Marco glanced over at him, frowning.
“Even as I was leaving, he wouldn’t let me take hardly anything. He kept the television, the microwave, but they’re just things, right? I mean, my self-worth is more important.”
“Yes, it is,” said Tricia.
“That was brave of you,” offered Barb. “It’s hard to start over.”
“It is. It’s hard, but I feel liberated. I’m not going to lie. I feel like there’s hope.”
“I’m proud of you, Mitch. I know how you’ve struggled with this decision,” said Tricia. “It can be very hard to realize a relationship isn’t giving you what you deserve. Humans are communal animals. We want to be with other humans, but if that person isn’t bringing positive energy into our lives, we have to cut them loose.”
Marco exhaled. He was in psychobabble hell.
Across from him, the librarian raised a shaky hand.
“Yes, Linda,” said Tricia, turning toward her.
“Bob died.”
The entire group gasped, including the young guy next to Marco.
Linda’s eyes welled with tears and her shoulders shook. “I came home from work and found him under the coffee table.”
Found him under the coffee table? What the hell!
“Oh, goodness,” said Tricia, reaching for a box of tissues behind her chair. She handed it to Linda and wrapped her arm around the other woman’s shoulder.
“I just feel so empty. I didn’t want to get up this morning. No one understands. No one gets what I’m feeling.”
“We understand,” said Tricia.
Barb left her seat and knelt in front of Linda, wrapping her in her arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, that’s just horrible.”
“You should have seen him! His tongue was hanging out of his mouth.”
Marco found his own mouth hanging open. What the hell happened to this poor fool?
“He looked so small and shrunken. I just can’t believe he’s gone. And I’d just bought him his favorite tuna.”
Marco’s brow furrowed. He turned to the kid next to him. “Her husband?”
The kid gave a sad, sorrowful shake of his head. “Her cat.”
It took another fifteen minutes for everyone to comfort Linda. She sobbed into her tissues and blathered on about the cat, while the rest of them shook their heads and muttered consoling words, including the men. They seemed genuinely distressed for her. Marco thought he was going to crawl out of his skin.
Finally Tricia called for a break so Linda could wash her face and pull herself together. Marco made his escape, ducking out into the hall while everyone else went after refreshments. He’d almost made it to the lobby of the building when he heard heels on the marble floor behind him.
“Captain D’Angelo?” called Tricia.
He stopped, closing his eyes, and slowly turned around.
“We’re not finished.”
Marco let her come up to him. “I am.”
“Why?”
Marco tried to draw in his thoughts, tried to think of some way to put it so he wouldn’t hurt her, but there just wasn’t any soft way to say it. “This isn’t for me.”
“You haven’t given it a chance.”
He held up a hand, indicating the room. “A cat? Really?” When Tricia’s expression shifted to disapproval, he extended his hand to her. “Look, I like animals just as much as the next person. Hell, I’m a vegetarian, but a cat?” He drew a deep breath and released it. “It’s not your fault. There was no way this would work anyway. I’m just not the kind of guy that goes around spilling his guts to strangers. I’m sure it works just fine for them, but…a cat?”
“Are you prioritizing levels of grief, Captain D’Angelo?”
He didn’t know how to answer that.
“That’s a dangerous thought process. Each person experiences grief in a different way. For Linda, that cat was the reason she got up in the morning. He was her constant companion. He gave her unconditional love, and when she came home at night, he was there for her. Does that really seem like an insignificant contribution to you?”
Marco didn’t know how to answer that. Put that way, it didn’t seem insignificant at all. “I’m sorry, but this is why this doesn’t work for me. These people deserve better than what I can give, and I don’t want to mess up what you’ve already got going here. It’s really not you, it’s me.”
She folded her hands before her. “You have to do what you feel is best for you, of course.”
“Thank you.” He started to turn.
“But before you make your decision, ask yourself why a man who carries a gun, who faces life or death every day, doesn’t have the courage to face a room of grieving people.”
Marco’s eyes whipped to her face.
She gave him that speculative look of hers, then turned and walked back the way she’d come, disappearing into the meeting room.
* * *
Ask yourself why a man who carries a gun, who faces life or death every day, doesn’t have the courage to face a room of grieving people.
The hell with that! Marco threw open the front door of the building and stomped out onto the street, then turned around and glared at the empty lobby. What the hell! He didn’t need another half-baked psychologist using his head for her playground. Shit!
He paced back and forth, curling his hand into a fist on the top of the cane. Who the hell did they think they were anyway? Ferguson demanded he attend these meetings or he’d lose his job, then this Tran woman put on this superior air when he told her, as nicely as he could, that her group was bullshit! Who the hell did she think she was!
He started walking toward the garage where he’d parked the Charger, but stopped and turned around. Furious energy zipped and zinged inside of him and he had to work it off before going back to Abe’s. Abe was going to grill him and he just couldn’t face it right now.
