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“She fucking gave it to him,” Jimmy finishes my sentence, handing me a new soda, and I take the bottle to twist off the cap. He sits down with a satisfied sigh, his sandwich on a paper plate. The weak light of late Autumn trickles through the window, and I glance out at the busy street. This grinder shop isn’t all that busy but, in an hour,... “I bet he wasn’t expecting that.”
“I don’t know what he was expecting, but what troubles me is why approach her?” I posit, glancing between my cousin and my best lackey. Jimmy frowns, picking up his loaded sandwich to take a huge bite. “Why attack her with every man in her life the way he did? There were better ways to go at her. Heather can’t lie for shit.”
“What bothers me is how nothing you mentioned he said wasn’t public record,” Robert says softly, thoughtfully, and grabs his own drink to take a sip. I arch a brow quizzically. “Everything Long had on Heather is public record, I mean. A Google search can turn up probate court and the brother’s criminal history. So... how’d Long know the roommate was ‘missing’? The guy had no friends or family to report him missing. We confirmed this after he was disposed of.”
“That—that’s a good point,” I concede, rubbing my chin and jaw thoughtfully. How could Long know about something that wasn’t in any record? I had my inside guy at the police, and 9-1-1 dispatch confirmed that no one had reported the shot at Heather’s place that day. Is it Long bluffing? “But if he is bluffing, how’d he come by that information? What about the friend—Heather’s friend? She lives in New York?”
Looking over at Jimmy, I frown when he shakes his head, not answering verbally as he gobbles down his sandwich. “Markee cracked her phone when she said she was writing a piece on Mayor Shaw, though.”
“If Frankie contacted her, we would know about it. According to what we know, Carrie despised Frankie with every fiber of her being, although I don’t know why. She would’ve told Heather,” Robert clarifies, and I nod in agreement. “Either way, it doesn’t matter how. All that matters is that Long knows things he shouldn’t. I think Heather’s right, Boss. I don’t think you should keep toying with him. Especially if Heather’s gonna be the one caught in the middle. She’ll buckle.”
“I’ve allowed this because it’ll draw Frankie out,” I state firmly, glancing between both my subordinates. Reluctancy dries my mouth, and I fight, licking my lips nervously. Nervous? No, I’m not nervous... I just really don’t wanna open my mouth again. “But since we now know, Frankie’s here, and with Long working in the peripheral, I have no choice anymore. The slow and steady method took longer, but it got me, Frankie, on my own turf. With his gang connections, that would’ve been bad going to him, and we’ve stirred the pot foiling their buy from the Italians.”
“Set a surveillance team on Heather,” I nod at my cousin, and Robert purses his lips, his jaw working hard. “Put extra people in Markee’s office and monitor everything she does and says, where it happens, when—all of it. And Jimmy, you’ll keep being on the lookout for Frankie. He’s managed to evade me for almost five years because he doesn’t leave digital breadcrumbs. Find him the old-fashioned way.”
“You think Frankie will ask her for a meet?” Robert questions and I nod before my phone buzzes against the table. It’s a notification from the app tracking Heather’s phone. She’s received a text, and I hastily snatch the device to read it. “What’s it say?”
“It’s a meeting place and time,” I say, suspicion turning my blood into a thick sludge. “It’s a diversion. Not after all this time and effort, he put into trying to avoid me. No, this is meant for us.”
“What do you wanna do, Jack?” My gaze slips to Jimmy at his probing, and I sit back in the booth to sigh heavily.
What to do? What to do?
“We’ll keep an eye on Heather and let her think she’s being sneaky. I know she’ll try to get answers on her own, so if Frankie’s finally ready to come out of the shadows,” I say, and Robert nods with a grunt, “we just have to catch him before he kills her.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
Heather
“Miss Heather!” Glancing up from my list, I don’t have to look far as a little girl pats my leg insistently. All the children are lined up, waiting to head out for the day and see their parents. They’re all antsy, and I’m tired as I crouch down to smile at her.
“Yes?” She blushes fiercely, holding out a piece of paper crumpled into a ball. Interest raises my brows, and my grin broadens. “Is this for me?”
“Yeah.” She mutters before dropping the ball onto the floor and rushing away. Taking up her place in line, the girl hides her face as I grab the paper and stand up. They’re all so cute in their massive coats, all bundled up with hats and mittens. Sighing softly, I smooth the paper and fold it up into a square to stuff it into my purse.
"All right, they're going to call us in for dismissal soon," I say loudly, and a dozen and a half bright eyes turn to me. "Does everyone have everything? Lunch box? Backpack? Folder?”
There is a chorus of voices as I scan the line while the children rattle their lunch boxes and twist to show off their backpacks. I check my watch just as the classroom speaker sounds and the secretary calls my class outside. Opening the door, I shoulder my purse before waving the children out into the hallway. They cling to the wall, and I count the flashy hats and heads before shutting the door behind me.
“Follow me, and stay close to the wall.” Holding the line leader’s hand, I keep one eye on all the kids and the other in front of me. It’s a daily ritual, and doing it no longer hurts my eyeballs. Man, Grace really had some skills; I’m grateful she gave me a bunch of tips. Walking the hallways of the school, I smile to myself and sigh.
Wednesday- it’s only Wednesday, but I feel like celebrating! I want to party every time I leave this school and wake up to start the next day again. No longer do I struggle to wake up in the morning. It’s not arduous, knowing I’ll be floating around classrooms.
“They’re such good kids. Grace’ll be coming back next year, but part of me wishes I could just have her first graders,” I mutter to myself as we reach the corner, and I look back to count my kids again. My kids. Oh, what a great notion that is. My heart grows full as I scan the line before heading out the doors. All my class hustles around my legs, tugging on me when they see their parent. I shield my eyes from the sun to look around, nodding and nudging when I confirm someone’s here to pick them up.
There is nothing—nothing—that can dampen my mood. It takes mere minutes for my legs to be free of grasping hands, and I nod to myself before heading for the faculty parking lot. My mind wanders, and I pull the note that’d been given to me out of my purse. The rumpled page has my name on it in her handwriting, and I smile as I caress the crayon lines with my thumb.
Mis Heather.
When my phone trills, I pause in mid-step and pull it from my purse. Answering the call, I clear my throat and head to my car.
“Hey, Jack. What’s up? I just am heading to my car now,” I say, the line crackling as I hold my phone to my ear with my shoulder. “Are you gonna demand another date? Because you’re zero-for-one right now.”
“You consider Long showing up at the end ruining the entire date? What’s wrong with your perception of time?” Jack says, but he chuckles lightly with humor as I reach my car. Fire licks up my cheeks, the breeze biting my skin. I take out my keys while he goes quiet briefly, and curiousness worms through my veins. “I can if you want. I know it makes you hot and bothered when I get bossy, Heather. But no, I’m calling about something else. You never told me how Monday went—your meeting with the staff.”
“Oh, I didn’t?” I wince; I’ve been in a rosy haze the past few days. Climbing into my car, I toss my purse on the seat and frown. “Yeah, it went as expected. They said they didn’t want to hire someone from outside, and I’m the better of the three subs that applied. So, Principal McKillingly gave me a look that essentially said, ‘you got this’, so.”
I pause as I insert my key into the ignition, but my car does not start. The mechanical whirring stops, and my mouth dries up. Just what I need! Car troubles! How typical. “Uh, let me call you back. My car isn't working," I grumble as I try and fail to start it. “It sounds like the battery’s dead? But it shouldn’t be.”
