He hummed. “Any idea what’s going on with them?”
“Not beyond the fact that he seems to like her. Greg suggested that he might have been the one to introduce her to David in the first place.”
“Greg did.”
It sounded less like a question than a statement, but I confirmed it. “He’s good at making up scenarios.”
The voice was definitely amused this time. “I bet.”
“He wondered whether Kenny might be involved with the mob. Or whether Kenny might have known Nick back when they were still teenagers getting in trouble. They’re about the same age. You wouldn’t think they’d run in the same circles, but who knows? Greg thought that might be how David met Jacquie in the first place. Some sort of long con on Kenny’s part.”
Or Nick’s. Or Jacquie’s.
“Something to look into,” Mendoza said. “Although I looked at…” He stopped and cleared his throat. The rest of that sentence would probably sound too much like cop-speak to anyone who might be listening in. “Listen, I gotta go. I have food up, that needs to get to the tables. I’ll call you back after my shift, OK?”
“Tomorrow,” I said firmly. “Jacquie’s supposed to stop by the office in the morning, either to explain about her and Kenny, or to ask for her money back. And we still have to update Zachary on what happened to Nick.”
“I’ll try to stop by. You sure you’re OK on your own?”
“I’m not on my own,” I said, even as I wondered what he’d say if I told him I wasn’t OK on my own. Would he insist on coming over?
“Newsome staying the night?”
“Not at all,” I said. “It’s just me and Edwina. She’ll wake me up if anything happens.”
“The idea is for nothing to happen.”
“You wouldn’t be able to stop anything from happening even if you were here.”
He was definitely amused now, and I wanted to hit my forehead against the coffee table a few times to knock some sense into myself. “Maybe not. But at least there’d be someone else there who could use the phone if something happened to you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I said. “I’m almost positive the paint thing was Kenny. It’s the kind of passive-aggressive, cowardly, thing he’d do. He’s not going to do anything that’d actually get him in trouble.” Like attacking me.
Besides, why would he? The whole restaurant, including Greg, had seen him with Jacquie, so it wasn’t like he could keep that part quiet by silencing me.
And it isn’t like it’s illegal to want to get in your father’s mistress’s panties anyway.
“Go back to work,” I told Mendoza. “Edwina and I are going to kick back with a few episodes of HGTV and a glass of wine. Maybe I’ll get an idea for what to do with my door now that it’s half red and half wood. And if you could send someone out to look around tomorrow, I’d appreciate it. Just in case Kenny was stupid enough to leave a paint can with his fingerprints all over it next to the driveway.”
Mendoza said he would. “Sleep well, Reggie.”
“You too,” I told him, “Detective.”
I put the phone down on the coffee table and turned to Edwina. “Someone’ll be here in the morning.”
She thumped her tail against the cushion.
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” I said. “Come on. Let’s go get a big glass of wine and a biscuit, and then head upstairs to bed. No reason to stay down here any longer than we have to.”
She uncurled herself, jumped off the sofa, and trotted after me into the kitchen.
* * *
Mendoza showed up at seven Monday morning, which was earlier than I’d expected but not an imposition for all that.
I’d gone to bed after two tranquil hours of HGTV, thinking I was calm and relaxed and that everything was fine. Recurrent nightmares full of blood—not red paint—and shadows sneaking around my house disabused me of that notion. When I woke with a shriek for the second time—setting Edwina off again, and giving both of us a heart attack—I gave up on sleep and headed down to the kitchen, where I drank too many cups of coffee while I kept walking into the hallway to look at the red-spattered glass in the door.
Edwina heard Mendoza arrive first, and announced his presence with her usual frenzied barking. I watched through the paint streaks as he got out of the Jeep and peered at the door for a moment before fishing a brown paper bag out of the Jeep. He headed around the corner, and I followed along inside the house and met him at the kitchen door. He looked annoyingly well-rested for someone who’d probably worked until after midnight. That’s youth for you. I’d done my best with eyedrops and makeup, but nothing could hide the fact that I was a forty-year-old widow who’d had a bad night’s sleep.
