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“The vandal broke the lock,” I say, incredulous, getting unsteadily to my feet. “And Tank’s been my best friend since Kindergarten. He obviously didn’t do it. Why would he?”
Tank looks away as the officer glances at the wreckage of Vanny and does the feet rolling thing again. “Thing like this…looks to me like a crime of passion. This was done by someone you know, ma’am. If the shoe fits…”
“I’m guessing it would fit my mother,” I say. “She approached my daughter at school a few weeks ago, and when I confronted her about it, she was upset.”
But they know this. I’ve told them several times by now. Danny, too.
“We’re going to explore that avenue,” Loomis says. “Surely will. But we intend to put in a thorough investigation.”
“Is that why you took prints?” Danny asks, eyebrows raised, his tone caustic.
The door finally creaks open, and it’s him, it’s Shane. More tears flood my eyes as I get up and run to him. Actually, it’s more of a stumble, because I can’t get my legs to work properly.
“Oh, honey,” he says, wrapping me up, and this time, I don’t have the slightest urge to laugh. It feels like he’s coating the broken parts of me in bubble wrap. “We’re going to fix this, Ruthie. I promise. And we’ll find the person who did it and stop them.”
I believe him.
“Where’s Izzy?” he asks. “She’s not still at school, is she?”
“No,” I say through tears, my face buried into his shoulder. “Mira picked her up. We were worried my mother might…”
“Good,” he says. “That was good thinking. I’m glad she’s safe. The guys are on the way. Leonard and Burke are coming. And Michael. It might take them an hour or two, but they’ll be here.”
“Your assistant?” I ask, shocked.
He runs a hand over my hair, then wraps his arm around me. “He wants to help. Freeman gave us the day off. We’re going to make it work, Ruthie. We’ll get Vanny ready for Sunday. Everything’s going to be okay.” He lifts his gaze to the officers. “Unless you’re classifying this as a crime scene.”
“We have what we need,” Officer Gumshoe says, her first words. I can’t imagine that’s true, since they only took half a dozen photos, but I guess there are worse crimes than the dismantling of my dream.
“Are you coming with us?” Officer Loomis asks Tank, obviously itchy to leave.
“Why?” Shane asks sharply. Then, to Tank, “You must be Tank. I’m Shane.” Turning to the officers, he adds, “Ruthie’s husband.”
A gasp escapes me, because it’s the first time I’ve heard him call himself that, and he had no need to. I’m also surprised he remembers Tank’s name is something other than G.I. Joe. Danny’s watching Shane, and so is Tank. My friend’s gaze settles on Shane’s arm, wrapped around me. He looks upset, and I see Officer Loomis glancing between him and Shane and making inferences he has no business making. The next thing I know, he’ll say Tank was driven to do this by jealousy.
“They want to take me in for questioning,” Tank says after a moment, “since it happened at my place of business.”
“Have you taken prints?” Shane asks the officers.
“No,” Officer Loomis confirms.
“If you do, you can rule out Ruthie’s mother. She’s had more than one arrest.” He glances at Tank, his gaze lingering, and then says, “And if this guy did it, he’d have cuts all over his arms and hands. He’s clean.”
The two officers exchange a glance, and Gumshoe slowly nods. “No one approach the van until I get back,” she says, then heads outside, presumably to her car.
“I’m his lawyer,” Shane says, nodding toward Tank. “If you want him down at the station, I’m coming with him, or you could talk to him here and save us all the trip.”
“You just introduced yourself to him,” Officer Loomis objects. “We all heard you.”
“I’m just that efficient.”
Again, I’m shocked. No, I’m blown over. Shane has acted dismissive or jealous of Tank in the past, like Rand. But he’s a better man than Rand, in every single way, and here is my proof. He’s putting me first. My friends. My happiness.
The door swings open, announcing Officer Gumshoe’s return, but she’s not alone. A woman with neon pink hair and a leather jacket with rivets is with her, and behind them is a tall, very good-looking man in an overcoat. The pink-haired woman’s stare trains on me. “Don’t worry, crying woman—”
“Ruthie,” the man supplies.
“We can probably solve this in five minutes. This situation has nothing on the shit we’ve been dealing with over the past six months.”
