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Tomorrow would be soon enough for Frankie’s eulogy. SDPD had planned a special funeral with honors that weekend, but the memorial service itself would be here at Shady Oaks, with Frankie’s friends in attendance.
No family. Because Frankie’s son hated him. Why? How could Gerald hate his father? Sam had loved the old man.
It took him a moment to realize that Kit was studying him over her cup. “You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. I just got to thinking about Frankie’s memorial service and wondering why he and his son were estranged.”
“We checked out the son,” she said, surprising him.
“You did? You never said.”
“We needed to cross him off the suspect list, so Navarro found him. He was with his mother in a hospice in Lincoln Park.”
“Hospice?”
“Yes. Cancer. The staff there verified that he hasn’t left the facility in a week.”
Oh. Sam wondered if Frankie had known. He wondered if Frankie had cared. Yes, he would have, he decided. The Frankie Flynn who Sam had known would have cared. It didn’t matter now, though. The Frankie Flynn he’d known was gone. So was Benny.
He realized that he was staring at his tea and lifted his eyes to Kit’s, rewinding his brain to what they’d been discussing. The vase. Benny’s apartment. The killer who’d taken Frankie and Benny from them.
“So you searched Benny’s apartment and found no vase,” Sam said.
“And it’s bugging the hell out of me.”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe the thief broke it. It would be easier to hide fragments of a vase in pockets or to toss them into the trash. Especially if they threw the pieces in a biowaste container. Nobody’d look in there.”
Kit stared for a moment, then grinned, the smile lighting up her whole face, and he felt the familiar pang in his chest. She was so pretty all the time, but when she smiled…It was like an electric shock.
“You are very smart, Dr. Reeves,” she said, and somehow the formality didn’t hurt like it had before. It felt more like an endearment than a title meant to push him away.
“I have my moments,” he said lightly. “I might even solve this case before you do.”
She laughed, a merry sound that held no derision or spite. “You just might at that.”
“I did before, you know,” he said, referring to the case they’d shared six months ago.
Her eyes narrowed. “You did not.”
“I think if you’ll check your reports and your cell phone logs, you’ll find that I did.”
She frowned, her lips parting, then pursing. Her eyes flared wide in surprise for a moment before narrowing again. “Okay, fine. Beginner’s luck.”
He chuckled. “I bet I can do it again.” He had no such inclination, but it was fun to tease her. “What if we make a small wager?”
She regarded him suspiciously. “Like what?”
The words were on the tip of his tongue and for a moment they hovered in the air, waiting to be claimed.
She might get mad. Or she might not. Be brave, Sam. Life is too short.
He lifted his chin. “If I win, you’ll go out to dinner with me.”
Her mouth pinched on one side. “And if you lose?”
He shrugged. “It’d be your win. You get to decide.”
She hesitated so long that he felt his stomach lurch. She’s going to tell you to leave her alone. She’s going to tell you to go away. To stop bothering her.
