months ago. Canned. Stored. Stale. More than likely brewed without using filtered water and with no real concern for the number of tablespoons of beans per six ounces of water. Trying not to think about all that, I changed the subject. “Your pharmacy. How’s it going?”
“They opened a Walgreens in town, so that hasn’t helped. But we’re hanging in there. And you’re still in Denver?”
I was ashamed she would even have to ask such a question. It underlined how poorly I’d stayed in touch with her and Sean. I decided to take the “you” in the plural sense. “We’re still in Denver. Yes.”
“And Tessa? How is she?”
“She’s doing okay. Considering.”
Amber had sent her condolences and spoken with Tessa on the phone several times after her father’s death last summer. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said softly. “I’ve been praying for her.”
Okay, that was a side of Amber I’d never seen before.
“That means a lot. Thank you.”
“Is she going to make it up here?”
“Actually, no. I was worried about the snow and told her to stay in the Cities for a couple extra days. Hopefully, though, we can arrange a visit sometime soon.”
“That’ll be nice.”
Seeing Amber, being with her alone at a restaurant again, made me realize my feelings for her had never completely gone away, and that made things all the more uncomfortable.
This was one time I wished I could just turn off my emotions, but it’s never worked that way with me. Sometimes my feelings come uninvited, when I don’t want them to; sometimes they leave despite my best attempts at hanging on to them. It can be disconcerting.
She smiled again in her free and affectionate way, and I wished she hadn’t. It brought too much back.
Sean, where are you?
“It’s possible we’ll be moving to DC,” I commented. “There’s an opening at the Academy, and they’re asking if I’d be interested in teaching again.”
“Would that keep you out of the field?”
“The Bureau wants its instructors to keep working cases every week.”
“To stay sharp.”
“Yes.”
I looked away, first toward the door to see if Sean might have arrived, then to Nan, who was bringing our coffee.
“Now,” Amber warned her, “he’ll tell you if this coffee is any good.”
“It should be.” Nan looked concerned. “They just made it.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” I took the cup, added a touch of cream and honey, but before I could try it Nan asked me urgently, “Have you decided what you want?”
“Well, there’s one more person in our party.”
Amber waved her hand dismissively. “Sean told me to just go ahead and order. I’m not sure if he’ll be eating anything or not.” She tapped the menu and told me, “The Reuben’s good.”
I hadn’t even had a chance to look over the menu. “Well, I’m a cheeseburger guy at heart,” I replied. Then to Nan, “Give it the works, except-”
“Hold the mustard and pickles,” Amber interrupted.
“Yes. Hold the mustard and pickles.”
Nan wrote it down.
“I’ll go for the Reuben,” Amber told her.
“Fries or chips?” The question was directed at both of us.
“Fries,” I said.
“Fries for me too,” Amber told her.
Nan left for the kitchen, scribbling notes to herself as if her life, or at least her job, depended on correctly writing down word-for-word our rather unremarkable order.
Amber watched me expectantly. I braced myself and took a sip of my coffee.
Wow.
Nice.
“Well?”
Though I wasn’t a big fan of flavored coffee, this wasn’t bad. “I like it,” I replied. “Air roasted. Mexican beans. They added undertones of caramel, a hint of butterscotch. Graceful acidity, respectable body.”
She smiled. “It’s called Highlander Grog. There’s a roaster down in Watertown. Berres Brothers. They do mostly internet orders. This is the only local place that uses their coffee.”
A thought.
“That’s why you suggested we meet here.”
She held up her hands in fake surrender. “You got me.”
Sean entered the front door, stowed his snowmobile helmet and gloves in one of the wooden cubicles just inside the entryway. Thank goodness.
Amber tried some of her coffee. “I can hardly believe you knew the country of origin from just one sip.”
Sean was weaving between the tables on his way toward us.
“Maybe I was making that up,” I said.
“I doubt that.”
Then Sean arrived.
21
My brother had grown a thick beard since the last time I saw him. Wild brown hair. Dark retrospective eyes. Decades of fishing and hunting trips had left the skin around his eyes tough and weathered. He’d always seemed like the kind of guy who would’ve been at home in frontier times forging his way west through the untamed wilderness.
We’ve seen each other twice in the last three years-once at my wedding and once at Christie’s funeral. He likes to bowl, volunteers with the Jaycees, enjoys relaxing in his jon boat with a six-pack of ice-cold Old Style, and we never talk on the phone because we never seem to have anything to say.
“Good to see you, Pat.” He shook my hand. Brisk. Firm.
“You too.”
“Hey, Amber,” he said with a quick look in her direction.
“Hello, sweetie.”
Sean was two years older than I was and had been married once before. His wife left him, though, eight years ago, taking their son with her. She’d moved to Phoenix and only let Andy visit Sean for a few weeks every summer. Andy was nine now. Sean preferred not speaking about that part of his life, and I knew better than to bring it up.
He took a seat beside Amber, then drew in a heavy breath. “I gotta say: terrible thing, though. You having to come in under these circumstances.”
There was no good way to reply to that. “It’s heartbreaking what happened.”
“I knew ’em, Pat. Donnie and his wife.” He shifted his gaze to the window. “And Lizzie.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“We used to go out muskie fishing on Tomahawk Lake, Donnie and I.”
I noticed that he was referring to Donnie in the past tense. “How long have you known him?” I tried to frame my question in the present tense.
“Eight, ten years, I guess. I just can’t see him doing something like that. Not Donnie.”
Whether or not Donnie had anything to do with the killings, Sean’s words didn’t surprise me. Over the years, every killer, every rapist, every arsonist I’ve caught has been friends with somebody, trusted by somebody, loved by
