“Okay, and they already think you killed Rafaello Luchesi, right?”
“Mmmm, I told him it was a recent acquisition.”
“Let’s say it was Corman who set up the attack on the meeting. He wants to get you out of the way for the Luchesis to move in. And he’s already betrayed them once before, so maybe he just wants everybody to go away now? Take over the city himself?”
“Not bad,” Cold said with an approving nod. “You’d make a decent detective if the lawyer gig doesn’t pan out, Mr. Poe.”
Jimmy laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve probably just been watching way too many movies. I mean, if I was a real detective, I’d know how Rafaello’s ring ended up in my mother’s jewelry box.”
“How indeed,” Cold said mysteriously.
“Why won’t you tell me?” Jimmy pouted.
“Because I’m not sure I’m right yet,” Cold answered honestly. “And to help you, to help your father, I have to be absolutely sure.”
Jimmy nodded but couldn’t hide his disappointment. He stared off for a while, hesitating for a long moment. “I still think about her all the time,” he admitted quietly. “Do you... do you ever think about your mom?”
“Sometimes,” Cold replied softly, “but it’s hard to think about someone you never met.”
“I saw her pictures. She was freakin’ beautiful.” Jimmy smiled, adding kindly, “You look so much like her.”
Cold seemed pleased with that, noting, “Mmm, definitely didn’t inherit the talent, that’s for sure. Did your mother sing?”
“All the time,” Jimmy said with a grin. “And God, she was so gorgeous. Like, I always used to think she looked like a movie star.”
“Mmm.”
“I have pictures,” Jimmy said, trying not to sound too eager.
“Let’s see,” Cold chuckled softly, clearly amused by Jimmy’s excitement.
Jimmy bounced off the bed to pick up the shoebox, grinning as he held it tightly to his chest. He took out the jewelry box, lovingly setting it on the bedside table before crawling back under the blankets with Cold.
Flipping through photographs, he finally settled on one of him and his mother at a picnic, offering it out shyly for Cold’s inspection. “That’s me and my mom.”
Cold quirked a brow, noting, “She’s very beautiful, Jimmy... and this is you next to her? Youwereblond...”
“Thanks,” Jimmy gushed. “And yeah! My hair was super light when I was a kid. It started getting darker, eh, around seventh grade I think.” He kept flipping through pictures, finding a portrait from his Little League days.
“Huh,” Cold said, curiously glancing over the photograph.
“Yeah, and you see my jersey number?” Jimmy grinned. “Nineteen. See, it’s really like my lucky number. I only had nineteen cents in my pocket the day we met. I’ll never forget that. Oh, and Rowena shot Dickie nineteen times; well, I don’t know if I should count that or not, but eh, still nineteen.”
Cold had the strangest look on his face, still staring at the young picture of Jimmy.
“What? Is my number story not exciting enough for you?” Jimmy teased.
Cold looked up at him, saying slowly, “Jimmy...”
“Yes?”
“I know who killed your mother.” There was not a shred of doubt in his eyes.
Still, Jimmy scoffed, “Come on.”
Cold didn’t say anything.
“You’re serious. Well... who?”
