He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “No. And it’s a bit flattering, you saying that.”
“It’s true. You’re very good at what you do. So think about it.”
“I will.” Amos stood to go, then gave Mack another smile. “Thanks. That’s one thing I’d miss if I went somewhere else―working for you.”
“Well, thank you! I think we have an excellent staff here, and I’m glad you’re part of that. If there’s anything I can do to help with this case, just let me know.”
“I will. Thanks again. Oh, and I’m going to go ahead and leave for the day. I’m cooking dinner for her tonight and I need to go to the store and pick up stuff.”
“Oh-ho-ho! Amos Fletcher’s cooking? This must be serious!”
“Just reciprocating, that’s all.”
“Call it whatever you want, buddy,” Mack said and laughed loudly.
Amos smacked the doorjamb and gave Mack a little wave. “See you tomorrow.” He was still laughing when he went to his desk. He knew he’d get razzed, but thank god for Cynthia. Because of her, he might actually be able to pull off a decent dinner, and he made up his mind that if he did, he was fucking well taking a picture of it and putting it on social media. Otherwise, nobody would believe him.
It was early enough that the grocery wasn’t crowded, so he got in and back out pretty fast. He had to stop at the liquor store too, but that only took a minute or two. He had to make two trips from the car to the apartment, but he got everything in, sorted it all out, and got started. He’d been told exactly which sauce to buy, exactly what kind of meat to buy, and exactly what kind of cheese and how much. He’d also bought the right kind of pasta, and he’d thought to get one of those disposable aluminum pans to cook it all in. In just a little while, he had the sausage browned and crumbled, the sauce spiced up, and the cheese ready. Mixing it all together, he dumped it into the pan, spread it out, and then poured water over it just as Cynthia said. It looked weird, but he was pretty sure he’d followed all the directions correctly. It wouldn’t take long to bake it, so he put it in the refrigerator and texted her to let her know he was home.
It was almost five thirty when he heard from her. On my way. After sticking the big pan in the oven on a cookie sheet, Amos scurried around and tore up the lettuce, then washed the little grape tomatoes and put them on the salad. The Tuscan dressing he’d found sounded perfect, and he had grated parmesan and croutons, so he was all set. He’d stopped at the convenience store again and this time, he’d give her the rose he’d bought there. The liquor store yielded a couple of bottles of nice wine, and he was all set.
By the time she pulled up in the drive, the pasta only had about ten minutes to go. Perfect timing for having salad first and then being able to pull the dish fresh and steaming out of the oven. Not caring if opening the door before she knocked made him look eager, Amos headed that way and when he opened it, she was standing there, reaching for the doorbell. “Oh!” she belted out.
“I’m sorry. I’m making startling you a habit, and I don’t mean to.”
She scowled. “Oh, you meant to the last time you did it.”
“Wellllll, yeah. I did,” he said with a laugh. “Come on in.”
“Wow! What’s that smell?”
“It’s pasta. I hope it’s good. I’ve never made this recipe before. Want some wine?” he asked, motioning toward the kitchen. “And the salads are ready too.”
“That sounds good. I’m starving. I didn’t even have time for lunch today.” She pulled up a stool and sat at the breakfast bar.
“Busy day?”
“Yeah. Two new guys.”
“Training new people is always hard,” Amos said as he screwed the bottle opener into the cork of the wine bottle.
“No. New patients. Guys with brand new prosthetics. That kind of new guys.”
“Oh! Oh, yeah, I bet that is hard.”
“Yeah. They’re bigger than me, but I’m responsible for making sure they don’t fall. It can get scary sometimes. One of them was big enough that Cameron came and helped me. I didn’t have to ask―he just saw me struggling and decided to come on over and offer. That was nice. We have them between the parallel bars, but sometimes their arms just give out and they need help.”
“That would be scary for sure.” The timer went off, and Amos grabbed two potholders and pulled the cookie sheet out. “Wow. This looks good.”
“Smells great,” Daesha agreed.
