This is Rhonda Lewis, it read.I’d like to meet.
I replied quickly:Tell me where and when.
Twenty-Nine
Rhonda Lewis said she wanted to meet at the South Street Diner—a place I’d been to many times, especially during my college years. It was fun and atmospheric and something of a landmark, having stood in the same spot since 1947—crowned by a big coffee cup−shaped neon sign that everybody loved to take pictures in front of. Plus, it served good comfort food at reasonable (for Boston) prices. And it was open twenty-four hours. It was no mystery why the South Street Diner was largely responsible for my freshman fifteen.
Even though it had been decades since I’d devoured a bacon cheeseburger and fries at the South Street Diner at four in the morning after a few too many turns at the beer bong, I couldn’t stave off the sense memories as I walked through the door. It happened every time I came here. I guess you could say theplace made me feel young again—though, in this case, “young” meant unsteady on my feet and desperate for carbs.
The diner was packed, as usual, with a distinctly midday crowd: families and groups of tourists, a few contractor types tossing back beers, their workday having ended at two p.m.
I scanned the room for Rhonda, though I barely knew what she looked like. All I had to go on was the blurry image from the security footage. I’d been meaning to see if she had a Facebook or Instagram account last night, but with the shooting in the factory, the car chase with Moon’s henchman, and Elspeth’s unexpected arrival at my apartment, it had somehow slipped my mind. Go figure.
Fortunately, I was able to recognize Steve, the medical receptionist from Optima Urgent Care. He was sitting at a booth by the window, and he was waving at me. It looked as though he was wearing his scrubs and, from where I was standing, I could see hisTardistattoo.
I was glad Steve was here. A meeting like this one tended to benefit from an introduction. I waved back and walked over to the booth.
Steve stood up as I got closer. “Sunny Randall, I’d like you to meet Rhonda Lewis,” he said.
Rhonda was sitting across from him. She wore a pale blue fleece pullover. She didn’t stand up, but she smiled at me, which was encouraging. Her eyes matched the pullover.
In person, Rhonda looked a lot smaller and saner than she had on the surveillance video, but still there was a sadness to her, a tiredness I would have noticed even if I didn’t know abouther background. As a cop, I’d been tasked with consoling family members of murder victims numerous times—an especially tough assignment that almost always went to woman officers. I’d noticed in so many of them this same hollowed-out look—as though an essential part of them had been ripped away.
“Thank you for getting in touch,” I said to her.
“Thanks for coming,” she said.
It was the first time I’d ever heard Rhonda Lewis’s voice, and it wasn’t what I’d expected. It was soft and measured—a nurse’s voice. Steve stepped to the side and I slid into the booth across from Rhonda. I said hi to Steve and made room for him next to me, but he stayed where he was.
“I actually have to get out of here,” Steve said as he pulled on his parka. “My shift starts soon.”
I felt a little disappointed. “I’m really glad you were able to make this happen,” I said.
“It was no big deal,” he said. “All I did was give Rhonda your card.”
“He also walked here with me,” she said.
Steve shrugged. “Again, no big deal,” he said. “I’ll leave you guys to talk.”
I cleared my throat. “You never fail to be kind,” I said to him. It was a butchered version of aDoctor Whoquote. Thankfully, Steve recognized it as such. His face broke into a smile. “Not bad for a New-vian.”
“I told you I wasn’t faking,” I said.
“I’m impressed,” he said.
“Allons-y,” I said.
He laughed. “Okay, now you’re just showing off.”
Rhonda was looking at us with a mixture of confusion and mild annoyance, like we were a couple kids speaking pig latin. If I were her, my tolerance would have been running thin. I said goodbye to Steve.
“I hope you find this asshole, so you can move on to a more enjoyable assignment,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. Though the thing was, I wasn’tnotenjoying myself. I did want to find that asshole—not so much for his own sake as for Lydia’s. Whether or not he was guilty of the shootings, she wanted to be with her son again. For Bill’s sake, too, even if he pretended not to care. And for Sky’s. I wanted Sky Farley to have her best friend back. And if he’d betrayed and shot her, I wanted her to live to see him brought to justice.She’ll live. She has to.
It surprised me how much I’d grown to care for these people in just twenty-four hours. And it was why I loved working cases like this one. The higher the stakes, the greater the reward—and more often than not, that reward was an emotional one. I wished I could explain this feeling to Richie…Steve was staring at me. Apparently, he’d said goodbye and I hadn’t responded.
I forced a laugh. “Sorry,” I said. “Just time-traveling.”
