“Let’s wait until tomorrow,” I said. “If we tell him now, he’ll just spend the rest of the day feeling guilty about following Nick home Friday night and not doing anything to prevent him being shot.”
“As if there was anything he could have done,” Rachel huffed.
“Even so. You know what he’s like.”
“I do. All right. Tomorrow morning, then. You’ll fill us both in on everything?”
“Every detail,” I promised.
“I can’t wait.” Rachel’s tone was dry. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”
“Bright and early,” I confirmed. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”
“You too. And Gina? Be careful.”
“Always,” I lied, and hung up.
The coffee was ready by the time I put the phone down. I poured myself a cup, added cream and sugar, and stood at the counter sipping it while I stared out the window at the mostly bare branches bisecting the gray sky. The whole day stretched in front of me with nothing to do but mull over the murder and take Edwina for walks. How had I ended up here? Four months ago, I’d been a happily married trophy wife with a reasonably-doting husband and a full life.
All right, so maybe my husband had had a mistress on the side that I hadn’t known about, and maybe I’d been bored a lot because he always ‘worked late’… but I hadn’t realized any of that. And now here I was, with only a Boston Terrier for company while Rachel had Daniel and Zachary had whoever his current roommate was, and Mendoza had his undercover job, and Elias and maybe Megan, and Jacquie…
And that’s where I ran out of self pity. I might be alone, but at least my boyfriend hadn’t been killed yesterday. David’s death had happened months ago, and I hadn’t grieved much then. I was better off now than I’d been six months ago in almost every way. So what if I was bored and alone on a Sunday morning? I had my life and my health—and my dog—and we could find something to do if we tried. There were people much worse off than me.
My phone rang again, and I glanced at the screen expecting it to be Rachel calling back with a follow-up question.
It wasn’t. It was Greg instead. Someone I hadn’t thought to mention in my mental lineup of blessings. What did that tell me?
Nothing I wanted to ponder at the moment, I decided, as I answered the call. “This is Gina.”
“Morning, gorgeous.” His voice was bright and warm and sunny. “How are you?”
“Tired,” I admitted. “It’s been a long weekend already.”
“I can imagine. Listen, I was thinking—” He cleared his throat. “I don’t have any plans for today, and I’d like to spend some time with you. If you need company for your surveillance, I’m available. I make an excellent lookout, and I promise to bring better snacks than you usually pack for these things.”
I had to smile despite everything. “That’s sweet of you, but I’m not doing any surveillance today. The case has sort of... imploded.”
He blinked. I could hear it even through the phone. “Imploded how?”
“Nick’s dead,” I said bluntly. “Shot in his bed two nights ago.”
There was a beat of silence. “Christ, Gina. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Shaken, but fine.”
“Did you—” He stopped, then started again. “Were you there when it happened? Outside, I mean? Did it happen while you were watching him?”
“No.” And thank God for that, because then I really would feel guilty. “No, I found him after he was dead. The next morning. When I went to talk to him.”
Another pause. “That’s the second body you’ve found since I met you.”
Yes, it was. There had been a couple before that, too.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Greg asked.
“Not particularly. Not right now, anyway.”
“Fair enough.” His voice was warm, understanding. “How about dinner instead? We can go somewhere nice, somewhere that isn’t Sambuca. We’ll have a good meal, and you can either tell me all about it, or we can talk about literally anything else.”