“I’ll put the cheese on top and stick it back in for ten. We can eat our salads and it should be ready just about on time.” He knew she was watching him as he sprinkled the shredded cheese all over the top of the pasta, so he tried to look like he knew what he was doing. When he had it back in the oven, he pointed to his little dining table. “Let’s eat our salads.”
They’d no more than tied into the salads when Daesha asked, “So, did you ask about the files? I mean, about the other guys looking at them?”
“Yep. My supervisor said have at it, and two of the guys volunteered. Maybe they’ll see something we haven’t.”
“I hope so. We need a break in the case.” That was all she said about it, just went back to eating, and Amos felt sad for her. She wanted to know who killed her sister, and he understood that.
When he pulled the pan out of the oven that second time, it was beautiful. The cheese was melted and golden. He filled Daesha’s plate, then filled his own and sat down. One bite and he couldn’t believe it. It was delicious, and he’d made it! Fuck a bottle of wine. I owe Cynthia a whole case, he told himself. He was reveling in his accomplishment when Daesha said, “Funny, I never pegged you as a guy who knew how to cook.”
Amos just hung his head and shook it. “I can’t. I got this recipe from a coworker’s sister. She’s a chef in Louisville. I’m glad she took pity on me and gave me something I could actually make.”
“Well, you did a good job,” she said and patted his hand. Amos felt ten feet tall.
They ate until they were almost sick. “Whew! I’m stuffed!” Daesha announced. “I’ll help you clean up and―”
“Absolutely not. You’re my guest. I’ll take care of it. Won’t take but a second.” He found some storage containers in the cabinet and filled them. “And you take one of these with you when you leave, okay? You can have this for lunch tomorrow or Friday.”
Daesha was sitting on the sofa, looking through a car magazine. “I’ll do that! Thanks!”
“You’re welcome.” The aluminum pan had been a stroke of genius. Amos threw it in the trash, scraped everything else down the garbage disposal, and in minutes, he was ready to start the dishwasher. Making his way to the sofa, he sat down beside her. “Whatcha reading?”
“Did you know that fuel injector cleaner only does sixty percent of the job? And that your fuel injector should be professionally cleaned at least annually?”
“I did not know that,” Amos said, feigning surprise.
“I didn’t either, but I do now.” She closed the magazine and dropped it back onto the coffee table. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t think to pick up any dessert.” He wanted to kick himself for that.
“I don’t need it anyway. So what are you up to for the rest of the week?”
“I’m hoping to see you tomorrow night, and the next night, and the day after that,” he said, trying to be honest.
“Oh.”
Something about her tone startled him. “Is that not a good idea?”
“Um, it’s just that, uh, I have to work Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights.”
“Work? The clinic is open at night?”
She shook her head. “No. My other job.”
“You have another job?” That was news to him.
“Yeah. I do.”
Amos waited, but she said nothing. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. “So, where is this other job?”
“At a bar.”
“Oh, you bartend?”
>
“No.”
A nervous little laugh escaped his lips. “You’re not going to tell me you’re the bouncer, are you?”
That made her laugh. “No! Oh, lord, that’s just silly.”
“Then what is it you do?”
She sighed. “Have you heard of the local band, Limestone Legends?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve heard they’re really good. I haven’t heard them myself, but … wait.” Her smile was coy when she nodded. “You … sing. Oh my god. Do you sing with them?”
“I’m their lead singer.”
“Get out!” Amos yelled and slapped her arm playfully. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“That’s awesome! Where do you play tomorrow night?”
“We don’t. It’s rehearsal. Every Thursday night. Then we play Friday and Saturday at first one place and then another.”
“Well, I have to say, I don’t know why I was surprised. I heard you sing at the wedding and, my god, you’ve got a beautiful voice. What do you sing? I mean, what kind of music?”
“Mostly country. I do a lot of Dixie Chicks, Sheryl Crow, Miranda Lambert, stuff like that.”
