“Can I get you something else?” asks Alain’s assistant, apologetically.
“I’ll just stick with the soup,” I tell him. “Thanks.”
“You need more than soup,” Dante says.
I gesture to my middle. “Tell that to the lima bean.”
A few laughs go around the room, followed by the clank of silverware. Everyone takes a few bites and Armani gets the conversation going again.
“Charlie, Frankie: Jim needs a list of every place your father liked to frequent around town. Every bar, racetrack, betting office, or illegal gambling joint you can think of.”
“I’ve already tried all of them, more than once.” I break a roll in half and start buttering it, thankful that I can still eat bread without gagging.
“Me, too,” Charlie says. “And I talked to everyone I could. Nothing but dead ends.”
I snap a look at her. “You shouldn’t have done that. It’s too dangerous.”
She gives me a condescending look. “Seriously? I’m the big sister. And you went yourself, anyway, so don’t be a hypocrite.”
My hormones have me instantly on the defensive. “I’ma hypocrite? What about the—”
“It’s fine that you already looked,” Armani interrupts, “but Jim can dig deeper than we can. It would also be helpful to let him know about any friends, known associates, or relatives that your father might have made contact with, especially people who live out of town.”
Charlie and I nod, chastened.
“We’ll help however we can,” I say.
Jim takes out his phone and opens a note app, then looks at me expectantly. A shiver goes through me at the intensity of his stare. This isn’t a man who’s used to waiting or not being obeyed. Squirming a bit in my seat, it seems like I’m the one under the microscope.
In between bites, Charlie and I list off the places our father liked to hang out. Bars—lots of bars—gambling houses, racetracks, strip clubs, even the all-night-breakfast joints where he’d nurse his hangover with eggs and toast. He doesn’t have any real friends, but I’m able to name a few guys he’s mentioned over the years, as well as the name of a woman in Reno he used to stay with every now and again, though it seemed like all they’d ever do was drink and fight.
By the time we’re done detailing Dad’s debauchery, it feels like we’ve taken a grand tour of indolence and sin.
“What about the tattooed man? The one Bregman claimed ordered the hit?” Dante asks.
Officer Bryant shakes his head. “The description of the suspect’s been circulating, but so far it hasn’t turned up anything solid. Doesn’t mean the guy’s not out there, though.”
The remainder of the meal is a tense affair, but before anyone has even finished, I realize I’ve suddenly lost what little appetite I had. I give my sister a look before pushing away from the table and excusing myself. Dante tries to argue, but I cut him off.
“I need some air—I’m going to go check on the horses for Livvie. Don’t worry. Donovan will be close by.”
“And I’ll go with her,” Charlie says, excusing herself too.
We link arms and head down the hall to the front door. As expected, Donovan is waiting there like a sentry. He quietly falls into step behind us.
“I can’t stomach what else they have to say about Dad,” I confess. “Not tonight.”
Charlie squeezes my arm. “I’m with you. Come on, let’s take some pictures to send to Livvie.”
The stables are spotless, warm, and comforting. Delores’s son Vicente and the Bellanti stable hands have clearly been taking excellent care of the Friesians, considering how the horses’ coats gleam and that the stalls are full of clean straw, fresh food and water, and even toys and salt licks. Livvie couldn’t have done a better job herself.
Ytse tosses his head when he hears us approach and buries his warm muzzle in the crook of my arm when I lean over the door of his stall.
Charlie snaps a few photos and texts them over to Livvie.
Opening the door to the gelding’s stall, I go in and wrap my arms around the horse’s neck. His thick, flowing mane tickles my cheeks while he nickers softly, as if he knows I’m having a hard time. Charlie feeds him a handful of oats and then we sit together in the corner of his stall while he gently nuzzles between us, looking for more treats. Dante would have a fit if he saw me sitting on the ground so close to this massive horse. But he doesn’t know Ytse like I do. He’s more lapdog than horse.
Charlie plucks straw from her wool pants. “Did Mom tell you anything while you were staying with her? About, you know, when she left?”
