother especially.”
I hummed in agreement. “Thank you for being so nice to them. I know they’re kind of country.”
One Little Secret Page 9
