"Let me guess. You read about the case on some obscure message board and now you're curious?"
"Not quite. I host a true crime podcast?—"
His palm shoots out, stopping me. "Do you know how many true crime junkies I've had call me over the years? Someone runs an old episode ofUnsolved Casesand my department gets flooded with tips." He grimaces as he wrestles with the knotted tie at his neck, attempting to loosen it. "This department does not have the funds todeal with it. I'm stretched thin as it is. When Olive Township grows, the police force must grow alongside it. I'll let you guess which one has grown, and which one hasn't."
"I'm not asking for any of your resources," I assure him. "Only the case file."
"I thought you had a few questions, and now you're asking for the case file?"
"You're busy," I remind him. "Your time is valuable."
"If you want the file, you'll have to make a public records request."
Asshole. I know exactly what he's doing. "That'll take weeks."
"Maybe even months," he adds, reaching for his coffee.
Cool. A detective on a power trip. This is fun.
"It would be a lot easier if you could simply hand me the file. I'm sure it's in its physical form. I doubt you were electronic back then."
He takes a sip of coffee. A few drops dribble out from the lid, land squarely in the center of his white shirt. "And you think you're going to find something in there our entire department missed? Simon was one of our own, and we did everything we could to find out what happened."
It's mostly ego keeping the detective from cooperating, but perhaps it's a pinch of disappointment, too. In himself, in his department. He wanted to be the one to solve the murder, find justice for the beloved Simon.
"It doesn't hurt to have a fresh set of eyes after all this time."
"Do the De la Vegas know you're poking your nose into their business?"
"I'm staying at Summerhill."
He flinches at the admission. "I can call Sonya or Hugo right now and verify that."
I smile serenely. "So can I."
He looks down. Notices the coffee on his shirt. With an aggrieved sigh, he removes a packet of stain wipes from the top drawer of his desk. Wiping at himself, he says, "I'll get one of my desk sergeants to find it. Might take a couple weeks. It's in archives."
I wince at the idea of Simon's case sitting in archives, collecting dust. Forgotten. Somewhere in Phoenix, Maggie's file does the same.
"I appreciate it." I stand up, removing a business card from my purse and placing it in the center of his desk. It was Jolene's idea to have them made. "Have a nice day, Detective Towles."
"Same to you," he peers at the card. "Miss Hawkins."
I exit his office, retrace my steps back to the front. "Have a lovely day, Mrs. Black," I say on my way by. Her eyes burn with curiosity. I'm sure she thought I was on a well-traveled boulevard of broken dreams.
Even though I don't have the file in hand yet, this feels like a win. When I have dinner with Hugo's family tonight, I'll be able to tell them I'm making progress.
The development with the case file makes me happy, and I reach for my phone, pausing outside the doctor's office.
I want Hugo. Here, with me. I want to do all this with him.
"Excuse me, miss, are you new in town?"
My head whips to the voice. Deep, rich, curling into my bones. My grin is automatic, reaching my eyes. I think it may reach down into my heart, too. "What are you doing here?"
Hugo steps in beside me. No hesitation. His arm goes around my waist. Right here on the street for all to see. "The more you see someone show up for you, the more you'll let them." He drops a kiss to my forehead. "So, here I am."
I reach up, palm his cheek. My heart becomes more than a life source, it's a conduit for happiness. How does Hugo do it? So readily, so generous. No reservation.
