Amber and Zoe were in dresses, and even Decker could tell that Amber had taken time with her makeup and her and her daughter’s hair. This was apparently a big deal. Decker’s mind took him back to his own daughter’s birthdays. They were big deals.
He glanced at Jamison, who gazed adoringly at her niece.
“Did you have a good day at school, Zoe?” she asked.
“It was okay.”
Amber said, “It’s always tough starting in a new school. But you’ll make friends, Zoe. You always do.”
“Yeah,” said Zoe, staring dejectedly at the tabletop.
Decker studied her. There was something in his head he wanted to say, but for some reason he couldn’t make it come out. Then it occurred to him that he had superimposed his dead daughter’s face over Zoe’s. He looked away, rubbing at his temples.
Okay, Decker, that is definitely not healthy.
“Where’s Frank?” asked Jamison.
Her sister made a face. “Work. Something came up. He should be here soon, though.”
“Sounds like a tough job,” said Decker.
“Well, at least it’s a good-paying job,” said Amber. “And one that’s not backbreaking. Even though we already did some renovations on it, once Frank gets established here, we’re thinking about selling our current house and buying a larger place. There are some beautiful old homes here sitting empty. They just need some TLC.”
Zoe looked at her mother in a betrayed fashion. “Does that mean we’ll have to move again?”
Amber looked nervous. “It won’t be for a while, sweetie.”
Despite this assurance, Zoe slumped back in her seat looking sad.
Noting this, Jamison said, “How about you open your presents now, Zoe?” She pulled two boxes from her bag and set them in front of her niece.
Amber said, “Alex, you didn’t have to do that. You’re paying for dinner already.”
“A birthday means presents,” said Jamison firmly, her gaze on Zoe.
Zoe immediately brightened. “Which one should I open first?”
“I think the one on the right. The smaller one.”
Zoe very carefully unwrapped the paper. Revealed was a small wooden box. She gripped the lid and glanced up at Jamison, who nodded encouragingly.
Zoe opened the box. Inside was a necklace with a cross on the end.
“Wow.” Zoe slowly took it out.
“Want to know something neat about that necklace?” said Jamison. Zoe nodded as her mother helped her put the necklace on.
“It was given to me by my aunt when I turned six, just like you.”
“This…this was yours?”
Amber said, “I thought I recognized it.”
“But, Aunt Alex, I can’t take your necklace.”
“Yes you can. Because it’s not really my necklace. It’s been passed down in our family for seven generations. So now it’s your turn to wear it. And when you get older, it’ll be your responsibility to pass it on to someone you love too.”
Zoe looked up at her aunt with a face full of adoration. “That is so awesome.”
“That is awesome,” interjected Decker as he glanced at his partner.
“Thank you,” said Jamison, beaming. “Okay, open the other one.”
Zoe unwrapped the other present, revealing a book.
“Charlotte’s Web,” exclaimed Zoe. “Mom read this to me.”
“Look inside,” said Jamison.
Zoe opened the book and her jaw dropped. “It’s…it’s signed.”
“E. B. White. He signed that for a young friend of his about forty years ago. Do you see what her name was?”
Zoe read off the name. “Zoe!”
“That’s right.”
“How did you ever find that?” asked Amber.
“I have a friend who works at a rare books dealer in New York. She’s been on the lookout for something like this for me for about a year.”
Zoe said slowly, “This must have cost a lot of money.”
Jamison leaned over, hugged her niece, and kissed her on the forehead. “What it is, Zoe, is a great book that you can read over and over your whole life.”
“And every time I open it I can pretend that he signed it to me!”
“Yes, you absolutely can. That’s called using your imagination, which is what Mr. White used to write the story in the first place.”
Zoe said, “These are the best presents I’ve ever gotten.”
Amber smiled at her sister and gave her a thumbs-up.
And then the door to the restaurant opened and there stood Detectives Green and Lassiter.
Decker spotted them first, and then Jamison did a few moments later.
Jamison groaned, “Oh no, what do they want?”
Amber and Zoe looked over at the doorway. Zoe said sadly, “Does this mean you have to leave? Before dinner?”
Decker rose and said, “I’ll check. If something is up, I’m sure it can wait.”
He walked over to the detectives. “Look, we’re in the middle of a little girl’s birthday party. Can’t whatever it is wait?”
Green said, “We’re actually not here to see you, Decker.”
Decker looked puzzled. “Jamison, then?”
“No, not your partner.”
“Who, then?”
Green glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the table. “Amber Mitchell.”
Decker froze for a moment. “Her sister? Why? Is it about the murders?”
“That’s not why we’re here.”
Lassiter added, “When the call came in we recognized the name. We thought we’d handle it because we’d already met the family.”
“Recognized the name? What name?”
“Frank Mitchell. Amber’s husband.”
Decker glanced at Jamison and Amber, who were watching him closely, while Zoe was leafing through her book. He turned back to the pair of detectives.
“What about him?”
Green said, “I’m afraid he’s dead.”
Chapter 30
TEN P.M.
Not a good time for introspection.
One was tired. Not ready for deep thought about critical issues.
And it was storming hard outside.
Decker sat in his chair, in his bedroom in the stricken house, and looked out at the water bucketing down.
And yet he was trying to be introspective, to make some sense of it all.
He set the empty beer can down on the floor and wiped his mouth.
It hadn’t tasted like beer, but rather acid. He couldn’t imagine anything tasting good ever again.
Streaks of lightning, followed by booms of thunder, seemed to form an uneasy synchronicity with the smacks of his heart.
Though he couldn’t possibly hear them over the roar of the storm, he knew that two women in the house, one very young and one only in her thirties, fatherless and widowed, respectively, were probably still bawling their eyes out. In his mind’s eye he could see them, hunched over, arms wrapped around their sides, as though struggling mightily to keep what little they had left inside somewhat intact and functional.
He used his finger to trace a circle on the window where condensation had collected.
One of the longest walks Decker had ever made had been from the front door of the restaurant back to the table. He had asked Green and Lassiter for permission to go and get the Mitchells and escort them out. He did not want the news that awaited them to come in a public place.
He didn’t know why he had thought of this. His old self would have done so instinctively. To be sensitive and compassionate had been reflexive with the old Amos Decker.
Then the blindside hit on the field had left him pretty much the polar opposite of what he had been. It was, to say the least, unsettling to occupy the same body but be a totally different person.
Yet still, he had thought about having them be told of the loss in a private place. And he had acted on that thought.
That’s something, isn’t it?
He had told them that the detectives wanted to talk to them about something important and that they preferred to do so down at the police station, only a few blocks away. He had told them that it couldn’t wait. It had to happen now.
He had seen an alarmed look in Amber’s eyes that made him believe she knew that what was happening would be quite personal to her. But she remained outwardly calm and collected. And he thought he knew why.
Zoe had still been looking at her book and smiling. Obviously, the mom was keeping it together for her daughter.
Cassie, Decker’s wife, would have done the same thing.