“Fair enough.”
She bit her lip, turning away, making my stomach churn, the hurt in her voice a reminder that time and distance hadn’t healed the raw places that drove us apart or buried the sweet spots that had brought us together. She was trying to help me, and I’d returned the favor by jumping her because I was angry at Jennings and Roni.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I can’t talk about it right now, but I’ll tell you when I can.”
She gave me a soft half smile, nodding. “It’s okay. I forget that you’re like one of those Chinese boxes full of hidden compartments.”
“And I forget that you can’t resist taking them apart and putting them back together again, a perfect combination for driving two people nuts. Looks like we’re picking up where we left off.”
“I know. And,” she said, pausing and taking a deep breath, “while we’re at it, how’d it go with Joy last night?”
I shuddered, a mild flurry. “It didn’t. She was in her room with the door closed when I got home, and the door was still closed when I left this morning.”
Kate raised her eyebrows. “Separate bedrooms?”
“When she needs the space.”
“What do you call that?”
“I don’t know what to call it. It’s not what it was when we were married or when we were first divorced. All I can say is that we’re feeling our way.”
“Are you in love with her?”
I hesitated, searching for the right words, saying things out loud that I’d struggled to piece together in my mind.
“Crazy, can’t wait to see her, rip her clothes off, suck all the air out of the room in love? No. Build a life, laugh and cry, retire and die love? Not that, either. Help each other through the night because we can’t do it alone and that’s all we’ve got left and we owe it to one another. If that’s being in love, then yeah.”
“I’d call that noble and a little bit sad, but I’m not sure I’d call it being in love.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying that’s what it is.”
“And you’re willing to settle for that for the rest of your life?”
I smiled, shaking my head. “It’s not my life we’re talking about. It’s Joy’s, and she’s dying. The cancer has spread, and there’s not much the doctors can do about it except to tell us to think in terms of months, not years.”
Kate paled, her hand at her throat. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, Jack.”
“Like you said before, you don’t walk away from someone you care about even if you have a good reason.”
“Well, that’s enough to make me feel heartless, rotten, and small.”
“Me too. So you get my point.”
“Yeah, I get it, but you could have told me, you know, before I made a complete ass of myself.”
I nodded. “I could have, but I didn’t know how to fit it into…”
“Into what?”
“Us.”
She thought for a moment, staring at me. “Duty always comes first for you, doesn’t it, Jack?”
I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“And what comes next, when you’ve done your duty?”
“It seems like I never get that far.”
“I hope you get the chance to find out. You deserve that. At least your night ended uneventfully.”
“Depends on your point of view. Ammara Iverson was waiting for me with copies of the KCPD files on the Martin and Montgomery cases when I got home.”
“Another gift horse about which I don’t ask any questions and you don’t tell any lies?”
“You catch on quick.”
“Okay. Where are the files?”
“At home. Lucy is going to pick them up this morning.”
“What’s in them that we don’t already know?”
“I haven’t had time to go through them. I’ll let Lucy and Simon pick them apart. Let’s go grocery shopping.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Staley’s Market was near the intersection of St. John and Monroe; a thirty-foot brick and glass storefront shielded by wrought-iron bars, the name spelled out in flickering purple neon stretched across the center panel, flanked by promises of everyday low prices, fresh produce, and cold beer painted in twelve-inch red and yellow script. The aisles were empty, no cashiers ringing up sales, no baggers offering paper or plastic, and no shoppers sorting coupons. A hand-drawn notice was taped on the door, papering over the hours of operation, announcing the market was closed, out of business, impossible to tell which was cause and which was effect. An American flag hung limp from a bracket bolted into the frame.
The lights were off, but there was enough daylight to illuminate narrow aisles of canned goods, cereals, snacks, detergents, lightbulbs, toilet paper, and toothpaste. Refrigerated and frozen cases lined one wall; meat, poultry, and produce the other. Three abandoned check-out lines stood at the front. Powerball tickets offering billion-to-one odds against turning a dollar into fairy dust were looped around spindles next to the registers alongside packages of cigarettes and copies of the National Enquirer. I tried the front door, pounding when it wouldn’t open.
A man appeared at the back, his head visible over the top of a swinging saloon door, a fluorescent ceiling fixture shedding cool light behind him. He hesitated before easing one side half open, his arm tucked under the apron hanging from his neck. He edged into the store like he was testing thin ice, taking his time getting to the front, his hidden hand gripping something at his waist as he turned the lock and opened the door a crack.
“Looking for Nick Staley.”
“That’s me, but I’m closed.”
He was an older, battered version of his son.
“We saw the sign. You’re out of business?”
“You saw the sign. What? You think I’m kidding?”
“Not kidding, just maybe not yet. We don’t want to buy anything.”
“Neither does anyone else. Not enough, anyway. If you’re from the bank, tell them I’ve got a guy coming to give me a bid on the inventory and fixtures. Tell them they’ll get some of what I owe but not all of it. They want to come after me for the rest you tell them they’re wasting their time. I’m walking away from here without a pot to piss in. There’s nothing they can do to me that hasn’t already been done.”
I tried pulling the door open, and he raised the hand under his apron, the barrel of a gun outlined against the thin fabric. I stopped, the hard cast in his eyes telling me he was willing. The iron bars testified to the rough neighborhood and hard times, so it was no surprise that he was cautious. The surprise was that he felt threatened by Kate and me.
“You won’t need that. We’re not from the bank, and we’re not armed.” I opened my jacket, lifting it above my waist and turning around. “My name is Jack Davis. This is Kate Scranton. We’re working with a lawyer named Ethan Bonner. He represents a friend of yours, Jimmy Martin. We’d like to talk to you about him.”
He took his time, chewing his lip, making up his mind before motioning to the rear of the store. “We’ll talk in the back.”
Half-empty shelves confirmed that Staley was going out of business. What merchandise he had wouldn’t last a week. I could guess what happened. As his customers got laid off, they stopped buying as much, making it hard for him to stay current with the bank. Roni said he’d diverted rent money from his real estate, but it wasn’t enough, forcing the bank to cut off his credit and his suppliers to cut off their shipments and his mortgage lender to
