I glanced at a faded blue baseball cap hanging on a wooden coatrack in the corner of my office, with the words “It’s Heavenly…” embroidered on the brim. The cap had belonged to Chris Raleigh. He’d given it to me during a beautiful weekend up at Heavenly Valley, where the outside world had seemed to disappear for a while and both of us had opened up to what was starting to take place between us.
“Don’t let me mess up,” I whispered. I felt my eyes begin to sting with tears. God, I wished he was here. “You sonofabitch…” I shook my head at the hat. “I miss you.”
Chapter 15
IT TOOK NO MORE than a minute of settling back in our old booth at Susie’s to feel the magic begin to spark, and to realize it was happening all over again.
A troublesome case that was getting worse. A pitcher full of high-octane margaritas. My three best friends, all at the top of law enforcement. I was afraid that our murder club was back in business.
“Just like old times?” Claire smiled, scooting her large frame over to make room for me.
“In more ways than you know.” I sighed. Then, pouring myself a frothy drink, “Jesus, do I need one of these.”
“Tough day?” Jill inquired.
“No,” I shook my head. “Routine. Piece of cake.”
“That paperwork, it’ll drive anyone to drink.” Claire shrugged, taking a sip of her margarita. “Cheers. Great to see you wenches.”
There was an obvious level of anticipation buzzing through the group. As I took a sip myself, I scanned around. All eyes were focused on me.
“Uh-uh.” I almost spit into my drink. “I can’t get into it. Don’t even start.”
“I told you,” Jill croaked with a confirming smile. “Things have changed. Lindsay’s management now.”
“That’s not it, Jill. There’s a gag order. Mercer’s got this thing shut down. Besides, I thought we were here for you.”
Jill’s sharp blue eyes twinkled. “The representative from the district attorney’s office is willing to cede the floor to her esteemed colleague from the third floor.”
“Jesus, guys, I’ve been on this case for two days.”
“What the hell else is anybody in the city talking about?” said Claire. “You want to hear about my day? I did a full frontal at ten, then a talk at SFU on the pathology of—”
“We could talk about global warming,” Cindy said, “or this book I’m reading, The Death of Vishnu.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it,” I protested. “It’s just that it’s sealed, confidential.”
“Confidential, like what I turned you on to in Oakland?” Cindy asked.
“We have to talk about that,” I said. “After.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Jill said. “You share it with us. Like always. Then I’ll share something. You judge which is juicier. Winner pays the check.”
I knew it was only a matter of time before I gave in. How could I keep secrets from my girls? It was all over the news—at least part of it. And there weren’t three sharper minds anywhere in the Hall.
I let out an expectant sigh. “This all stays here.”
“Of course,” Jill and Claire said. “Duh.”
I turned to Cindy. “And that means you don’t go to press. With any of it. Until I say so.”
“Why do I get the sense I’m always being blackmailed by you?” She shook her head, then acquiesced. “Fine. Deal.”
Jill filled up my glass. “I knew we’d eventually break you down.”
I took a sip. “Nah. I decided to tell you when you said, ‘Tough day?’ ”
Piece by piece, I took them through the case so far. The decal Bernard Smith had seen on the getaway van. The identical drawing I had found in Oakland. The possibility that Estelle Chipman might have been murdered. Claire’s thought that Tasha Catchings may not have been an accidental target after all.