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Mr. Claus just stared at her. But he understood. She was certain of it as she finished the routine, grabbed her towel, and headed for the shower. Next up? A few more hours at the computer, or on the phone, or actually going out and knocking on doors.
Tanaka was never happier than when she was on the trail of a killer.
Tomorrow she planned on meeting a few of the people she hadn’t been able to track down during the week.
A road trip.
She didn’t care that it was the weekend.
There was work to be done.
* * *
Pescoli never thought she’d be so glad to see snow.
As she drove around the final curve to her home and saw the house, lights glowing inside to reflect in shimmering patches on the snowbanks outside, her heart rose. Snow was falling, drifting against the house, and the lake looked frozen and still. Peaceful. Heaven after the last six hours of her son being fussy, first during the college tours, then at the airport and on the flight as well. She’d hoped he would settle down in the car, as usual. But no such luck. Tucker had fussed and cried all the way from Missoula.
“Wake up,” she said to Bianca. “We’re home.”
From the passenger seat, her daughter opened a bleary eye. She stretched and yawned and, by the time the garage door rolled open, Bianca was awake. Before Pescoli cut the engine, the door to the interior of the house opened and Santana, in a T-shirt, jeans, and bare feet, stood in the threshold.
“Hey!” he said, walking into the garage as Pescoli climbed out of her Jeep.
“Back atcha.”
“Bianca?” He nodded at his stepdaughter as she got out of the passenger side, then he pecked Pescoli on the cheek and opened the back door to retrieve Tucker. “Hey, little man,” he said, and the baby let out a sharp cry. “I see you missed me.”
“He’s hungry,” Pescoli said, “and you’re up, Dad.”
“And I missed you, too,” he teased, grabbing one of the bags and toting it and Tucker inside as she gathered the rest of her things and followed after him.
“I did miss you,” she said as the dogs greeted her, tails thumping wildly, each barking out a greeting. “You know that.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “You can show me how much later.”
“Still here,” Bianca reminded them as she headed toward the stairs. “I can hear every word and it’s gross.”
Santana whispered, “When did she get to be such an old lady?”
“Maybe she was born that way.”
“Like her mother.”
“Still hearing this!” Bianca said.
“Okay, we’re done,” Pescoli laughed, petting the three dogs, each of which acted as if she’d been gone a year rather than a few days. “Where’s Jeremy?”
“Out. I think.” He shot her a look as he mixed a bottle. “I don’t keep tabs on him. He’s an adult.”
“Living under our roof.”
“Well, kinda.” As the bottle warmed, he toggled his palm to indicate maybe yes/maybe no.
She wanted to argue and point out that Jeremy wasn’t paying rent, but that was because she’d allowed it. As long as he was going to school nearby. So she said, “Look, I’m going to take a shower. You’ve got daddy and mommy duty for a while.”
“You got it.” He slanted her another smile, this time a little more wicked, his eyes gleaming, a hint of a dimple visible beneath his beard stubble.
“You’re . . .”
