Rich was one of Duke’s neighbors. And a snoodle was what people in Fairbanks had taken to calling tubes of snow that started to sag away from poles and traffic lights.
Locals had created a whole Facebook page just so they could post about them.
“You ever been to San Francisco before?” Duke asked.
Andi shook her head. “Actually, no, I haven’t. I haven’t spent much time in many states other than Texas and Alaska. I did a few law conferences here and there on occasion, but I didn’t see much of anything except the inside of my hotel. But my dad came to this area once, and he said he wanted to bring me here sometime. Said I would love Northern California.”
Her dad had been a long-haul truck driver for a while, so he was able to see parts of the country she hadn’t.
“Speaking of your dad . . . how is he?” Duke asked.
“He seems to be doing well. He’s hoping maybe he can come to our show in Albuquerque. I would love to see him. But, as you know, I’m headed home for Christmas, so at least I’ll see him then.” She squeezed his hand. “And I’ll get to be with you at the same time.”
“I can’t wait.”
Her gaze drifted out the window at the city as they passed. “I always thought I would travel more.”
“Where would you go if you did?”
“Paris.” She didn’t have to think about her response.
Duke threw her a look of surprise. “Paris?”
She chuckled. “I know—surprising. But I’ve always wanted to go there—to see the Eiffel Tower. It just . . . I don’t know. It just seems so romantic.”
“Good to know.”
She glanced at him. “How about you? Have you been here before?”
“I came here once with some friends for a bachelor party. An old friend from the Army. It’s a beautiful area.”
“Yes, it is.”
She rubbed the bridge of her nose and forced her gaze outside.
Gina’s neighborhood was in an older part of San Francisco—brick apartment buildings, narrow tree-lined streets, a mix of tidy front stoops and overflowing recycling bins. Small businesses—laundromats, corner markets, a coffee shop advertising pumpkin lattes—hugged the intersections. A bus sighed at a stop, letting out a handful of people in raincoats and hoodies.
As they turned down a side street, Duke slowed.
“There.” Andi pointed.
The apartment building rose three stories tall, a faded red-brick structure with narrow windows and iron balconies that had probably been charming at some point. Now they sagged slightly, streaked with rust, a few potted plants clinging to life on the second floor. A metal stairwell zigzagged up one side, paint chipped in spots.
A narrow strip of lawn ran along the front, interrupted by a concrete walkway leading to a glass-front entry door with a security panel beside it. The glass had been cleaned recently but not well—streaks remained where someone’s rag had missed.
The mist beaded on the windshield as Duke eased into a spot near the curb and killed the engine. They just needed to wait for Pam to get here. They were a few minutes early.
Maybe Gina’s apartment would offer some answers.
Andi glanced between her and Duke at the can of Yukon Yeti: Arctic Focus that sat in the cup holder. Its electric-blue label practically glowed in the dim morning. Rupert had made sure a case of the stuff arrived at the new hotel before they did.
“The breakfast of champions,” Duke murmured.
Andi eyed it like it was radioactive waste. “No, thanks. I’d rather lick a subway pole.”
His mouth twitched with a subdued smile.
Her phone buzzed in her hand before she could shove it back into her bag. She glanced at the screen and groaned.
