The A Team gathered the following evening at Faz’s home in Green Lake, a middle-class neighborhood north of downtown Seattle that derived its name from a centrally located, natural lake. Faz had once told Tracy he and Vera borrowed $30,000 from Vera’s parents in the 1970s for a down payment to buy their two-story, 2,000-square-foot Craftsman home, and that the high interest rates of the 1980s had nearly bankrupted them. Now, with housing prices again soaring in Seattle, Faz was counting on the equity in the house to fund their retirement.
In addition to cooking, Vera’s other passion was gardening. She’d cultivated an English country garden in the front and back yards with stone paths, rambling rosebushes, climbing plants, and dozens of perennials that would have impressed the queen of England. Tracy had never seen it, but Faz had mentioned it, saying, “I like it because I don’t have to mow a lawn.”
Vera had ceded to Del’s request and cooked her famous lasagna. The seven of them—Del was divorced—sat around a simple dining room table beneath the muted lighting of a candelabra chandelier hanging from a box-beam ceiling. Tracy had worried Dan might feel out of place with a bunch of cops and their spouses, but the conversation had rarely strayed to work. Chianti and Merlot flowed liberally, and they ate in a dining room of dark wood walls and burgundy drapes that made Tracy feel as though she’d been transported to a home in a small Italian village. She had expected Vera to be exhausted waiting on them, and was surprised to find it was Faz who brought out the food and refilled their glasses, all done with a white dish towel over his right shoulder. It was clear he was proud of his wife and his home, and he considered it special to have them all together.
When their plates were filled with thick wedges of lasagna, salad, and garlic bread, Faz remained standing.
“Will you sit down, Fazio? I’m like a dog with a bone that I can’t eat here,” Del said.
“Hold on. Hold on. Vera and I got something we’d like to do.” Faz turned to Tracy and Dan. “When we got married, Vera’s father gave us this blessing. Now we pass it on to the two of you.”
Vera reached behind her and handed Tracy a basket containing a wrapped loaf of her homemade bread, a glass container of salt, and a bottle of wine. “The bread is so that you may never know hunger,” she said. “The salt is so that your marriage will always have flavor. The wine is so you will always have something to celebrate.”
Faz raised his glass. His eyes watered. “May you have many years together, and may the Lord bless you with happiness and prosperity. Salute!”
They raised their glasses and drank. Kins too wiped his eyes with his napkin.
“Look at all these big homicide detectives crying,” Shannah said, dabbing the corners of her eyes.
Tracy pushed back her chair and stood. “At the risk of killing Del . . . ,” she said.
Del smiled. “You go right ahead,” he said.
She took a breath, fighting her emotions, which the events of the past two days had put to the test. “You all know that I lost my family at a very young age. I’ve lived alone a good portion of my life, and at times I felt like I was alone—until I made my way to the seventh floor. You people have been like family to me, treated me like family. I don’t know where I’d be if I didn’t have you in my life. So I just want to raise a glass to all of you and say, ‘Thank you.’”
For a moment no one spoke. Vera raised her glass. “Salute,” she said.
“Salute,” the others said.
“Can we eat now?” Del said, drawing laughter.
They ate everything Vera and Faz put on the table, and it was quite the meal. By the time they reached dessert, homemade cannoli, Tracy felt full. “I’ll just have a bite of Dan’s,” she said when Faz handed her the plate.
“Get used to that, Dan,” Faz said. “She’ll tell you she’s full, then she’ll eat your dessert.”
“When have I ever eaten your dessert?” Vera said.
“Are you kidding me? How many times have I heard, ‘I’ll just take a bite’ and next thing I know, my plate is clean. Last week I ordered tiramisu. I got one bite.”
“Tiramisu is my favorite,” Vera said, giving Dan a wink. “Who wants coffee?”
“I’ll help you clear the plates,” Shannah said.
“I will too,” Tracy said, but Dan stood first. “Talk with your friends. I’ll clear.”
Vera gave a small hoot. “I like him, Tracy. A man who helps in the kitchen is usually even better in the bedroom.”
That comment brought more laughter. When the four of them were alone, Tracy said, “I hate to bring up work, but something has come up.”
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Kins said.
She looked at him like he was crazy. “No. Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. I know Dan’s made a good living and you don’t have to put up with the bullshit anymore.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “It’s about Andrea Strickland.”
“What about her?” Faz said.
“I don’t think she’s the woman in the crab pot.”
Faz lowered his glass of port wine. “What do you mean you don’t think she’s the woman in the pot?”
Tracy shook her head. “I don’t think that’s her in the crab pot.”
The three men looked dumbstruck.
“Why not?” Kins asked. “Who the hell would it be?”
“When I first got there, to the beach, the kid who pulled up the pot—”