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“Is that just a good idea or a necessity?” he asked.
“Necessity. She’s determined and unarmed. I want to see if someone’s watching her.”
“Try to have some fun, will you?”
I said I would try just before Joe’s hand went slack. Soon,he and Martha were both snoring. I nudged our little one and carried her to her bedroom with Martha padding behind us. I put her to bed asking, “How’s my girl?”
“I missed you, Mommy.”
“I missed you, too, Jules.”
Martha hopped up into bed with Julie. She circled, put her head on Julie’s pillow, and closed her big brown eyes. I stood watching them sleep by the night-light shaped like an angel.
Julie hadn’t said the Lord’s Prayer tonight, and come to think of it, neither had I—not in a long time. I knelt beside Julie’s bed and did it for her. After “God bless …” I included everyone in the Molinari and Boxer families and Mrs. Rose. I requested blessings for the Women’s Murder Club and their men and my friends and colleagues at the SFPD. I tucked Cindy’s name in once more, just before “Amen.”
I turned to leave Julie’s room with an idea to wake my husband accidentally on purpose. But he was already up, standing in Julie’s doorway after watching and listening to me pray.
“And God bless you,” he said.
He hugged me tight and walked me back to bed.
CHAPTER 56
WE WERE ON the Tuesday morning flight to Phoenix when Cindy told me that the book tour was driving sales far beyond expectations.
“You know what they say? ‘Books are flying off the shelves.’”
We both grinned at the image and actually I liked how she sounded. The Cindy who’d had too much contact with Evan Burke, who’d been steeped in souvenirs of his decades-long murder spree, was nearly back to her old self: enthusiastic, daring, fully alive.
When we exited the Phoenix terminal, Cindy’s driver was waiting to take us to The Poisoned Pen Bookstore in Old Town Scottsdale. The store had an impressive exterior with corkscrew columns flanking the front door. Even more impressive was the line of customers stretched out the door to the street in advance of the afternoon signing. I badged the security guard, but before crossing the threshold, I stopped to admire Cindy’s beautiful face on a larger-than-life-sized poster in the window. We each took pictures with Cindy as a backdrop, andshe took a selfie of us together. And then we were welcomed inside by the Poisoned Pen’s owner, Barbara Peters.
Barbara wore red, had a short blond bob, and was so glad to meet us both. She showed us the layout of the store, and where Cindy would be speaking. I met the retired cop she had hired for security and asked to be positioned so that my chair was angled toward the audience. Within a half hour, Barbara Peters introduced Cindy Thomas, best-selling author and crime reporter of note, to rousing applause. I clapped, too, and at the same time watched the room for anomalies, sudden movements or a face I’d seen in previous bookstore videos.
Once Cindy engaged the audience, she was encouraged to speak longer and answer more questions, while the book signing line grew longer. We had planned to have an early dinner with Barbara Peters at Café Monarch, a five-star restaurant with a four-course menu that even one-star foodies like me would remember forever. But it was clear by the time we finished at the Poisoned Pen that we could have dinner or catch our return flight, but not both.
Barbara recommended Chelsea’s Kitchen, an airport restaurant that was so popular, non-travelers drove out to the airport to eat there. We took her advice and had hot tacos and iced tea. And I told Cindy how proud I was of her.
“My God. That was such a great event. And you were so good, Cin. How’d you learn to do public speaking like that?”
“Well, I’ve had practice—”
“You’re a natural, Cindy. And you know your subject—”
“Don’t I, though?”
“You practically materialized Evan Burke into the store. The audience couldn’t get enough of you.”
“Thanks, Linds. I have to enjoy it while I can.”
“While you can, what? You’re scaring me.”
“No, no. I mean, someone else’s book will be top of the list in a couple of weeks. But still. This is almost like a first-class vacation. In Paris.”
I laughed, paid the check, and waited for the waiter to bring back my card. There was a long pause as Cindy pulled at the hem of her flippy jersey dress and then asked, “Did you see anyone who looked wrong?”
“No. And I was watching while everyone else was looking at you.”
“Hah,” said Cindy. “So, we don’t have to get into a fight when I go to Portland in a few days.”