Walking down Market in the opposite direction, he kept going over and over her words in his mind. Ask yourself why a man who carries a gun, who faces life or death every day, doesn’t have the courage to face a room of grieving people. Bitch! Who did she think she was? She didn’t know shit about him. She didn’t know a damn thing he was feeling!
He found himself in front of a bar. He knew he should turn around and walk back to the Charger, but he didn’t. His hand shook and he felt a fluttery feeling in his belly. Not to mention his damn leg was throbbing with every beat of his freakin’ heart.
Just one drink. Just one shot before going back to Abe’s. He could face anything if he could just have one drink.
Reaching for the handle, he pulled the door open and went inside. He found a booth on the side of the room, deep and dark with only a candle flickering in the center of the table. He slid into the seat and rested the cane against the table.
A young waiter approached. “What can I get you?”
Marco stared at him a moment, telling himself he should walk out again, but he lifted a hand and swiped it across his mouth, finding his upper lip damp with perspiration. He needed something to steady his nerves. “Shot of Jack.”
The waiter nodded and walked away.
An hour later, Marco stared into the amber fluid filling yet another shot. He’d forgotten how many, but the pain in his leg was bearable again. Suddenly someone stopped beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, handsome, want some company?”
He glanced up at a large breasted woman with a tiny waist and bottle-blond hair. Fake eyelashes made her eyes seems enormous and mysterious. He motioned with the shot-glass to the seat across from him and she slid into it, her curves straining the lines of her tight blue sheath dress.
“I’m April.”
“Marco,” he said, giving her a slow perusal.
She smiled, showing him even white teeth behind full red lips. “Nice to meet you, Marco.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sure. I’ll have white zin.”
Marco motioned the wa
iter over and tossed back his own shot. “White zin for the lady and another one for me.”
The waiter nodded and walked away.
“So, why is a man who looks like you drinking all alone?”
Marco smiled. “Why is a woman who looks like you coming up to a stranger in a bar?”
She returned his smile. “Curious, and lonely.” She licked her lips. “Are you lonely, Marco?”
His gaze swept over her again and he couldn’t deny she made him want to not be lonely anymore.
* * *
“Are you still reading your mother’s letters?” came Ruth’s voice.
Jeff’s first instinct was to hide them, but that was silly. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. “Yeah, I can’t get over the connection between Mama’s pen pal and this case in California.”
“You mean the mermaid thing?”
“Yeah.”
“Jeff, it’s the middle of the night.”
“I know.”
Ruth came and took a seat on the footstool before him. “What’s going on, honey?”
“Nothing. Really, Ruth, it’s nothing.”
“It’s something if it has you up in the middle of the night going over old letters. They weren’t even written by your mother. That I could understand, but this...what is this, Jeff?”
“This kid, Finn Getter, wrote religiously to my mother, every week without fail. His life was difficult, Ruth, so difficult. He lived in isolation. He didn’t even really understand how the internet worked, but he made a connection with my mother, a connection I didn’t have.”
“So that’s what this is? Guilt?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I wish I’d spent more time with her. I wish I hadn’t always been so preoccupied. I keep wondering what things she told Finn in her letters. Did she tell him how disappointed she was that I didn’t spend more time with her? That I didn’t make more of an effort?”
“I don’t think Aster would have said that. She wouldn’t have criticized you to anyone. She adored you, Jeff.”
He nodded and reached out, squeezing her hand. “Don’t worry, okay? I’ll come to bed in a little while. I just want to sit here for a moment and remember her.”
Ruth gave him a smile and leaned forward, kissing him, then she rose to her feet and went back to bed.
* * *
Dear Aster,
Molly and I snuck off the farm and tried to go to a movie. It was an old movie, I can’t remember the name, but it doesn’t matter. We sat in the dark and held hands the whole time.
We were practically the only people in the theatre, so we could whisper to each other. We talked a lot about the future. I turn twenty in just a few weeks, which means I have only a year left before I have to go. Molly turns twenty in a month.
I can’t believe I did this, but I asked Molly to come with me when I have to leave. And you know what, Aster, she said yes. She said yes. I’m so scared and excited. I don’t know how I’ll provide for us, but I have to do something because I don’t want to go without Molly.
I also asked Janice and Little Gina to come with me. And know what else, Janice agreed. She said she’d start putting away a few dollars every time she sells something at the farmer’s market in town. She and the other women take the extra vegetables we grow and some of the clothes they weave and sell them at the market.
Thatcher lets them keep a few dollars for themselves, for things girls need, you know? Janice said she’d start putting aside a few dollars every market day for us to leave. It’s a secret. Molly agreed to add some of her money to it whenever she can.
Sometimes I think we’re making a huge mistake, but Janice says that since the three of us are nearly adults, we should be able to find work. She keeps telling me not to worry so much, but I’m just not sure Thatcher’s going to let us go when it’s time.
Janice says he can’t keep us, but I know a lot of the boys have left at twenty-one and not a single one ever tried to take anyone else with them.
Keep me in your thoughts, Aster, and maybe someday I can come to Reno and meet you in person.
