“See?” She points at the bottle. “Right there. You didn’t even think about it. You just took my bottle to open it because you know I have a hard time getting the caps off.”
“And?” I hand her back an open bottle.
“That’s unicorn shit.”
I laugh as I tap my bottle against hers. “Just a man, Kat.”
With an eye roll, she leans a hip on my counter. “What can I do to help?”
“Make the salad?”
Tonight we’re celebrating, sort of. This will be our first party since we’ve decided to be official. It took a long time to get to this point, something I insisted on after everything with Daisy.
Daisy.
Whenever I think of her, my heart hurts. And not because I feel sorry for myself. No, I feel sorry for her. Mind you, I’m not happy she played me like she did, like a fucking piano, but she was—is—mentally ill. That’s not my diagnosis, it was the court ordered psychiatrist’s. Because of that, she never did stand trial. Her lawyer was able to use insanity as a defense, and the Story County District Attorney’s office made a deal. She’s in a maximum-security mental health facility in Northwest Iowa now and will be for many years.
The day after Daisy confessed to killing Kara, she and her attorney sat down with Finch and me in the interrogation room. I guess her lawyer advised her it’d be in her best interest to cooperate. She was subdued and exhausted. I could tell she’d spent the night crying by her red, puffy eyes, but the interesting part about it was how normal she seemed. The day before, she was erratic—smiling one minute, growling the next. But the day she confessed, she was the Daisy I recognized. And in the course of that conversation, she told us about her safety deposit box at First National Bank that held more photos of Kara and Dorian and a few of just Dorian doing mundane things like grocery shopping and jogging. She also gave us the combination to a storage unit where she kept her other computer and the clothing she wore the night of the murder. In all, it was pretty cut and dry. I think she was almost relieved to have the truth out there.
Not everyone was happy with the outcome, however. Kara Becker’s father for one. He’s suing Dorian Buchanan for wrongful death. I suppose you’re wondering how he could do that. Well, Becker feels that since Dorian knew Daisy’s diagnosis, knew she was dangerous and still let her live across the hallway from his daughter unchecked, he should be liable.
So far, the case hasn’t been thrown out, so we’ll see if it’ll hold water. I’m not so sure.
As for Dorian? He took a leave of absence from Iowa State University. I’m not sure if that was his idea or the university’s, but I’d be surprised if he came back since they learned that most of his published work was done by Daisy. It’s grounds for losing his tenure, and his reputation is in shambles.
“So, how was patrol last night?”
I’m brought back to the here and now by Kat’s question. “Good. A little boring. Nothing major happened. Some speeding tickets, and a couple asshole students thought it’d be funny to knock down a few stop signs in Campustown.”
I’m back on my regular patrol duties per my request. While I enjoyed many aspects of detective work, this is what I need right now. Perhaps in the future, I’ll request the change, but not right now. No, right now I want to focus on other things. Like the person standing in my kitchen. The one who makes me smile every single day. The one who made sure I was okay after everything with Daisy happened.
“Idiots,” she grumbles. “How drunk were they?”
I chuckle at her response. “They weren’t.”
“I repeat, idiots.”
“Yep.”
We smile at each other. And we look. I start at her dark hair. It’s down today and shiny, as usual. Her face looks fresh and makeup free, but I know she has some on; she’s definitely got something pink on her pretty lips. I scan down to her simple V-neck tee above a pair of jeans with holes in the knees. Her feet are covered in a pair of Birkenstocks. They look like they’ve seen better days, but she must love them because she wears them every day. I like them too because they give me a chance to see what color her toenails are today. They’re red.
“Cute toes,” I say softly as they step closer to me.
“Everything about you is cute.” Her voice has gotten soft and a little husky.
I recognize it. It’s her sexy voice. I also know when I look into her eyes, they’ll be dilated. We haven’t done it yet. Sex. We’ve done a lot of other things, but not the actual deed, and that’s on me. I hope to remedy that tonight after everyone leaves. I think we’ve done this right, because I wanted to take this thing with Kat and me slow. It’s probably not fair to her, but after the speed with which I ended up in bed with Daisy and the rash decisions I made, I had to take things slow this time around.
The thing between Kat and me started while I was in Missouri. The captain insisted I take a couple weeks off after Daisy’s confession, so I took the opportunity to head home to spend time with my family. While I was there, Kat and I talked almost every night. She started it off by getting my number from Quinn and calling me after hearing about Daisy. Her thoughtfulness touched me. She was concerned about me and my broken heart while I was only concerned about Daisy.
After I returned to Ames, Kat and I kept right on talking. For over a month we spoke almost every day. The days we didn’t, I missed her.
