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He’d put on his jacket when his cell phone buzzed. Heart suddenly racing at the caller ID, he lurched for his phone. “Georgia? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “So is Eloise. Detective McKittrick has two new officers on our floor in addition to that nice Officer Stern.”
“Aw shucks, ma’am,” a deep voice said in the background.
“Stern’s in your apartment?”
“Been sitting at my kitchen table all day, showing us photos of his family. Eloise has adopted him.”
“So have you!” Eloise shouted.
“And have you?” Sam asked, amused.
“Maybe. Look, I’ve been working on Frankie’s eulogy today.”
Sam’s little bubble of happiness abruptly popped. “Oh.”
Georgia sighed. “Yeah, I know. The ME has released his body to the funeral home and his memorial service is Sunday. I want to do his eulogy right, just in case some of his old colleagues from SDPD show up to our service. I’ve written about the Frankie we knew—the husband of Ryan and purveyor of antiques who had a gruff exterior and a marshmallow heart, but it feels…incomplete. I was hoping to talk to some of those colleagues, to maybe get a feel for the man he was when he was a cop.” She hesitated. “Maybe even speak to his ex-wife.”
Sam thought about Frankie’s ex in hospice. “Do you think she’d talk to you?”
“Frankie only mentioned her a few times, but he spoke fondly of her. Her name is Sharon. He said she’d remarried, but I don’t know her new last name. I tried googling her, but I didn’t get anywhere. She’s not attached to Frankie in any of the people-finder databases. I was hoping you’d know how to dig deeper.”
“Let me make some calls.”
“You are a good boy, Sam. Thank you.”
“Bye, Sam!” Eloise called.
“Tell Miss Eloise goodbye and that I’ll be there soon. Can I bring you two anything?”
“Eloise, he wants to know if you want anything,” Georgia said.
“Wine,” Eloise said plaintively. “Lots of wine.”
Georgia’s sigh was long-suffering, which was a common occurrence around Eloise. “If you bring wine, you might as well bring some chocolate, too. Thank you, Sam.”
“No problem. I’ll call you if I find anything out.” He ended the call with Georgia, then looked at the contact list on his phone. Kit had said the woman was in hospice, her son a constant presence at her side. She’d know the ex-wife’s name and her location.
And, he could admit to himself, he wanted to hear her voice.
He hit her name and waited to be sent to her voice mail, but she answered. “Are you all right?” she asked without even saying hello.
“I’m fine. So are the ladies. Are you?”
“Yes, of course.” Then she hesitated before saying quietly, “Not really. We had to notify Benny’s family that he’d been murdered. Never a pleasant task, but this one was rough.”
“Why?” Sam asked gently.
“I don’t know. I never met the man, but he seemed like such a gentle soul. Murder is never fair. Or hardly ever, anyway. This one was so unnecessary. And for what? Greed? It’s just…well, it’s difficult.”
Part of him wanted to shout from the rooftops that she’d trusted him with something so personal. The other part of him wanted to help. To soothe.
“It’s okay to feel, Kit.”
Her laugh was a touch bitter. “No, it’s really not. I won’t be able to do my job if I feel too much.”
“I get that. I really do.” Because he often felt the same way about his clients. It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest she speak to a therapist, but he knew that would have her hanging up on him. “Look, I was hoping you could help me help Miss Georgia. She’s writing Frankie’s eulogy.”
