Tillman looked at the booklet. “Meet me back at the station.” He pulled back the sleeve of his coat to check his watch. “I need a few hours to deal with this,” he continued while waving a hand at the skeleton. “Say, four o’clock.”
I WAShungry and tired when we left Store Yourself, and really not in the mood to go back and forth from Stock Island eighteen hundred more times. But considering Tillman didn’t have to let me look at that diary for any reason whatsoever? It was pretty cool of him to agree. And without tooting my own horn, it was true that I knew the most about Smith. If there was any chance I could find the reason for Cassidy being in the Smith Home that would in turn lead to his murderer, I don’t think Tillman would pass the opportunity up, regardless of whether he liked me or not.
Plus, he was still playing nice with Jun to keep the Feds out of his hair in any sort of official capacity.
“Let’s get lunch,” Jun said as he started the car.
I lowered the passenger seat to lie down more comfortably. “Pick any place,” I said around a yawn. “I’m going to take a quick nap.”
“Would you rather go home?” Jun asked. “I can make us lunch—”
I waved a hand lazily. “It’s okay,” I murmured. “You know I can sleep anywhere. At work I sleep under my desk.”
“All right,” Jun said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
Traffic through Key West could be hairy at times, since the town had been doing construction for what felt like forever. Sometimes it got backed up between New and Old Town, and for those who commuted to Key West from the Upper Keys for work? Forget it. It was as much of a headache as riding the L train to Williamsburg during rush hour. So I wasn’t terribly surprised that, when I woke up, we were just getting back into Old Town.
“We could have eaten in New Town,” I said around a yawn.
“Chain food,” Jun said, deftly moving around a group of girls on bikes weaving in and out of traffic. “I can eat junk anywhere.”
“I guess so. There’s a nice little café on the next street, if you want something like that.”
“Perfect.” Jun took the turn I indicated and stole a parking spot on the side of the road before the car behind had a chance to cut him off and grab it. We got out, and Jun paid the meter again, then joined me on the sidewalk. He was still wearing his shoulder holster and coat.
“You don’t have to keep wearing that.”
He glanced down, almost like he’d forgotten.
“The donuts aren’t going to open fire.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?”
“No.”
Jun took my hand and changed the subject as we walked to the café at the end of the block. “When we both have vacation time again, I’d love to take you to Japan.”
“Yeah?” I asked, perking up. “Even though I don’t speak a lick of Japanese?”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ll be with me. Plus, there’s enough English and romaji to get around.”
“What the hell is romaji?” I asked.
Jun’s mouth quirked. “Japanese words written in the Latin alphabet.”
“Oh. Derp.”
He chuckled. “Would you like that?”
“Totally,” I said. “Do you have any family there?”
“No. My sister, Misako, and parents all still live in DC.”
Jun was a born-and-bred American, but his parents were from Japan and understood the importance of having their children learn about their Japanese roots. He’d told me years ago about his family speaking English in public, and at home he and his sister were schooled in Japanese. By high school Jun was also fluent in Mandarin, something he and Matt had in common, which I guess was probably what brought them together on the job.
Jun opened the door to the café and followed me inside.
“Welcome to Southernmost Coffee and Tea,” a chipper guy at the counter said. “What can I get you?”
