Because fieldwork was how cases got solved—not by sitting in a chair, eating maple bars.
Poppy’s eyes stayed locked on the rumpled paper in her fingers. “Do you think I should give up? Do you think there’s a chance to find whoever killed Jamie?”
When she looked up, some of the light had dimmed in her eyes. For the first time in two weeks, she looked more like the woman I’d seen five years ago than the one who’d come to my dojo.
“I’ll be honest,” I said gently. “It’s been a long time. Five years with no new evidence isn’t a good thing. I haven’t seen the case file, but my guess is that all of the leads are dead ends.”
Her shoulders fell and she tucked her hands in her lap. She was shrinking right in front of me—curling in on herself. Is this what happened to her after every one of her visits with Simmons? Because I’d do just about anything to make it stop.
“I’ll tell you what, when we get back to the station, I’ll take a look at the file. I don’t know what I’ll find, but I’ll check into the case. Okay?”
“You’d really do that?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“Thank you,” she sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, Detective Simmons has been great. He meets with me every month and is always nice. But, I don’t know. I guess I don’t feel like this case is his priority.”
She’d read that right. His priority these days seemed to be doing as little as possible. “Let me see what I can do,” I promised just as our food was delivered.
“Thank you,” she told me as I said the same to the waitress.
With my calzone and her pizza, we dug in and ate lunch mostly in silence—just like dinner in her kitchen.
Poppy didn’t have to fill every moment with conversation. Aly had been a constant talker, always wanting to visit while we ate. It drove me nuts when I’d take a bite and she’d immediately ask a question. Sometimes, I just wanted to eat. Like my parents did for their meals. They talked, they knew about each other’s days, but they were also content to just be with one another.
The quiet gave me time to enjoy my food and also a chance to think.
The first thing I was doing when I got back to the station was commandeering Jamie Maysen’s case file from Simmons.
If all of the leads were dead, I’d do what needed to be done. I’d sit Poppy down and tell her the truth. That her husband’s killer was free and would remain so unless new evidence came to light.
But if the file had more, if Simmons hadn’t dug into every lead and turned over every rock to find the murderer, I’d be pulling a favor from Dad. I’d do something I’d never, ever done: I’d use my position as the chief of police’s son to handpick a case. I’d take the case away from Simmons and do my best to bring Jamie’s killer to justice.
No matter how much stress it would add to my life, I’d do it because it was the right thing to do.
I’d do it for Poppy.
“Jimmy? I’m here!”
A week after my lunch with Cole at Colombo’s, I was taking the afternoon off from the restaurant to visit Jamie’s grandfather, Jimmy, at his retirement home, The Rainbow.
“Out in a sec.” Jimmy’s shout was muffled by the closed bedroom door.
I smiled and took a seat on the couch in the living room as I waited. The housekeepers must have swept through this morning because the normal stack of Mountain Dew cans and old newspapers on the end table was gone and the kitchenette was free of its usual Ritz cracker crumbs. They’d even hung up Jimmy’s coats—the ones he normally just tossed on the couch.
“Gladys, you have got to see him,” a woman whispered from the hallway.
“I heard all about it at breakfast,” Gladys replied with a muffled giggle.
Were they talking about Jimmy? Because it sounded like Gladys and her gossiping friend were hovering right outside his open door. I hadn’t bothered closing it when I’d come over. The door here was never closed. Why Jimmy liked his door open all the time I hadn’t a clue. He treated this assisted living facility more like a college dorm than a place to settle down.
But at least the always-open door gave me a chance to see the women as they shuffled past.
“Hello!” I waved and smiled as two elderly women ignored me completely and craned their necks inside, searching the small living room for Jimmy. When they saw he wasn’t in his recliner, they frowned and kept on walking.
I laughed when they were out of earshot. Every time I came here it seemed like a different resident was crushing on my grandfather-in-law.
“There’s my Poppy.” Jimmy’s bedroom door opened and he emerged into the living room. “How are you today?”
“I’m goo—oh my god. What did you do?” I shot off the couch. My eyes were locked on his hair—hair that was normally snow-white, not hot pink.
Jimmy didn’t answer. He just crossed the small distance from his bedroom and pulled me into his arms. When he let me go, his eyes gave me a thorough inspection from tip to toe before he sat in his navy plush recliner.
“Are you going to answer me?” I asked, still standing.
He frowned and motioned to his hair. “I lost a bet.”
“A bet. You made a bet where the loser had to dye his hair pink?”
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “I’ll tell you, Poppy. You just can’t trust some people. You know that new guy who moved in next door?”
I nodded even though I hadn’t met Jimmy’s new neighbor.
“He’s a cheat. A lying cheat. I invited him to play in our Tuesday afternoon poker club. Thought I’d be neighborly. He told me he didn’t know how to play poker, but he’d like
