“Fair enough. We’ll go with ex-farmer. So what made you want to be a police officer?” I asked.
He glanced into his tea, which reminded me to sip mine again. He sighed, as if this was a subject he didn’t want to get into. “There was this family of five brothers. The Spurck Brothers. They were always beating people up, stealing stuff, vandalizing, causing problems. My brother was little and they bullied him—picked on him every day on the way home from school. They were total criminals, and it seemed like they always got away with it.”
“Like Paulie Henderson,” I said.
He paused. “Maybe. But anyway, I don’t like bullies or thieves, and I didn’t like that they always got away with it, so I wanted to have a job where I could do something about people like them. And here I am.”
“Here you are.” We locked eyes, and for the tiniest moment I swore I could feel how much his job meant to him. It wasn’t just a job—it was passion, the same way mine was passion to me. And if he really felt the way he said he did, then I knew he wanted to see justice for this case, too. “So why are you here?” I asked, breaking the connection before the weight of it got too heavy.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you left KCPD. Why?”
“Oh.” And just like that, I could feel lock the vault he’d been talking about. Connection lost. “Differences of opinion.”
And in very un-Hollis-like fashion, I let it go. Changed the subject. “So about Coach Farley’s case. If Paulie isn’t the one—”
I was interrupted by the arrival of appetizers. The waitress gave us each a small plate, and Brooks started loading his.
“You’ve got to try the chicken on a stick,” he said, holding up a skewer. “It’s the best I’ve ever tasted.”
He set the skewer on my plate and picked up another.
“With that endorsement, how could I pass?” I asked.
“Their dumplings are pretty good, too,” he said. “Not as good as China Steve’s, but a pretty close second. And Mister Wok’s Szechuan totally makes up the difference. Buries China Steve.”
“How do you know so much about these places? You haven’t even been here as long as I have.”
He nodded. “When you spend as much time in your car as I do, you get to know where everything is.”
“Hopkins! Welcome back!” A very large, pale man with red hair and freckles was coming at us, a smudged apron wrapped around most of his waist.
“Wok! Good to see you,” Brooks said. He wiped his hands on his napkin, stood, and shook the other man’s hand. “This is my friend, Hollis. Hollis, this is Mister Wok.”
“He’s being so formal. You can call me Sean,” the man said. His eyes were strikingly green. This was Mister Wok?
“I’m Hollis,” I said, and took his hand.
Brooks settled back into the booth and Mister Wok stood by, his hands on his hips, which shifted his chef shirt up just enough to see that he had freckles on his torso, too. They talked for a moment about someone’s lake house, about car troubles, and about a few people I’d never heard of.
Finally, Mister Wok clapped his hands together, making me jump. “Gotta get back to the wok. Make yourselves at home, you two. Eat! Eat! I don’t want to interrupt your date.”
“It’s not a real date,” I said, at the same time that Brooks said, “Okay, good seeing you, buddy!”
We looked at each other in surprise. Mister Wok looked at both of us with uncomfortable confusion.
“You weren’t interrupting,” I said lightly, to try to shovel my way out of the awkward. “We were just meeting to discuss a case.”
“Case?” Mister Wok asked, apparently deciding against leaving us alone.
“We were …” Brooks tugged at one ear uneasily. It was super red. “You should have an egg roll,” he said. “Wok, you’ve outdone yourself tonight.”
But now I was feeling the heat that I could see from his ears that he was feeling, too. This was a real date to him, and I was kicking myself for questioning that. Why couldn’t I just go along with it? Why did I have to be all business, all the time?
“Wait, is she a cop, too?” Mister Wok asked. “Did something happen that I should know about?”
“No,” Brooks said miserably, which actually made me feel a little bad. I worked to shuck off the guilty feeling. I had a job to do, and maybe I was all business, all the time, but Brooks knew that going in.
“Yes,” I said. “Actually, everyone should know about the Coach Farley hit-and-run case.” I gave Brooks a pointed look. “Since there’s a potential murderer in Parkwood and nobody seems to care.”
Mister Wok’s eyebrows shot up. “Murderer?”
“No, there is no murderer,” Brooks said, giving me the same look. “It could have just been an accident and someone’s scared to come forward.” He touched his chest defensively. “And I care. I’m not keeping anyone from knowing anything.”
“Murder or accident, it still wasn’t ‘natural causes.’” I made air quotes with my fingers.
“Wait. Gerry Farley is dead?” Mister Wok asked.
“You knew Coach Farley?” My fingers twitched as I willed them to not reach for my notebook and pencil.
He nodded, scootched Brooks over, and sat with us. “I’ve met him. His wife is a regular here. Take-out only, which she always picks up herself. I think it’s just an excuse to show off her shiny Jaguar. Anyway, her order’s always the same: Sweet and sour chicken for one, hold the pineapple and green pepper. He won’t eat Chinese food. No idea what he eats while she’s eating her sweet and sour. I mean, who doesn’t eat sweet and sour? Even little kids like it. It’s like chicken nuggets with barbecue sauce.” He leaned across the table. I leaned in, too. Brooks sat back and sighed, tossing
