“Mia, honey?” Leaning closer, I purposely keep my voice low in hopes of teaching the girl my expectations. “I know it’s a bit tricky to understand, but it’s not appropriate to discuss people’s business in public like that. I don’t want everyone to know about my medicine, and since it’smymedicine, and not yours, it’smynews to tell. Not yours.”
“So it’s like a secret?” she whispers, but her whisper is more like a hissed shout. “IT’S A SECRET, MINKA?”
I drop my head and press my palms to my eyes. “It’s not a secret. And if any grown-up ever tells you to keep a secret,” I bring my gaze up again, “you tell me or Daddy, okay? No adult should ever tell you to keep a secret. But my medicine is my news. Do you understand the difference?”
She studies me for a moment, curious and probing. Then, after nodding to confirm she understands, she shatters my relief with a quick, “Nup. I don’t get it.”
Two booths down, the strange man chuckles into his coffee mug.
“I’m sorry.” Red-faced and entirely too amused, he risks a peek across to me. “Kids say the craziest things, and this one has got you all in a tizzy.”
“I’m not in a tizzy. I’m just… trying to educate.”
“She’s practically a baby.” Twisting his torso and setting his elbow on the top of the booth seat, he momentarily reminds me of someone I’m certain I know. It’s fleeting. In my mind, and then gone, long before I get the chance to latch on and dissect the thought. “She’s too young to understand the delicacies of adult discretion.”
“Heh.”
I have no interest in discussing children, or medication, or anything else with this strange man who can’t be more than a few years older than me, so I give him one of my pleasant smiles. The kind I reserve for dealing with the public, so it shows I haven’t ignored them, but the conversation is clearly over.
“We’ll keep working on it,” I say noncommittally, then I look back to the TV to find Tiffany Hewitt starting her morning, fresh as a daisy and clearly running on more sleep than I got.
“We have breaking news coming out of Channel Nine this morning.”
Instantly, the screen flashes with images of Fletch and Archer on Jane’s crime scene. In a few of the clips, I see me in my date-dress and heels.
When the camera is back on Tiffany’s face, she looks directly into the viewers’ eyes. “Detectives out of Copeland PD are requesting the help of the public to identify this woman.”
They swap the anchor for a drawing of Jane.
The artist did a good job, showing us the face I’ve already created in my mind. Instead of being dead and expressionless, the artist shows her eyes open. Her lashes long and curled up. Her lips curved into the barest smile.
“The police, as well as us here at Channel Nine, urge anyone who recognizes this woman to call in with information.”
“Hmm…” The stranger sitting a few places down hums under his breath. “Is she deceased,” he spares a glance for Mia, communicating to me he chose his word intentionally, “or a suspect?”
I say nothing. I don’t acknowledge his words at all. And when the server sets down our plates, I simply unwrap the silverware and pass a fork to Mia.
“Be careful, Moo. It’s going to be hot.”
“Okay.” She sets her monkey on the seat to her left and leans over her scrambled eggs with eyes as wide as the plate they’re on. “They smell so good.”
“Eat up and keep going till you feel them in your tummy.” I fix my plate in front of me and unwrap a second set of silverware. “What do you think you’ll do at daycare today? Maybe a little arts and crafts?”
“Mmm.” She slurps a mouthful of egg. “Maybe. I like to draw. Oh!” She looks across to the television, then her hand comes up to point at the footage of Fletch and Arch. “It’s Daddy!”
“Uh-huh.” I keep my voice down, because the stranger is listening. Watching. And maybe he’s just a regular guy out for a day of people-watching, but I’m not interested in giving him more than he’s already gotten. “Are your eggs good?”
“Yuh! They’re hot.” She makes thehss-hss-hsssound and eats with her mouth open. Reaching across, she snags the ketchup bottle the server set down, and flipping it upside down, she squirts enough to make my stomach ache. “Ketchup always makes it less hot.”
“And yummy too.”Not.
Taking my utensils, I cut into my first egg and mop up the runny yolk with the toast. “We’re gonna leave in just a few minutes, okay? We can’t be late.”
Questioning my authority that way kids do, she looks out the wall-to-wall windows and scowls. “The sun isn’t even all the way up yet. We’re not late.”
She might be right, but the sooner we leave this place and I get her away from the curious glances of the stranger, the more comfortable I’ll be.
“I have some things I have to do at my office, Moo. And I’ve got to do them really soon. So maybe you can come to work with me for a bit first. Either that, or you go to daycare early.”