“That’s awesome! So can I come tomorrow night?”
He was disappointed when she shook her head. “No. Nobody but us when we’re rehearsing. Some of the guys used to bring their girlfriends or wives, but they’d start whining about how they were tired and wanted to go home, and the guys would cut practice short to take them. So we made a rule―nobody but the musicians.”
“So you’re the only singer?”
“No. One of the guys does the songs that need a male lead, and I do backing vocals. Five of the six of us sing.”
“Ah, got it. So can I come Friday?”
“Of course!”
“Where are you playing this weekend?”
She sat there for a second and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling in thought. “You know, I don’t remember. I’ll find out tomorrow night and let you know.”
“Hey, I can pick you up and take you and then bring you home,” Amos offered.
“Uhhhhh, I’m not sure you want to do that. We play until about two o’clock in the morning.”
Man up, Fletcher, he told himself. “Doesn’t matter. That would be fine with me.”
She looked deep into his eyes and Amos could feel everything below his belt tense. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Then we need to talk.”
“Okay. Lay it on me,” he said, and he hoped he wasn’t sorry in a minute or two.
Daesha sat up straight and shook herself before she spoke. “You told me yourself that my prosthetic made you uncomfortable, but you wanted to learn about it.”
Amos nodded vigorously. “I did, and I meant it. If it concerns you, I want to know more about it.”
“No time like the present, huh?” she asked and gave him a feeble smile.
Somehow he hadn’t thought it would be so soon, but he wasn’t sure why that caught him off guard. This was part of her everyday life, and he needed to be open to it. “Okay. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“You don’t have to do anything. I just want you to see and if it really, really turns you off, then we’ll know, I can leave, and we can chalk it up to being incompatible. How’s that?”
“It won’t turn me―”
“Amos.” He stopped. “Don’t say that. You just don’t … Okay. Here goes.” She stood, unbuckled her belt, and then unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. When that was done, she pulled them down mid-thigh. She was wearing boy shorts style-panties and he thought they were adorable. As soon as she sat down, she slipped her shoes off, then worked her jeans down the rest of the way.
And there it was. And it was impressive. Amos had never seen a prosthetic limb like it. It looked positively bionic. “Wow. That’s quite a feat of technical engineering.”
“Yes. It is. And expensive too.”
“I bet. So does it have those nerve sensor things?”
She shook her head. “No. Those are electromyographic sensors, and they’re working on them for upper limbs now. They haven’t started working on the lower ones yet. Plus in order for one of those to work, I’d have to have reinnervation surgery, and I’m not sure I’m willing to do that for something that might not work that well. They already use me as a guinea pig for a lot of the beta testing, but having surgery to beta test something isn’t a thing I’m signing up for just yet.”
“Don’t blame you on that one at all,” Amos said, and he meant it. The idea of her having surgery for something that might not work, and knowing that going in, didn’t seem very smart.
“So, are you ready?” she asked, slipping her hands around the band above her mechanical knee.
Amos shrugged. So far everything was fine with him. “I guess so. Why not?”
“Well, okay.” He watched as she rolled down some kind of rubber sleeve. “This is a silicone socket. Once I get my stump settled in it, it kind of forms to my leg and it’s like it’s vacuum-sealed. I just … take this … right here … and it’s off.” With a little tug, the prosthetic came off in her hand. There was a little cloth cover under it, and she pulled that off too.
He wasn’t sure what he’d thought he’d see, but that wasn’t it. Her stump was just flesh, with an incision line in the bottom. The skin was kind of shiny, and that surprised him. “So why is it―”
“Shiny?” He nodded. “Because of the stress put on it and the way the skin was stretched.”
“Can you feel it?” He wanted to touch it, but not until she asked him if he wanted to. To him, that would be kind of like feeling up her tit without her permission. Just rude.
“Oh, yeah. Actually, I have phantom sensations. Sometimes I catch myself reaching down to scratch the prosthetic because my foot is itching. It’s weird.”
