“Sounds like a good idea,” Uncle Hank said, glaring over at his rookie. “Officer Regis, go monitor the transfer of the body. And if you pull your weapon again, you and I,” he pointed between them, “are going to have a serious problem. Kapeesh?”
“Yes, sir,” Officer Regis said before scurrying out the door.
Tasha Gordon worked at the coroner’s office, where we’d met on several cases. I liked her, which was odd because I didn’t like a lot of people. I filled a cup of coffee in the kitchen and carried it out to her. She and Uncle Hank were inspecting the gun that Pauly had given me.
“This is a decent piece,” Uncle Hank said. “Why’d he give it to you?”
“I’m pretty sure he stole it, but I didn’t ask any questions. He told me he got it for protection but knew it’d be dumb to shoot up heroin while carrying a loaded weapon. He left it with me for safekeeping.”
“For safekeeping? Didn’t he know you’re a cop?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes he’d forget. He’s fried a few brain cells over the years.”
“Why did he need protection?” Tasha asked.
“He wouldn’t say, but he was acting odd. Real skittish, but his speech wasn’t rushed, like it would get when he was high. Also…” I paused, concentrating my thoughts on Pauly.
“Also, what?” Uncle Hank asked.
“This isn’t going to sound logical, but Pauly wasn’t your typical addict. I mean, yes, he was hooked on heroin, but he was scared to death of overdosing. Are you sure he didn’t fall down the stairs and crack his head?”
“Then dragged himself under the stairs?” Tasha asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe one of my neighbors moved him? Not realizing he was dead?”
“You know addicts only pretend to be in control, Kid,” Uncle Hank said, reaching over the table to pat my hand. “He had a needle buried in his arm. I’d bet a twenty that cause of death was an overdose.”
I leaned back in my chair and released a slow breath. “Then you owe me twenty bucks. Pauly shot up between his fingers or his toes.”
“You sure?” Uncle Hank asked.
“Positive. He worked irregular construction and carpentry jobs to pay for his habit. You can’t get hired with track marks covering your arms, and you can’t work construction in Florida wearing long sleeves. Thus, he shot up between his fingers and toes so it would be less noticeable.”
Uncle Hank stood abruptly. “Shit.”
Tasha’s head whipped back toward the door. “Damn it. We left our trainees in charge of a murder case?”
They both rushed through the still open door.
I returned to the kitchen to dig out a new bag of coffee, starting another pot. I had a feeling more cops would be arriving soon.
Chapter Seven
KELSEY
Sunday, 7:02 a.m.
Showered, dressed, hair and make-up in place, I walked down the hall into a deserted dining room. “Where is everyone? It’s Sunday,” I asked Hattie.
“Oh, here and there,” she answered as she set a cup of coffee down for me at the dining room table. “Alex and the girls are at the store, getting everything closed down for the winter break. They shouldn’t be long since it was another sell out day yesterday. The graphic changes Nicholas made on the website were a hit. He’s a natural.” Hattie walked over and filled Pop’s cup as he read his paper at the end of the breakfast bar.
“I saw the website,” I said. “It looked great. I might need to put Nicholas in touch with Diego in Pittsburgh and start him on a career in marketing.”
Pops chuckled from the other side of his paper. “As if you’d get that lucky. Nicholas is in the basement with Bones as we speak, working on his boxing skills.”
“Figures,” I said as I slid a stack of folders aside. “Where’s Sara?”
Hattie sat at the table across from me, sliding another stack of files out of her way. “With Whiskey doing a walk-through of the new houses. Any chance you’re going to move back to the War Room soon?” She motioned at the files on the table.
I looked down the long dining room table, cluttered with papers, pens, files, and laptops. It had been two weeks since I last ventured across the street to Headquarters. In that time, I’d turned our dining room into my personal office, all in the spirit of avoiding Grady. “I don’t want to go back.”
“Chicken,” Pops mumbled, still looking at his paper.
Hattie giggled. “He’s right. You’re being a coward, dear.”
“Are you kicking me out of my own house?”
Hattie tried to hide her grin. “Your files and the mess that comes with it, yes. I want my table back.”
“Why do you care? You’re flying back to Texas tomorrow.”
“Because,” Pops said as he folded the paper and placed it on the countertop, “she needs to know you’ll be all right before she leaves, and the only way to know that for sure, is if you put on your big girl breeches and go face Grady.”
I looked at Hattie and found her grinning down at the table as she sipped her coffee.
“Fine. I’ll go hunt down some boxes and pack everything.”
“I brought boxes,” Bridget said as she juggled three empty boxes through the kitchen door. “Hattie texted me that it was moving day and I came prepared.” She kicked the door closed with her heel before walking over and dropping the boxes at my feet. “Personally, I’m glad you’re coming back to the War Room. It’s too quiet and boring without you and Tech bickering all day.”
Tech was entering through the balcony slider and had heard Bridget. “We still bicker. We just do it over the phone.”
“But I don’t get to hear both sides, so it’s not as much fun for me,” Bridget said as she piled a stack