Your friend,
Finn Getter
CHAPTER 10
Thursday
Peyton pulled open the door to a smiling Jake. “Hey.”
“Hey, ex-roomie.” He came inside and bussed a kiss across her cheek. “Hate the hair.”
She touched a hand to her matronly bun and shut the door behind him. “It’s regulation.”
Jake gave a nod and bent, scooping Pickles up. “Regulation sucks.”
She moved around him and went into the kitchen. Early morning sun was trying to fight its way through the cloud cover. “You want some coffee?”
“Sure.” He climbed on a barstool at the counter and settled Pickles on his lap. Peyton poured them both a cup and passed his across to him. He picked it up and took a sip. “Mm, good.”
“Yeah, well, you spoiled me for cheap coffee when you were living here.”
He smiled. “I wish I’d had an effect on the precinct.”
Peyton’s eyes went beyond him to the garment bag slung over the couch. “His suits are in there.”
Jake glanced over his shoulder. “Thanks.”
Peyton leaned on the counter. She was so damn tired. She kept waking up in the middle of the night, her heart in her throat. It was just like it had been after she’d been kidnapped by the Janitor. The PTSD was back in full force. She’d forgotten what it was to wake up in a panic, as long as Marco slept beside her.
“How is he?”
Jake lowered the coffee mug. He started to answer, but nothing came out.
“Jake?”
“He’s complicated, Mighty Mouse. One minute he’s this brilliant captain who knows how to utilize his people to everyone’s advantage. I mean he’s better than Defino ever was. The next, he’s on a drunken binge, sitting in a filthy motel.”
“He’s still drinking?”
“Who knows? I can’t figure him out. Abe said he’s been having panic attacks. He’s had to give him tranquilizers twice in the last week. And he won’t go see this orthopedic surgeon Abe knows. Abe even made an appointment for him, but he blew it off.”
Peyton looked down in her coffee.
“Maybe you should call him…”
“No!” Her eyes snapped back to Jake’s face. “He wants space and I’m going to give it to him. He walked out on me. Not the other way around.”
Jake’s expression grew grim. “Peyton, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“He did then. He did when he asked you to pick up suits for him. I’m not going to be a fool for him or anyone else, Jake.”
“This is Marco, Peyton. This isn’t anyone else.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She took another sip of her coffee and tossed the remainder in the sink. “He made the decision without me, so that says it all.” She went around the counter and grabbed her gun off the peg by the door. “Now, I’m sorry, but I’m late for work.”
Jake sighed and climbed off the stool, setting Pickles on the couch. “You know where to find me if you need me, Mighty Mouse.”
“I know, Jake. Thank you.”
* * *
Radar pulled the Suburban to the curb on Soquel and set the brake. Peyton looked out at the bright banner flying over the doorway of the Natural Child. The window displays showed a number of toys – a wooden rocking horse, a stuffed bear, and some fuzzy yellow ducks. Pairs of tiny shoes stood in a line at the base of a bookshelf filled to bursting with children’s picture books.
Radar shifted in the driver’s seat, looking back at Tank and Bambi. “You two take the other natural clothing store down the block. Sparky and I will handle this one.”
Bambi and Tank nodded, then exited the vehicle. Radar studied Peyton from behind his mirrored sunglasses, but she refused to look at him. She was getting tired of Radar’s speculative looks.
“You ready?”
“Yep,” she said, reaching for the handle on the SUV’s door and shovin
g it open. She stepped up on the sidewalk and waited while Radar came around the front of the vehicle. As he pulled the door of the shop open, a bell tinkled above the transom. He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the neck of his shirt, then motioned Peyton in front of him.
The smell of lavender wafted over them. Dried sprigs of it sat in a basket on the top of a display shelf. Below it were a number of handmade soaps and shampoos, all wrapped in brown paper. A rack of children’s clothes stood to the right.
Peyton fingered the natural fibers, the small shirts and tiny pants, the sundresses woven with bright embroidery thread. Marco had mentioned wanting children. She’d never given it much thought. The entire time they’d been partners, he’d always said he never wanted children, he didn’t believe cops should procreate, but just before he’d left her, he flipped the switch.
She hadn’t given it much thought when she’d accepted his proposal. He’d always been enough for her. She’d just wanted him in her life, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t willing to talk about children. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t have considered it with him.
“Sparky?”
Peyton rested her hand on her belly, wondering what it would be like to know life was growing inside of her. To know that her body was making another person, someone who combined both she and Marco.
The woman they were trying to find now had known. She had felt life growing inside of her. She’d known she was going to become a mother. What shock had she felt when the baby was born so badly deformed? When she held her in her arms and knew she wasn’t breathing? Peyton couldn’t imagine the shock, the pain of that. It overwhelmed her, made her ache inside.
“Sparky?” Radar touched her shoulder.
Peyton jumped, stepping away from him, her eyes whipping to his face. He held out his hands. “It’s okay,” he said in a steady voice.
She brushed a hand across her mouth. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”
Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2) Page 12