“That is weird, but I can see how that could be.”
“You can touch it if you want. People are curious about it.”
That was his invitation, and Amos reached over and cupped the end of her leg. It was smooth and warm, and there was nothing gross about it. It was hard too. “So there’s bone right under this?”
She nodded. “Yeah. They had to remove some of the bone so they could cover the end with skin. And it took a good while for it to heal. They didn’t start fitting my prosthetic until about six months after my surgery.”
That shocked him. He’d just assumed she got it right away. “Really? What did you use before?”
“Crutches. I hated them. I like the leg a lot better.”
“Does it have one of those blades for running?” Amos asked, fascinated by the whole thing.
“It can, but I don’t have one. I wasn’t a runner before, and I wasn’t interested in running afterward, so I didn’t need it. The kind of exercising I do is different. Mostly calisthenics and weight training.”
“Gotcha. I’m a runner―that’s why I asked.” She handed him the prosthetic and he sat and marveled at it. God, they were so different than when he was a kid! Back then they’d been just a basic plastic limb, sometimes with a jointed ankle.
“That thing was state of the art four years ago. Now they’re building me one with a microprocessor in the knee and ankle. It’ll be about sixty thousand.”
“Whaaaaa?” Amos was shocked. He knew they were expensive, but that was crazy. “Really?”
“Yeah. But it’ll be so much better. The toes will flex downward like a real foot, and the arch is flexible. It’ll take some getting used to, but I’m looking forward to it. Of course, I’ll have one of the prototypes. Honestly, they depend on me, on my training and my experiences, to help them fine-tune these. There are about five of us, amputees who’re also physical therapists, and we work closely with the prosthetics company. They know me well enough to know that I know what I’m talking about, and I know them well enough to make recommendations to them about what a particular client needs. It works out great. Sometimes the VA gets
calls to send me to other locations so I can consult with other therapists on other amputees’ cases. I love that part. I’d like to help as many people as I can.”
It was all amazing to Amos―the prosthetic, her job, and the dedication she showed to making people’s lives better. God, if he could just close the case and get justice for her sister, he’d feel like he’d done something spectacular with his life. Somebody needed to pay back that brave woman for all the years of heartache and pain she’d had, and all the giving and sharing she’d done. A question drifted across his mind as he handed the prosthesis back to her. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What was a defining moment in your life? A moment that made a difference for you?”
She sat there for a minute, the prosthetic lying across her lap, and then she smiled. “The night I watched Heart perform ‘Stairway to Heaven’ to honor Led Zeppelin.”
Amos quirked his eyebrows up. “I don’t get it.” That wasn’t the answer he thought he’d get.
She smiled and stared at her hands as they rested on the prosthetic. “I always knew making a living with my music was probably not something that would happen, but I was always a little embarrassed, doing covers with the band. I didn’t feel like a real musician. I thought maybe I had no talent because I didn’t write my own songs, but I was busy and didn’t have the time to devote. Some nights I didn’t want to sing because I felt like such a cop-out. But that night, I watched Ann and Nancy Wilson perform that song, and that instant when Robert Plant wiped that tear from his eye? I got it. I’m doing something important. I’m making people happy as they listen to me sing, even if it’s in a crappy little bar in a nowhere Kentucky town. Maybe they’ve had a bad day, or they’ve been hurt or abused, or somebody they love is gone. And maybe, just maybe, that song, one they’re familiar with or grew up with, will make them smile for just a second or two.
“And it made me realize something else. That old saying, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?” Amos nodded. “When I sing those songs, I’m showing my respect for those fantastic artists, people who worked hard to write and record those songs. That’s the only way I have of doing that, and by singing their songs, I’m paying tribute to them, even though they’ll never know.” She lifted her head, her cheeks pink, and gave him a shy smile. “Sappy, I know, but seeing them on TV that night, it changed my mind about myself. Until, of course, I came back less of a person than I was when I left. Then I had to start all over again.”
Justice for Daesha Page 6
