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“But,” Cassie said, “my friend.”
“Ah.”
The inflection in Jason’s voice made her realize the assumption he made. She wanted nothing more than to hang out with Jason outside of work, but she also didn’t want her unwelcome visitor to show up in the middle of dinner. She had learned not to react over the years, but they still caught her off guard occasionally.
Plus, if she could solve this case, it could mean plenty of dates without any interruptions. And that would be worth the wait.
“I’m not sure what my friend might need from me, so I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep,” Cassie said, proud that it wasn’t a lie. “But once that’s taken care of, I would love to grab dinner with you.”
“Sounds like a date.”
Cassie smiled. “It does.”
Jason returned to work, but Cassie elected to soak up the sun for a few more minutes. She pulled out her cell and the detective’s business card, which she’d kept tucked inside her phone case on the off chance she decided to reach out. Any excitement left over from being asked out had already faded away. She had a bigger mountain in front of her:
How to solve a murder when her abilities were faulty at best.
Ten
Detective Harris met Cassie at Lafayette Square at Abercorn and Macon Streets after work. A mother and daughter stood hand-in-hand in front of a three-tiered fountain in the center of the square. The little girl shut her eyes tight, raised a clenched fist and tossed a handful of change into the water. She lifted one eyelid, then the other. A smile crept across her face and Cassie felt the child’s innocence and joy lifting the mood of the park. Even the Spanish moss waltzed in three-quarter time with the gentle breeze.
Cassie spotted Harris exiting her sedan. The detective had on a navy pantsuit and cream-colored boots. Despite her attire, Cassie was sure the detective could take down any other person in a hundred-foot radius without breaking a sweat. She was all business as she approached Cassie. Harris called out, but the sound of her voice was drowned out by the bells ringing in the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. Recently renovated, Cassie enjoyed the cathedral from a distance. She had no idea if the work done to the building had stirred up spir
its, and she didn’t want to find out.
“I was glad to hear from you,” the detective said.
Cassie stood and shook her hand. “Were you? I kind of got the impression you were leery of meeting with me.”
To Cassie’s surprise, Detective Harris looked sheepish. “You’re not wrong.” She took a long moment to look at Cassie, sizing her up. “I can’t quite get a read on you, Ms. Quinn. I’m not sure what to expect. That makes me uneasy.”
“You can call me Cassie.” She shrugged her shoulders. “And to be honest, you’re not the first person to tell me that.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.”
“Neither am I.”
The two women sat down on the park bench. Harris looked down at the folder in her hands but didn’t open it. When she looked back up at Cassie, all her previous vulnerability had vanished. “Before I show you what’s in here, can I ask you, why did you call me? I got the impression you didn’t want to help.”
“It was more that I wasn’t sure I could help.” Cassie shifted in her seat and looked down the length of the brick pathway that ran along the outer edge of the park. There were a few runners, the little girl and her mother walking together, and a couple of people walking their dogs. A young couple and their toddler sat on a blanket sharing a picnic. The little one perked up when he spotted a dog approaching. The weather was warm, but the breeze made it tolerable. “As I’m sure you know, these sorts of things can take a lot out of you.”
“And by ‘these sorts of things,’ you mean the murder?”
Cassie held back an inappropriate laugh. “Yeah, the murder.” The humor drained away. “But you chose this. I didn’t. I like learning about art and history and literature.”
“Yet you keep finding yourself in this position.” Detective Harris held up the folder, as if to say, you know, the murder.
Cassie shifted her gaze back to the detective. “Did you feel like detective work was your calling?”
A wistful look came over Harris’s face. “Both my father and grandfather were police officers. So were both my uncles. I never thought about being anything else.”
“Does it feel right? Do you feel like you’re right where you’re supposed to be?”
Detective Harris met Cassie’s eyes. A conviction there was tangible. The detective’s voice was firm when she responded. “Yes, I do.”
“I felt that way, too. For a while.”
“But not anymore?”
