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I’m always working.
A tiny old lady stood beside him. Her hair was blue and her walker was studded with dozens of colorful, shiny rhinestones. Her hands were gnarled, but her fingernails were painted scarlet. She patted Sam’s shoulder with one of those gnarled hands and Kit had to slowly release the breath she was holding.
Someone was taking care of him, at least. He finished the song, reaching up to pat the lady’s hand, his gentleness obvious. Then he rolled into another hymn.
Kit pulled the door closed. “Let’s find the funeral director before he takes Benny’s body.” She started for the elevator, remembering the way from the day before.
“You’re going to want an autopsy?” Connor asked grimly.
“Yes. Don’t you?”
“He had a bad heart, Kit.”
“I know,” she murmured.
“His family might not want an autopsy.”
Kit sighed as she pushed the elevator button. “I’m going to insist. I’ll be the bad cop.”
“Not a bad cop,” Connor said quietly. “You’re a good cop. This whole situation just sucks.”
“It does. They might blame us, the family. For putting Benny under stress yesterday.” It hadn’t been their fault, of course. She knew that. But Sam’s songs had her off center.
“If anyone’s to blame, it’s whoever put a butcher knife in Frankie Flynn’s chest. And Frankie and Benny were related by marriage. If Benny’s family loved Mr. Flynn like he did, hopefully they’ll want to find who killed him and will cooperate with us.”
Kit certainly hoped so.
Shady Oaks Retirement Village
Scripps Ranch, San Diego, California
Tuesday, November 8, 11:10 a.m.
Sam clenched his jaw, breathing deeply through his nose. His heart hurt. So did his eyes because, once again, he’d arrived to find the facility in tears. He’d started crying, too.
Benny was gone. Dammit. He’d been such a relentlessly kind old man.
Frankie had been stoic and bold. He’d always known exactly where he was going and what he’d do when he got there. He hadn’t spoken much, but when he did, people listened. Benny, on the other hand, had been soft-spoken, absentminded even before the dementia had set in. He’d been a stereotypical professor, glasses perched on the end of his nose. But his yarmulke had always been centered, his bow tie tied just right.
Except for yesterday. Sam hated that his last memory of Benny would be him in an episode.
This place wasn’t going to be the same without the two of them.
And now Sam was playing “I’ll Be Seeing You” because it had been Benny’s favorite. Not always. Not until his wife had died. Afterward…there hadn’t been a single time that Sam had sat at the piano that Benny hadn’t requested the old Sinatra tune. Benny would sing along and Frankie and Georgia would put their arms around him.
Goddammit.
Sam gave in, letting a little sob shake him. Then nearly lost it completely when Miss Eloise patted his shoulder. He’d known she was there, but her gesture of comfort shattered him. He managed to finish that piece and move on to the next, but Eloise put one of her arthritic hands over his, stilling his fingers on the keys.
He looked up at her, blinking to clear his eyes.
“You’re a good boy, Sammy,” she said with a sweet smile, her own eyes red. “That lady detective was just here.”
Sam twisted to look at the door. There was no one there. “When?”
“Just now. Now, I know I’m almost blind, but these Coke-bottle lenses of mine still work well enough. She was watching you. I could see her face. She looked like she wanted to hug you.”
The thought made Sam’s heart beat faster. “She did?”
