“Damn it,” Shockey muttered.
“I told you, I’ll drive you,” Louis said, snatching up the keys. “You argue with me, and I’ll deck you.”
“Fuck you, peeper.”
“Come on, let’s go.”
“Wait,” Shockey said. “I need my money.”
Shockey knelt to gather his bills and loose change off the ground. Louis thought about helping him but changed his mind and stepped out from under the portico and into the sun. For the first time since he’d arrived in Michigan, there was a spring warmth in the air. It felt good.
“Oh, shit,” Shockey said, pushing clumsily to his feet. “I forgot about this.”
“What?”
Shockey held out a small piece of paper. “This is a message for you. One of the sergeants gave it to me this morning.”
Louis took the paper and unfolded it. It was a note, written on a piece of Ann Arbor PD stationery. The handwriting was bold and dark:
Shockey looked up at him with unfocused eyes. “Something important?”
“Yeah, very important,” Louis said, sticking the note into his pocket. “C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Louis sat at the window of the sub shop, staring out at the Halo Hats store across the street. He had been sitting here for a half-hour now, nursing a cold coffee and working up the guts to go over there.
He looked at his watch. Two minutes to one.
He tossed a couple of bucks on the counter, got up, and went outside. He paused, tugging on the collar of his khaki jacket. It was in bad need of a dry cleaning, and a button was missing on one pocket. He wished he had packed his blue blazer. But how the hell could he have known when he left Florida that he was going to be meeting his daughter?
He ran his sweating palms down his thighs. At least his jeans were clean. And his loafers were shined. He had paid ten bucks last night at the hotel to send them out.
He stared at the shop across the street.
He let out a long breath, trying to slow his heart, then walked across the street.
Halo Hats was wedged between a Domino’s Pizza and a coin laundry. Louis peered through the front window, but it was so filled with hats he couldn’t see anything inside.
A woman emerged suddenly from the door — a thin, imperious black woman in a red suit. She gave him a quick glance, then strutted off down West Cross Street, a pink and white halo hats box bouncing against her thigh.
Taking in a final deep breath, Louis pulled open the door and went in.
A bell announced his arrival. But there was no one in the shop to greet him. At least as far as he could see. All he
He heard a hiss and turned.
A black woman was standing there holding out a can of Glade. She stared at him like he was an insect, the air freshener suddenly brandished like a can of Raid.
“Yes?” she said.
“I’m Louis Kincaid,” he said. “I’m here to see Lily.”
She was a large woman, her ample body covered by a caftan printed with sunflowers, her broad face crossed with lines that put her age somewhere near sixty-five. But it was her eyes that held Louis — piercing and filled with judgment. The same eyes he had felt on him that day Eric Channing had pulled him over in Ann Arbor.
“I’m Alice Channing,” the woman said. “Lily’s my grandchild.”
Eric Channing suddenly emerged from the back. Before he could say anything, the bell tinkled, and two women came in, stopping behind Louis because there was no room to move in the tiny shop.
“Momma, go take care of your customers,” Channing said.
The woman held Louis’s eyes for a moment longer, then, with a shake of the head, she came forward. Louis squeezed back into a rack of hats to let her pass.
Channing motioned Louis forward with a wave of his hand. Louis followed him behind the register and into the back room.
She was sitting on a bench in a corner, almost hidden behind a stack of boxes. She sat with her back straight, ankles crossed, her small hands gripping a pink drawstring bag. She was wearing a pink leotard and tights, a filmy little skirt, and pink ballet slippers. Her eyes went first to Channing, who had stopped at the door, arms crossed over his chest. Channing gave a subtle nod of his bald head.
Lily looked at Louis from under spirals of golden-brown curls.
Kyla… she was there in the girl’s high, broad forehead and full lips.
But he… oh, God, he could see himself there, too. He was there in her pale gray eyes.
He came further into the room, not knowing where to stand, exactly. There was no room for him on the bench, and he wasn’t sure she would let him sit down there anyway.
“What should I call you?” she asked.
“How about Louis?” he said.
She nodded and brushed at something on her tights. Her face scrunched in thought when she looked back up at him.
“You’re bigger than I thought you’d be,” she said.
“Is that okay?”
“Yes,” she said. “People can’t help how tall they are.”
Louis glanced at Channing. He wished he would leave them alone, but Louis understood his need to stay. Channing didn’t know Louis, and he probably just wanted to make sure he said nothing inappropriate. In fact, he seemed mildly amused at Lily’s last comment.
Louis took a step closer. The room was very small, and he had a thought that maybe she felt overwhelmed by him. He knelt down.
Her eyes found his again. He was the one who felt overwhelmed.
“Where do you live?” Lily asked.
“In Florida,” Louis said. “Do you know where that is?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s shaped like an upside-down thumb at the bottom of the country. The capital is Tallahassee.”
“That’s right,” he said. “It’s also where Disney World is. Have you ever been there?”
“No,” she said. “But I took the train to Chicago and saw the Degas ballerinas at the museum of art. I’ve seen the
