Peter, meanwhile, was looking a tad confused.
“One of my characters had really bad migraines,” she told him, “but I don’t get ’em, I’m lucky, right? Anyway, I went onto one of those medical symptom–checker websites to do a little research and while I was surfing around, I saw that one of the things on their general symptoms list was Can you taste words? And ever since then, I’ve used that as a personal benchmark. How’m I doing? Great, because you know what? Things might be bad, but I’m still not tasting words.”
Peter laughed as Harry finally stopped.
But before Shayla could segue into an explanation of how she wasn’t crazy, she was just a writer, and sometimes writers talked to the fictional character who resided in their heads, Mrs. Sullivan chose that moment to re-emerge from the back room.
“Sorry about that,” the woman announced. She eyed Peter’s cover, which he’d set on the counter next to the folder, and Shay knew that she, too—like all women of a certain age—itched to embrace her inner Debra Winger and try it on. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
Peter moved the picture of Fiona to reveal the photo of the two young men from the parking garage. “Do you know either of these men?” He pointed. “This one’s Daryl Middleton; the other we only know by his nickname. Dingo.”
Shay cleared her throat to ask, “Is it possible they were former students?”
Mrs. S took the photo and looked closely. “Daryl Middleton, no. That’s a family name I would’ve remembered.” She glanced up. “I’m a bit of an Anglophile.”
“I know that that probably wasn’t a non sequitur,” Peter said. “But…”
“Prince William’s wife’s name is Kate Middleton,” Shay murmured.
“Ah. What about Dingo?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Mrs. S said, but she didn’t sound convinced. “I’m sorry, it’s hard to tell. Add a few years, plus the facial hair…That boy-to-man change can be extreme. But if you can leave the photo, I’ll ask around the teachers’ lounge.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Izzy was sad.
He’d pretended not to be as he’d dropped Eden and their giant extended family off at the airport. He’d actually rented a passenger van to do it, because traveling with a baby was a logistical nightmare, requiring almost as much gear as was needed for a seven-man SEAL team.
That gear plus the five traveling humans of varying sizes—Eden, her brother Dan who was also Izzy’s SEAL teammate, Dan’s wife Jenn and their super-baby Colin, plus Eden and Danny’s teenaged brother Ben—wouldn’t fit into an everyday, average vehicle. And the van rental was financially cheaper than hiring a car service, and emotionally cheaper—gods forbid—than waking up at zero-dark-thirty to make two separate airport runs.
Also? Since Izzy had the thing for twenty-four hours, it suddenly occurred to him that he could use it to help Grunge at the low, low price of nearly free. He could pop on up to Palm Springs, and at least start to move all that stuff out of the storage unit and into the officers’ garage.
His plan was to zap Grunge a text—maybe swing past the man’s house and pick up the padlock key—as soon as he got less sad.
I’m sorry you’re not coming, too. Danny had actually said that to Izzy, out loud and clearly enunciated, before he’d followed Jenn and the baby into the airport terminal. And yeah, part of Dan’s sorrow had to do with the fact that a weeklong visit to Jenn’s family back east could be exhausting. But Ben and Eden would be there to help Dan and Jenn—at least they would be when they weren’t off visiting colleges.
Missing that was what made Izzy most sad. He’d wanted to go, too—mostly so he could continue to talk up all the great schools in nearby SoCal.
But one of the biggest problems created by being related through marriage to a teammate was that they couldn’t always take leave at the same time.
And this time, sadly, Izzy had had to stay behind.
This morning, Eden had lingered, holding Izzy close as Dan and Ben humped their luggage into the terminal. She wasn’t fooled by his pretending to not be sad. She’d sweetly kissed him goodbye, and then hugged him again, seductively whispering, “You should stop for pancakes at the Grill on your way home.”
Ah, his woman knew him well.
Blueberry pancakes with real maple syrup, an order of scrambled eggs and bacon, and the Grill’s homemade sourdough toast…
Izzy pulled into the Grill’s driveway. It was still early enough that there were plenty of spaces in the lot, so he prepared to get slightly—just slightly—less sad.
“I got an automated phone system. Fiona’s aunt Susan works in a law office here in San Diego,” Shayla said, her cellphone to her ear as Pete followed her out of the high school and back to his truck. She’d already dialed the woman’s work number, even though it was still too early for most offices to be open. “Discount Family Law. They open at nine. I think we should just show up, have a conversation face-to-face. You know, not call first.”
“That’s smart,” Pete agreed. “Although, I’m wondering if I should fly up to Sacramento.”
“You might want to wait until after we hear from Lindsey,” she reminded him. “If she can give us Dingo’s real name, and maybe even his local address—or even Daryl Middleton’s address…While Fiona’s leaving seems to be the likely catalyst to Maddie’s current crisis, I’m not sure what this girl could tell us that we can’t find out by staying local. I mean, yes, if we come up short with info about Dingo and Daryl…”
Pete opened the door for her and as she climbed in, she gave him one of her looks—but this was one he hadn’t seen before. It was less attitude and more, well, vulnerable for lack of a better word. “You don’t have to do that. I’m capable of opening a door for myself.”
“I know,” he said. “I just, um…want to.”