“A trip to Catalina might be closer to the target,” Amos replied.
Zia waited until everyone had finished their desserts and recharged their mugs, then turned his attention to Jenna. “So. This gig of yours.”
Jenna had the sense all the cops and many of their wives had been waiting for this. Someone to ask questions about her work. “Yes.”
Sol was seated on the long table’s opposite side, down between Noah and Amos. He said, “In Jenna’s case, it is a true calling.”
Zia pushed his chin forward. A facial shrug. “Calling, job, whatever.”
“There’s a difference,” Sol replied. “A big one.”
“Never argue with a lawyer,” Amos said. “Especially one of the good guys.”
Sol went on. “Jenna specializes in situations where there isn’t anyone else.”
Zia asked Sol, “The lady can’t answer for herself?”
“Just protecting my clients,” Sol replied. “I’ve handled Jenna’s contracts since she started down this road.”
Jenna decided it was time to weigh in for herself. “Sometimes they’re just alone, as in no family to speak of. Most times, though, it’s more complicated.”
“Families spread out over thousands of miles,” Sol said. “Busy with work and children and problems of their own.”
“They face issues that can’t be set aside because a relative is ill,” Jenna said. “It’s one thing to travel in for a weekend or a week. Another to be there for as long as it takes.”
“Jenna handles everything involved in caring for such people,” Sol said. “Emphasis on the wordcare. Families know they can trust her to do what they can’t. Jenna moves in. She’s on call twenty-four/seven.”
“I have help.”
“Jenna hires carers for the nights, and to spell her on rare days off. But she’s the one the families rely on.” Sol’s dark eyes sparked in the candles and torchlight. “I’ve heard it from countless clients. Jenna is there for her patients. Heart and soul.”
“Everyone needs a friend at the end,” Jenna said.
“For every new client Jenna takes on,” Sol said, “I turn down ten. More.”
“You never told me that.”
“Why should I trouble you with all the pleadings and desperation? That’s my job.”
The tall grass beyond the light’s perimeter rustled and rushed. Silence held the group until Zia said, “What about this last guy?”
“Dino Vicenza,” Sol said. “He was altogether different. His family . . .”
“Let’s not spoil the night,” Jenna said.
But Zia insisted, “What about the guy’s family?”
His wife said, “Zia, honey, your fangs are showing.”
“I’m just saying—”
“And I’m saying, let it go. Else I’ll make you go sit in the car.”
Jenna could see how the group took a mental step back. Cops and their families, most of them, were used to direct questions, equally straight answers, and boundaries around what they might never uncover. But she wasn’t done. She knew it with a certainty that defied logic.
“I want to tell them,” she said. “About what happened.”
Sol did not appear the least surprised. He asked, “Are you sure that’s wise?”
