“Andqualitywas the only reason you held onto it?”
“Yes.”
“And she recently sent you a replica. How did she know you lost it?”
“Hell if I know. Dad mighta told her. They talked from time to time. Before he died.”
“Where is it?”
“I pawned it.” The words came out sharper than intended. “The day of Seagrave’s funeral. It paid my electric bill. That was nice.”
A few moments passed and I could feel her disapproval. Or maybe it was my own.
“Jagger… How old are you?”
“Thirty-nine.”
“So you haven’t talked to your mom in twenty-four years?”
“No ma’am.”
“Jagger. Call her. Call her back.”
“No.” I cut her a warning glare. “Don’t, Sunny.”
“I’m just saying twenty-four years of a grudge has a way of shaping someone.”
“Do you have a psychology degree I’m unaware of?”
“Are you aware that your issues with your mom have totally shaped your personality? Especially with women?”
I tossed the blades of grass and picked up my drink, wishing now that it was from Long Island.
“It’s obvious you don’t trust women, or even respect them as you should. One might even call you a bit sexist, Detective.”
“Now just a minute there, Susan D. Anthony. That’s one hell of a label.”
“It’s B.”
“What?”
“B. Susan B. Anthony.”
“Oh.”
“When was your last real relationship?”
“Define real.”
“Real, as in, I am her boyfriend, and she is my girlfriend, and we are committed and even thinking about moving into together.”
“Never.”
“And the last time you took a woman on a real date? Flowers, food that doesn’t involve processed meat, opened the car door for her, walked her to her door after, the works?”
“Never.”
“When was the last time you bought a woman a real gift?”
