“She promised Tori would be queen. She promised.”
“Think of all the people you’ve worked to help. That’s real power, Bitty. And raising good children—what’s more important than that?”
“No.” She shook her head. “That’s not…it’s not…”
“They need you, Bitty.” Micki moved closer, almost within reach of the lighter. “Your daughters. Your husband. He’s a good man. He loves you.”
Vanderlund blinked, looking startled. “Where am I?” She moved her gaze quickly around, taking it all in. Confusion became panic.
“Vivianne was just saying…” She choked up, chin wobbling.
“What, Bitty?” Micki coaxed. “What was Vivianne just saying?”
“That not everyone…who wants to be queen—” Her eyes grew round. “Oh, my God…I didn’t mean…it just…I don’t know what happened!”
Micki took the final step and plucked the lighter from Vanderlund’s grasp. As she handed it off to Angelo, the woman dropped the can and brought her hands to her face. “What am I going to do now? What’s going to happen to me?”
Angelo stepped forward with cuffs; Micki waved him off and put an arm around her. “You need to come with me, Bitty. Then we’ll call your husband.”
The woman nodded and allowed Micki to help her out. Whatever had taken over Bitty Vanderlund, had passed. The woman leaning on her now was the person her family had described. The one who wouldn’t hurt a flea.
Chapter Seven
8:10 P.M.
The Banks Street two-story had been built at the turn of the twentieth century and had solidly stood against every hurricane until Katrina. The storm’s floodwaters had inundated the first floor. Rain pummeled the second floor when wind had torn the roof away.
Hank had purchased the moldering home as is and rebuilt it from the inside out. Truth was, the house reminded Micki of the man himself—sturdy and old fashioned, with a crusty kind of charm.
Her best friend. Mentor. And although she’d only known him a handful of years, the most important person in her life.
Micki let herself inside the gate and went around the side of the house. Light glowed from the garage in back. The Nova, she thought, smiling. His latest project. He’d hauled it home a couple months ago, grinning from ear-to-ear.
Didn’t matter if it was cars, buildings, or people, Hank liked to fix things.
He’d fixed her. Something her crazy mother and the small army of pediatric counselors she’d hired had been unable to do.
Micki stepped into the garage. Hank was bent over the car’s raised hood. “Hello, old man,” she said. “I see you’re wasting time on that heap again.”
“Heap?” He looked back at her. “This baby is a classic American muscle machine. 1971 with a 396 V in it.”
“That baby doesn’t run.”
“Have some faith, girl.”
She cocked an eyebrow and held up two brown paper bags. “How about some dinner instead?”
He grabbed a rag and began cleaning the grease off his hands. “Don’t have to ask me twice. What’s on the menu?”
“Your Spidey-senses not working tonight?”
Hank had the best sense of smell of anyone she had ever known. Same for his hearing and vision. It was practically supernatural.
“Burgers,” he said mildly. “From Port of Call.”
“On the money again.” She checked each bag, making certain neither was marked. “How do you do that? It’s just plain freaky.”
He laughed. “The smell of grilled beef and onions clings to you like a perfume.”
“Great. No wonder I’m single.”
“You’re single because you choose to be.”
She changed the subject; her relationship status was a regular point of contention between them. “Okay, Sherlock, besides my eau-de-diner cologne, what tipped you?”
He snapped off the work light. “You drive past Port of Call on your way home and their burgers are one of your favorites. I was a detective, you know.”
“Like a million years ago.”
“Ungrateful girl.” He lowered the garage door, and they started for the house. “I want to hear about your day.”
“Pulled a homicide. Partnered with Carmine Angelo.”
“Carmine’s a good guy. Straight arrow.”
“He could use a sense of urgency.”
Hank chuckled and let them inside. “He’s low key. But smart. Trust me, he doesn’t miss anything.” He cut her an amused glance. “Besides, someone to temper your intensity isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
She laughed, not at all offended. This man knew her better than anyone else on the planet. He had saved her from certain self-destruction, taking an angry, rebellious, borderline criminal under his wing and nurturing her back to health.
He’d done it by being an example of a truly good human being.
He had made her want to be like him.