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That last sentence disarms me from continuing in the cranky way I started this conversation. What did I even think? That he kept this from me for weeks? Of course, he only just found out.
“Where will she stay? Our house is a mess,” I say.
Mark shrugs just as the light turns green. “A hotel, apparently. But like I said, she might still change her mind about coming. Giving me only a week’s notice, that’s strange, even for her. Something else is going on.”
I lean back in my seat. “I hope she comes. I’m kind of looking forward to finally meeting her.”
I’ve only spoken to her on the phone so far. She’s vivacious and friendly and I’m sure that’s even more pronounced in person. Mark certainly didn’t get his brooding ways from her.
He scoffs but doesn’t say anything. And at the next traffic light we stop at, he changes the subject back to the case we’re working.
He doesn’t think we uncovered anything very important today, but I think he’s wrong. The man in the trench coat could be very significant. One can blend in by standing out. He also thinks we won’t spend the night poring over the files from the other cases and he’s wrong about that too.
But what he’s most wrong about is this conviction he seems to have that he can keep this case from getting under his skin. He can’t do that anymore than I can.
