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“He’s a Malone.” She carries her coffee in one hand, and trails the fingertips of her other hand along the back of a chair. “His world is so ridiculously different from mine. He’s m—” She clamps her lips shut and glances around to make sure we won’t be overheard. “He’s mafia, Minka. That’s not a small deal.”
“Hisfatherwas mafia,” I counter. “I could say the exact same about Archer. Tim isn’t part of that world. And there isn’t a person on this planet he would protect more than he’ll protect you.”
“But I’m not asking for protection!” she snaps, though she does it quietly. “I’m asking for acceptance. And mutual ground. I’m asking for respect and affection and somewhere our lives intersectappropriately. He works all night long, I work all day. He comes from organized crime, and I come from… well…” She lifts her hand in frustration. “My family makes our own butter, Minka. We sew our own clothes. Wear our hair in braids, and flash peace symbols. We picket for equality, and cry for those who don’t receive it. My dad was a professor of anthropology, and he probably used his own children as case studies, but he’s a total sweetheart, just like my brothers. My mom grows her own vegetables—and I don’t mean as a hobby. I mean if she didn’t grow it herself, she won’t eat it. And if she finds out we bought vegetables from the store, when we could’ve just come home and raided her garden, we get the eye.The eye!” she rants. “My teenage rebellion didn’t include sex, drugs, and other bad things, like a normal sixteen-year-old’s. It was in the form of eating meat outside the home, and shopping for clothes at stores that sometimes bought their products from China.”
“You’re giving me the whole Emeri family history, here.”
“I’m giving you context,” she insists. “Tim is just… he’s not Emeri. Not even close. He’s so far removed from Emeri, my mom will probably have a stroke.”
“You’re saying you’ll limit your happiness based on what your mom would say?”
“No! I’m saying that Tim… doesn’t fit. He owns a bar and works there with this beautiful Daisy-Duke-looking blonde, whose ass is amazing, and her boobs are just…” she uses her hands to illustrate. “Ya know? They’re perfect and round and perky.”
I peek down at her only slightly smaller breasts and frown. “You’re perky.”
“She’s the type he would be into,” she continues as if I didn’t speak. “She’s the type who would fit into his world. Not me.”
“Uh…Ifit into his world, since I married his brother. And you and I have the same job. Similar experiences in life.”Not really,but I’m here to pep her up, right? “You have more siblings than me, and your parents were present, but we went to school for the same thing. We both study dead people for a living. We both appreciate fine coffee. And we’re clearly attracted to the same type of men. If there’s room for me in that world, there’s room for you, too.”
“I doubt he sees things that way.” She sighs. “He decided a long time ago that I’m not a woman for him to take to bed, but a doll to set on a shelf and watch from a distance. Which is sweet,” she concedes when I open my mouth to argue. “It’s beautiful and wholesome, and I know that if I ever need someone to have my back, he’ll fill that role in a heartbeat. But romance?” she asks wistfully. “Passion? Marriage?” The chuckle that comes from the back of her throat sounds a little sad. “That’s not for us.”
“So start with a one-night stand.” I bring my eyes up and flash a playful smile. “That’s how Archer and I began. It works.”
“A viable plan,” she scoffs, “if Tim and I were strangers. But he knows me, so there’s no way he’s gonna take me to bed for the sake of screwing. That’s what other women are for. That’s what Anne was for. I’m just…” With a shrug, she turns away and plops down onto a chair to pout and sip her coffee. “A friend. Not the person he goes home with. And at this point in my life, I’m not all that keen to continue throwing myself at him. It stings after a while.”
My phone trills in my pocket, loud bleats that earn a hiss when I attempt to reach for it with my bad arm before my brain catches up with my actions. Growling, I set my coffee down to free up my usable hand, then I grab the phone before it rings out and spy Seraphina’s name on the screen.
Answering, I bring it to my ear and turn away from Aubree. “This is Chief Mayet.”
“Chief, I have a Lori Wilson blowing up my phone and crying about your vic.”
“Lori Wilson?” I spin back to Aubree and kick the leg of her chair to get her attention. Then nodding toward my coffee to ask her to bring it, I turn on my heels and start back toward my office. “She’s calling for my John Doe?”
“Yes. She says his name is Roger Wilson and that he’s her husband. She saw him on the news, and can barely get more than three words out without losing her composure.”
“Alright.” I push through my office door and stride toward my desk. “You can invite her here to view the body. Set it up and send me the details. I’m gonna call the detectives and loop them in, too, now that we have a name.”
“Copy that. I’ll email you in a few minutes, just as soon as arrangements have been made.”
“Deal.”
I sit at my desk and drop my phone so it clatters to the wooden surface. Then I dial Archer and place the call on speaker while I switch my computer on.
“Mayet?” He answers the way he always does: focused, formidable, and at least thirty percent worried I’m dying. “You okay?”
“Your news segment seems to have worked, because our John Doe’s name is Roger Wilson. His wife is coming down to the George Stanley sometime today to formally identify him. Figured you’d wanna be here.”
“You got that right. Fletch!”
I hear both men move. Keys being scooped up. Coffee mugs set down. Office chairs squeaking in their dismissal.
“We’re rolling out,” Archer confirms. “Keep your doors locked, Mayet. That news piece is getting a lot of attention, and our phones are ringing off the hook. Roger’s a new name, though. We haven’t heard that one yet.”
“The wife called here a complete mess. Fifi took the call. She’s gonna schedule a viewing and send me the details once she’s got them.”
“Alright, see you in a bit.”
ARCHER
