reminded that, while she let herself go to shit, there were still beautiful women in the world.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” Lindsay said.
“Like we discussed yesterday, I have some questions about your son,” he said.
When her eyebrows knit together over her nose, he suspected she didn’t remember much of their conversation. She’d probably buzzed him in so she could have someone to talk to and because he was a guy.
Lindsay walked back into her apartment. Dante remained in the doorway. “Mrs. Parks, can we come in?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, come on in.”
She stopped beside a battered old couch and lifted a pack of cigarettes from the table next to it. She used the cigarette still burning in the ashtray to light the one in her mouth.
Feeling like he’d rather walk into a wall of flames, Dante crept into the apartment. He almost took Cassidy’s hand, but he suspected it would only irritate this woman, and she wouldn’t talk if annoyed. He could use his powers on her, but he preferred to get his answers without bending her mind to his.
After Cassidy entered the apartment, Dante closed the door, and as Lindsay settled onto the couch, her slight weight caused chunks of yellow stuffing to poke through the holes in the cushion. She lifted a drink from beside the ashtray. Ice clinked against the glass as she swirled the amber liquid, puffed her cigarette, and took a sip.
On TV, a rerun of Wheel of Fortune played, and the wheel clicked as one of the contestants spun it. In the kitchen, trash spilled out of the garbage can and onto the floor. Containers of takeout food littered the countertops. He didn’t have to open the cabinet to know mouse droppings littered the shelves; he could smell the rodents and hear their claws scratching the wood.
He once worked the case of a man accused of killing his mother and chopping her into pieces. He spent a week searching a landfill for her body parts; he felt almost as dirty now as then.
He glanced over at Cassidy, and though she was a little more tense than usual, she kept her face impassive as she stared at the woman on the couch. “Stay here,” he mouthed to her.
Cassidy wasn’t getting any closer to the repulsive woman, and she didn’t want to touch anything here. Once she was free of this place, not only was she throwing out her boots, but also everything else she was wearing.
Unwilling to look at the woman anymore, Cassidy studied the pictures on the walls. Through the haze of smoky grime covering the glass were photos of a pretty woman with a cute young boy. In many of the pictures, a handsome man also stood with them.
In the earlier photos, they were smiling and happy together. As their ages progressed, the man disappeared, the boy became a teen who stopped smiling, and the woman deteriorated from happy to slouched and broken.
She didn’t know what happened to turn that vibrant woman into the one sitting on the couch, but she felt sorry for the family in those photos.
When Dante stepped in front of the TV, Lindsay scowled at him. “Is it okay if I ask you some questions?” Dante asked.
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Lindsay retorted.
Dante perched on the edge of the threadbare, yellow chair next to the metal TV stand, and pulled out his pad and pen. “When was the last time you saw your son?”
Lindsay took a drag on her cigarette before answering. “It’s been a couple of months.”
“When was the last time you talked to him?”
“It’s been a couple of months.”
“Do you often go so long without speaking?”
She lifted her glass from the table and downed the rest of its contents before looking to Cassidy. She waved the glass at her as she spoke. “Hey, sugar, pour me another drink.”
Dante stiffened at the woman’s cold tone and the cruel smile curving her lips. “I’ll get it,” he said.
He needed Lindsay in a cooperative mood, but he wasn’t going to let her treat Cassidy that way.
“No, I’ll get it,” Cassidy said. She took the glass from Lindsay’s hand before Dante could. “Where do you keep your alcohol?”
Dante gave Lindsay a look that would have made many cower, but the woman was too far gone in her spite and alcohol to realize she was poking a hornet’s nest. Instead of recognizing the peril she was in, she smiled smugly as she stubbed out her cigarette.
“In the fridge,” she answered.
As she walked by, Cassidy rested her hand on Dante’s arm in the hope of calming him, but he remained tensed beneath her touch. She didn’t like this woman either, and the sooner they were out of here, the happier she would be, but fighting with her was pointless. Lindsay was too far gone in her misery to care about anyone else.
Dante finally relaxed enough to perch on the edge of the chair again while Cassidy made her way into the kitchen. As she crossed to the fridge, she ignored the crackling noise her boots created when they stuck to the yellow and brown linoleum. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself for what she would find inside the fridge before opening it.
She was relieved to discover it could use a cleaning, but it wasn’t full of rotten food. Instead, bottles of whiskey lined the shelves. Pity for the woman tugged at her heart as she poured the drink and returned to the living room.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Do you often go so long without speaking to your son?” Dante asked again as Lindsay lit another cigarette.
The woman ignored the smoke floating around her face as she spoke. “He does what he does; I do what I do.”
“I see,” Dante said, but he didn’t. “Was Dr. Abbott your son’s father?”
Her bitter laugh turned into an uncontrollable coughing fit. Dante set down his pen and was about to lean over to clap her on the back when she regained control of
