“In which case, my mother would be, what? Just an opportunistic killing?”
Laurel put her hands on Huck’s thighs. “Yes. We have two women right now—both blondes, but that might be a coincidence. Maybe Delta was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Why would she be here at all?” Huck asked.
Laurel shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m hoping Nester can figure that out. She flew in by herself from Santa Fe.”
“Really?” Her palms were warm against his legs.
“Yes. I need to ask you—we keep calling her your mother. Do you want me to call her Delta or Ms. Rivers or Delta Rivers?”
He thought about it. “I know it bothers you when anybody refers to Pastor Caine as your father, but honestly, I don’t really care.” It surprised him that he meant it. He felt curiosity about Delta Rivers, and he would find the person who’d killed her. He owed her that much. She was who she was, and technically, she had been his mother. Even if he’d never met her. “Do you think Abbott would’ve needed to kill as soon as he had the chance?”
“I don’t know,” Laurel said. “He was locked up for a few months building fantasies in his head. Frankly, I’m surprised he stayed in this location. The smart move would’ve been to head to Seattle or any big city with a large homeless population where it would be easy to hide.”
“The fact that he called you concerns me,” Huck said. “I think he stayed here to deal with you and probably Abigail.” Laurel’s stomach audibly growled. Huck chuckled and lifted her up to stand. “I’m starving. Let’s go eat.”
“I have time for sustenance since we haven’t found Saul Bearing yet.”
Huck stood and slung an arm over her shoulders. “We have to get some protein in you. We can talk about whichever case you want.”
She surprisingly let him take some of her weight. “How about we refrain from talking about cases tonight? Let’s enjoy our dinner and engage in normal conversation.”
“Huh,” he said. He wasn’t entirely sure either one of them knew how to do that.
* * *
Laurel followed the hostess, winding around tables toward a two-top by the window at Alberto’s on the River with Huck’s hand at her lower back. He felt like a solid and sure presence behind her, which she needed right now.
“Laurel?”
She stopped cold and turned to see Abigail sitting across from Special Agent Wayne Norrs. “Abigail, hello.”
Huck stepped up beside her. “Hey, Norrs.”
Agent Norrs placed his crystal glass on the table. “Hi, Huck. Sorry about the interview on Saturday. I didn’t intend for it to go that long.”
“Not a problem. You have to do your job,” Huck said.
“I’m glad you stayed on the case, Laurel,” Norrs said.
She noticed a small smile playing on Abigail’s face. Obviously Norrs remained unaware of Laurel’s pregnancy, or he would’ve insisted she recuse herself. Why hadn’t Abigail told Norrs about the pregnancy? If she thought it was something to hold over Laurel’s head, she was misinterpreting the situation entirely. Yet, it was none of the special agent’s business, so Laurel felt no need to enlighten him, especially since she wanted to remain on the case and discover who had killed both Huck’s mother and Teri Bearing. Nobody deserved to die like that.
“You must join us,” Abigail said.
“Oh, no, thank you,” Laurel murmured. “We just want a quiet night out.”
Norrs snapped his fingers, and the waiter hurried over. “We have a big enough table. This is actually a four-top. Can we have the two chairs back?”
“Actually, we have things to discuss,” Huck murmured, “but we appreciate the offer.” His tone remained polite but firm.
Abigail’s eyes flared. “Now, Huck, I know you’re not a pococurante participant here, so please just have dinner with us.”
Laurel tried very hard not to roll her eyes. Abigail often used her extensive vocabulary to stab at Huck, but from what Laurel could tell, he honestly could not care less. “You’re right, Abigail. Huck is neither indifferent nor unconcerned,” she said. “But we have matters to discuss.”
“We’re family,” Abigail said, smiling widely. “Any matters the two of you might want to discuss are better served here at the table with us. You do understand me, correct?”
“I really don’t,” Laurel said, meaning it. What was Abigail talking about?
