“You’d have more regular hours. Be able to see them more consistently, if that matters to you.”
“It does, but I still am going to need some time to—”
“Take all the time in the world. Just give me an answer by eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
CHAPTER
17
NANA MAMA WAS in rare form that night. She’d seen Rachael Ray make chicken Proven?al and decided to make it herself, doctoring the dish a bit by adding a little of this and a little of that until it was the kind of meal where you fought for seconds.
“Good, isn’t it?” I said.
“I’ll say,” Ali said.
“More, please,” Jannie said.
“Is that cumin?” Bree asked, smacking her lips.
“And a touch of curry powder,” Nana Mama said. “That and the way the onions and the chicken skin get so crispy? I’d pay for a meal like this.”
“Nana?” Ali said. “Did you check the lottery?”
Nana Mama had been playing numbers since I was a little kid. It was one of her few vices. Every week since I’d moved into her home all those years ago, she’d played a number.
“Already looked,” I said. “No one won Powerball. It’ll be up over fifty million the next draw.”
“No, Dad,” Ali said. “The charter-school lottery.”
My grandmother said, “Ali wants to go to Washington Latin, and I want him to go. He’ll be challenged academically in a charter, just as Jannie has been.”
“I should get in, right, Dad?” Ali said. “I scored ninety-six percent in math.”
“In the ninety-sixth percentile in math,” Nana Mama corrected him.
“And ninety-one percent, uh, tile, in reading,” Ali said.
“That will get you at least one more number in the lottery.”
“Two more,” Nana said. “He’ll have a good chance.”
Ali grinned down the table at me. He was such an affable brainiac, interested in so many subjects it was sometimes hard to believe he was only seven. “I’m getting in if I have to go down the chimney,” he said.
“Always better to go in the front door,” Bree said.
She was up clearing dishes. I joined her, and we cleaned the kitchen to a high gloss that pleased Nana Mama enough for her to go out to watch NCIS, her latest favorite television show. Bree looked ready to join her, but I said, “Take a walk in the rain with me?”
Bree smiled. “Sure.”
The air was hot and saturated with the light rain that had begun falling. It felt good to walk in it, loosened up my legs a little after I’d eaten so much.
“What did Michele Bui have to say?”
“Nothing that pins the murders on Le, but she gave us enough promising leads to make it worthwhile,” Bree said. “She says he does have a Remington 1911 in a forty-five caliber. Several, evidently. And he had mentioned Tommy McGrath numerous times in the past few months, and always in anger. Le told Michele that Tommy was persecuting him. It’s amazing how they squeal when someone’s getting close.”
“I know,” I said. “Listen, Michaels offered me chief of detectives.”
Bree stopped and beamed at me. “Really? Oh my God, Alex. This is big.”
“I know.”
“You should do it. You deserve it, and I think you’d be great at it. Kind of like Tommy was, a mentor, an ally for every detective in Metro.”
We started walking again. “I’ve thought of that. It’s appealing on that level.”
“You’d also have more regular hours for the first time in longer than you’ve known me,” Bree said. “Jannie’s gonna be a sophomore. She won’t be home forever.”
“I know,” I said. “And I’d get to see all of her races and attend science fairs with Ali. It’s really tempting.”
Bree stopped again. There were raindrops on her cheeks that looked like tears. I brushed them away.
“I hear a but coming,” she said.
“There’s always a but coming.”
“And yours is?”
“Right here,” I said, patting my rump.
“You’re avoiding the issue,” she said.
“I am. Let’s go back.”
“Not before you kiss me,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re kind of sexy in the rain.”
“That so?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, and she got up on her tiptoes, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me long and deep.
“Wow,” I said. “I’m going to have to walk in the rain more often.”
She grinned and started strolling away coyly. “Can you imagine me in a steamy-hot rain forest, Chief Cross?”
“Vividly,” I said, and we both laughed our way back to the house.
I went upstairs to our bedroom and punched in the number for my recently found long-lost father. He answered on the second ring.
“Haven’t heard from you in a bit, Alex,” my dad said.
“You either, Dad. Retirement got you busy?”
“Picking up more work than I can handle with the Palm Beach County prosecutors,” he said, sounding as if he couldn’t believe it.
“Why does that surprise you?” I said. “They may have thrown you out of sheriff’s homicide, but they’re not going to waste talent.”