“Like they know the police are after them?”
“Nope, like something even more terrible is after them, something scary and deadly.”
Knowing the scary and deadly thing going after them, I tried to keep a bland expression on my face, which was difficult considering the circumstances and what I was attempting to eat.
“I see.”
“And what’s up with you, my friend?” She motioned to my living room and said, “Love the fact you’ve gotten your books put away, but there’s something odd about it.”
I glanced back and knew what she meant, with the covers all being color-coded and lumped together. But if I told her how that had happened, I’d have to mention the Greek brothers who came here and did the work, and explain how the Greek brothers came to arrive at my doorstep, and that would lead to Felix Tinios, and I didn’t want to bring up his name.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “But I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, besides your impressive book collection, how’s your health?”
“If Maggie’s still dead, I’m still alive.”
“Just because I was a snarky bitch doesn’t mean you have to follow my lead.”
“Apologies.” I went into a detailed description of how I had been going around in circles, squares, and parallelograms, trying to get the location of my tumor samples and test results. I ended with my last call to Topeka, and how I felt guilty about it.
Diane’s chin scar was practically glowing white, meaning she was seriously upset at something, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t me.
“Why should you feel guilty about anything?”
“Because the woman from Topeka was having a rough time of it,” I said. “And I think I made her cry.”
“Screw Topeka and the woman sitting there,” Diane snapped. “She’s not sitting there in her smelly pajamas, drains coming out of her, waiting to hear whether she has the Big C or not. This world of ours would get along much better if everybody just did their goddamn jobs.”
She stared at me like she was daring me to contradict her. I managed to swallow another dry piece of fish and asked, “You think my pajamas are smelly?”
Diane laughed so hard I thought wine was going to come out of her nose. “All right,” I said. “Next time we eat here, I’ll open the slider and get a bit of a cross-breeze. I’ll even let you sit upwind because you’re such a special gal.”
Diane laughed again and said, “Hey, have things been quiet around here?”
With the visit of Pepe and Ramon, plus Felix, I don’t think quiet was the best word to use, but I said, “Relatively so, I guess.”
“No more sneaky visitors?”
Now I knew where she was going. “No, not for a few days. It’s been quiet. No late-night visitors.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Diane, some guy was coming into my house at night. I’m sure of it.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“And I’m not some ditsy uncle that you say sympathizing words to when he claims the Nazis built a secret underground UFO base in Antarctica.”
Her eyes got wide. “You mean there is?”
At the meal’s conclusion, Diane had cleared off her plate and so had I, although I had a pile of crumpled-up napkins on the floor near me. She did the dishes and apologized for not bringing dessert—which I said wasn’t a problem, especially considering what she had given me earlier (though I didn’t say that part aloud). “How’s Paula?” she asked, as she sat down next to me.
“Paula’s at a journalism conference in Boston, trying to see if the Fourth Estate is dead, or really, really dead.”
“I’ll deny ever saying this, but I miss the time when we had a bunch of newspapers, all competing with each other. That meant nobody set the narrative, and if one newspaper got lazy or cocky, another paper could whack them upside the head, keep them on the straight and narrow.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“Besides the journalist Paula, how’s the girlfriend Paula?”
“She’s … she’s pretty special.”
“Good. Years ago, you had a chance with her, and you blew it, didn’t you.”
“Why are you blaming me?”
“What, you think I’m going to blame the woman in any relationship?”
“All right,” I said. “It was my fault. I’m making amends. And what about you? How goes the wedding planning?”
That got me a big smile. “Going well, which is a nice break from things. Not sure of the location but I don’t care, and Kara has some distant uncle who’s a Unitarian minister who’ll gladly marry us.”
“You going to be wearing your cop uniform when you walk down the aisle?”
“Are you out of your bloody mind? I will not. No, the both of us are going to go girly-frilly and wear nice gowns—gowns we can reuse down the road. No use in dropping big bucks on a gown that you wear once and looks like it was designed by a deranged Paris designer drunk on absinthe. And you?”
“What about me?”
“You have a tuxedo?”
“I’ll have one in plenty of time. I’m thinking a retro-1970s look, you know, powder blue for the pants and jacket, big ruffled shirt, bowtie the size of a drone’s propeller.”
Without a smile or a trace of laughter, Diane said, “You show up like that, and there’ll be an accidental shooting in the parking lot, guaranteed.”
“Okay, I get the message.”
“You better.”
Before she left, Diane made one more sweep of the kitchen, and I flushed with embarrassment when she picked up my three crumpled paper napkins with fish in them.
Diane tossed them into the air, caught them. “Lewis, if you don’t like fish, tell me.”
I stood still. “How did you know?”
“I’m a detective,” she said. “It’s my job to know.”
Then she gave me a kiss on the cheek and asked, “Time to empty your drains?”
“I can do
