“You wouldn’t have to set an alarm.”
“Even better. Should I make a reservation?”
“I think I’d like that.”
“Me too.” Warmth rolled through my veins and tickled pleasantly in my belly as I studied the hesitant pathologist.
Dominique tipped his chin to the door. “Shall we?”
We wandered outside to the parking lot. Traffic had picked up on the main road with sunup. People headed off to work. A hint of exhaust fumes lingered in the crisp winter air. My car was closer. We wandered that far and stopped. I pulled out my keys and bounced them in my palm.
“So…”
“So,” he repeated.
We stared at one another.
I had to fight the impulse to take his hand or kiss him. He’d made no romantic advances so far, apart from the brief contact of our knees under the table at the Apothecary, so I didn’t know where we stood.
Most of the men I’d dated drew a line at public displays of affection, and I didn’t know Dominique well enough to judge his views on the matter. I got the sense this date was already a difficult first step after losing his wife.
I didn’t want to drive him away.
Unsure what to say, the silence stretched from one second to the next.
Again, it was Dominique who broke the ice. “Keep me posted with your case. I’m curious what you find on this Jesse guy and if your theories pan out.”
I chuckled. “They rarely do. I’ll text you.”
I earned a Dominique smile before he backed away. “Have a good day, Detective.”
10
Kobe
Blaze Freely, Jesse Vargas’sex-girlfriend, was a fourth-year med student who lived in an apartment off campus with two other women. Her roommates were in class that morning, and Blaze, who was supposed to be putting in hours for her clinical rotation, had called in after we’d insisted on an interview.
Rue and I turned down her offer of coffee, and the three of us settled in Blaze’s sparsely decorated living room among a clutter of university student detritus. She apologized for the mess countless times as she relocated stacks of textbooks and notebooks to the kitchen and cleared an excess of dirty plates and cups that appeared to be growing mold.
The apartment smelled of fruity bodywash with an underlying hint of burnt microwave popcorn and garlic.
Blaze was unassuming in every way, neither tall nor short, heavyset nor thin. She had the pale skin of a redhead but sported thick dark-brown hair and deep brown eyes with long lashes. A University of Ottawa hoodie, three sizes too big, swallowed her tiny frame. She toyed with a colorful scarf or wrap—I wasn’tsure what they were called—that had been looped several times around her neck. Every so often, she chewed the tassels.
Blaze had a girl-next-door quality with a subtle beauty that became more apparent the longer you looked at her, like she intentionally hid behind baggy clothing, hoping to go unnoticed.
She rippled with tension, glancing more than once in my direction with mistrust. I almost excused myself and let Rue conduct the interview alone. The woman was clearly uncomfortable in my presence, and since she didn’t react the same when she looked at my partner, I assumed my masculinity was the cause. Only because it pinged on my radar did I stick around.
I lingered at a safe distance and tried not to look imposing while Rue got things started. My job would be to assess Blaze’s demeanor and look for signs of dishonesty or deception.
“Thank you for meeting with us, Ms. Freely.”
The nervous woman nodded, tucking her hands inside the wrap and brushing it against her chin. “You can call me Blaze.”
“Do you know why we’re here, Blaze?”
“Jesse’s dead. Everyone on campus is talking about it. Someone killed him.”
“That’s right. Early Sunday morning. We’re chatting with his friends, family, and the people who knew him well. Our goal is to gain knowledge of who he was, what types of activities he participated in, and what his routine looked like. We especially want to know if he had any enemies. When’s the last time you spoke with Jesse?”
