“This is a little messier than you bargained for,” Platt said, giving her an easy out.
It made her smile. He definitely had no idea what kind of messes she had been exposed to in the past. But he did have a point. It was Julia’s day off. She didn’t need to do this. She didn’t even need to be here.
Maybe she was simply curious about Benjamin Platt. She used to have a big-time crush on Maggie but then somewhere along the line they had become friends. The two of them had more in common than either wanted to admit. Both had lost a parent during childhood. Both of them had to fight their way up the ranks of male-dominated careers. They trusted very few people and allowed even fewer in their lives, so friendship was not a term either threw around lightly. Fact was Julia respected the hell out of Maggie and maybe she wanted to see who this guy was that had snagged her attention.
Julia watched as Platt took off his jacket and carefully placed his wallet and cell phone in one of the jacket pockets before folding it and setting it on the concrete. She kept from rolling her eyes as he turned up the cuffs of his shirt in perfect folds that matched on both sides. Then he surprised her and scaled the fence in three moves.
Julia stood back, hands on her hips. Okay, so that was not expected. Maybe he was a bit more adventurous than she gave him credit for. But of course, he was athletic. You’d have to be blind to not notice his lean physique. She just didn’t expect him to get his trousers dirty or his polished leather shoes scuffed.
“I can toss some of the bags over,” he said.
“No, don’t bother.”
“Yeah, you’re right. They’ll break.”
She knew without looking that there would barely be room to stand between the fence and the Dumpster. She could hear him shoving open the lid and immediately smelled the garbage.
She took off her jacket and laid it next to his, not folding hers quite as nicely as he had. She decided to keep her shoulder holster on. Then she followed him over the fence, almost as smoothly except for the splinter that ended up in the palm of her left hand. Sharp and deep—it took biting her lower lip to keep her from releasing a string of expletives. She had been trying to watch her mouth around CariAnne, after the little girl kept riding her about her overuse of the “f-word.” Nothing like having a nine-year-old lecturing you on manners. After all, Julia could just tell her to fuck off like she would if it was anyone else.
“So what exactly are we looking for?”
She handed Platt a pair of latex gloves. She had grabbed several from the kitchen. Habit. Platt looked surprised to see them but immediately started putting on a pair.
“Anything from today’s menu.”
“They didn’t just leave us some leftovers in the fridge?”
“That’d be too easy.” He smiled as he yanked a piece of paper from his back trouser pocket and unfolded it. “They had something called a taquito. Any idea what that is?”
“CariAnne loves those. They’re her favorite school cafeteria meal. It’s sort of like a burrito but fried.”
“Beef or chicken?”
“Either, but she likes the ground beef better. They also have cheese, onion, some kind of sauce. We’ve tried to duplicate them at home but, according to CariAnne, there’s something we keep missing.”
“I forgot to ask, is she okay?”
“She puked all over my shoes, but she’s resting at home now with her mother who knows when she’s sick even without CariAnne having to tell her.” Silently Julia told herself to shut up. Why did it bother her that she hadn’t automatically seen that the little girl hadn’t been feeling well? She couldn’t be expected to know that, right?
“I guess that’s a special mother talent the rest of us don’t have,” Platt said, as if reading her mind, but he wasn’t joking. Instead, Julia thought he looked … if she wasn’t mistaken, she thought he looked sad.
“Do they make them or are they premade and frozen?” He was back to digging in the garbage.
For a second Julia had forgotten what they were talking about. “I don’t know for sure, but I’m thinking they’d have to be premade and frozen. No way they could make hundreds of those by hand in a morning.”
Platt looked at the list again. “They also had lettuce salad and oatmeal cookies.”
Julia’s stomach growled. Platt raised an eyebrow. The rancid smell had not dissipated, nor had the flies.
“Missed lunch,” Julia said without apology. Digging through garbage didn’t gross her out any more than scraping brains off a wall or watching a medical examiner crunch through a rib cage. When you’re hungry, you’re hungry. Except today she still couldn’t shake the smell of the kids’ vomit.