But what else is there?
Epilogue
Six Months Later
Ipause my work in the kitchen when a knock sounds on my front door. “It’s open,” I say loud enough for her to hear, then wait and watch.
When she opens the door, a big smile slides across her face, which causes a chain reaction. Like my heart jumping in my chest at the sight of her. I smile back, of course. When she walks around the counter, gets up on her tiptoes, and kisses me on the cheek, saying, “Hey, babe,” I feel it everywhere.
Turning to face her, I lean down and kiss her lips. “Hey. How you doin’?”
“Good now, unicorn.”
I roll my eyes. She doesn’t call me “unicorn” often, but every once in a while, she throws it out there. “I’m just an average man, Kat.”
“Ha! You’re definitelynotaverage, Gage.” She laughs, then pats my ass as she moves around me to the fridge. “Beer?”
I’m not sure if she’s asking me if she can have one or if I want one. The answer to both is “Yes.”
“Ooh, you got the good stuff.” She sets a couple bottles of a local brew next to the steaks on the counter, and I reach out to open hers. Those caps can be tough.
“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 forher. 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 sureIwas okay after everything with Daisy happened.
“Idiots,” she grumbles. “How drunk were they?”
I chuckle at her response. “They weren’t.”
“I repeat, idiots.”
