"Uh-huh."
"And let me give you my card, it has my name and badge number and where I can be reached in case you think of anything else, you can give me a call."
"Thank you."
"Nice to see you again," she said, touched her fingers to the brim of her hat, and withdrew. As she left, my last chance of coming clean went with her.
Angie and I stood in silence for a moment. It wasn't every day the police brought your daughter home in a marked car for passing bogus bills. That you'd given her.
"Where's Mom? I need to talk to Mom."
"She's at work, honey. Remember?"
"I'm going to call her."
"No, don't do that. She called me earlier, and it's pretty wild there tonight. This would be a very, very bad time to call her."
Angie started heading toward the kitchen, which would take her past my study. I blocked her way. "Just stay here for a minute," I said, touching both her shoulders lightly.
"What? Can't I go to the kitchen?"
"Just stay here for a minute!"
My tone gave Angie a jolt. She stood still while I turned and ran to my study. I eased the door open. Maybe he wasn't dead, I thought. Maybe I'd just knocked him cold. It used to happen to Mannix every week on TV. Somebody hit him in the head with a gun butt, he was back on his feet after the commercial, no harm done. Even if this guy was Stefanie's killer, I hadn't signed on to be his executioner.
"Oh man," I said.
Rick was gone. I came back out of the study, bolted into the kitchen. The patio door was wide open. Evidently, I'd not killed him. And when he realized the police were in the house, he'd made a break for it. I slid the door shut, and when I returned to the study, I found Angie there, looking at the pieces of the Robot model all over the carpet, as well as a couple of makeup items from Stefanie's purse that I'd failed to scoop up.
"What happened here, Dad?" Angie asked. "Your robot thingy. It's all smashed."
"I just had a little accident, that's all."
"And what's Mom's makeup doing here?" She picked up an eyeliner, sneered. "Oooh. She doesn't even use this kind."
"Angie, do you have any place you could go tonight?"
"Go?"
"A friend's, to sleep over."
"You never let me go to sleepovers on a school night."
"I know, but you know, it's your mom's birthday in a couple of days, and I think she's going to be able to get off shift soon, and I thought I'd surprise her when she gets home. Order in some food, put on some music, maybe -"
"Oh God, don't tell me any more. That's so gross. Yeah, I could probably go to Francine's. Her parents are in Europe, she'd like the company."
"Why don't you go throw some things together and I'll drive you over."
Angie shrugged, turned to go upstairs. "You still owe me $150," she said.
"I'm sorry about what happened," I said. "I didn't know that money was counterfeit."
She shrugged. "It was kind of cool, actually. I never got to ride in the back of a cop car before."
While Angie packed an overnight bag, I called Paul's cell phone.
"Yeah?"
"It's me. You still at Andy's?" I could hear other young males goofing around in the background.
"Quiet, it's my dad!" he shouted. Then, more quietly, "Yeah, I'm here. I gotta come home already? You only dropped me off here like half an hour ago."
"No, you don't have to come home. I was wondering how late you could stay there."
"You want me to stay here?"
"Long as you want. Any chance you could sleep over?"
"On a school night?"
Since when did my children become so concerned about staying up late on a school night?
"Yeah, sure, it's okay. Angie's going to stay with somebody, and it only seemed fair to offer you the same opportunity."
"Who is this, really?"
"It's your father, Paul."
"So I get reamed out by my science teacher, and for punishment, I get to stay out all night? If I told you I'm failing math, too, would there be money for me and Andy to get hookers?"
"I was just telling Angie, it's your mother's birthday in a couple of days, and I think she's going to be home from work soon." A lie. A total lie. "And I wanted to make her arrival extra special."
There was silence for a moment on the other end of the line. Then, echoing his sister: "Oh gross." Just how did teenagers think their parents brought them into the world, anyway?
"So do you think you can stay there?" I asked.
"Hang on, I'll check." He covered the mouthpiece, and I could hear a muffled exchange in the background. Paul came back on the line: "Yeah, it's cool. But I didn't bring over any stuff."
"What do you need?"
"Like, a toothbrush? And another shirt, but not something you'd like, but a T-shirt, just grab something that's on my floor. And could you grab my pillows? You know how I can't sleep on strange pillows. And my comforter. I'll probably be sleeping on the basement couch, and I don't know how many blankets they've got."