photo of herself in the Sunday paper. Not even a little one buried in the Metro section. Instead, the insufferable Budge had featured on the front page a noble-looking photo of Xander next to one of the troll-like Ivano Kurjak. The headline read Who is Lara's Real Father?
Budge had interviewed Mr. Kurjak directly after the Saturday “bombshell,” and the man had been apoplectic in his denials about any part Xander might have played in Lara's parentage after an affair with his wife. “The disrespect this man shows me!” he was quoted as shouting. “How dare he?”
Ever the conscientious reporter, Budge had done follow-up interviews with “persons on the street” reacting to Xander's speculations.
“Lara looks a lot more like that cute architect than the other guy. The cops need to find her so they can, you know, be a family,” said Tiffany from Quincy.
“I think it's tragic. Poor kid gets nabbed from her own apartment. I hate that,” said Ritchie from South Boston. “Oh, yeah. The Harvard guy. He needs to man up—get out there and find his kid.”
“I pray for Lara. I'm sure the police are doing their best to bring her home to whichever man turns out to be her father. Poor thing doesn't have a mother,” said Mrs. Edward Stritch from Scituate.
That last was the most noncommittal of the reactions that Budge offered up.
Iris took a bowl of oatmeal out of the microwave and put it in the freezer to cool.
“Sheba, Xander bumped us off the front page. Bless the man!”
Sheba, from her resting place inside the kitchen fireplace, raised her head at mention of her name, then sensing a rhetorical comment with no pathway to treats, lowered it again.
The memory of the photo Budge was holding over her head brought a pang of guilt as Iris remembered how hurt Luc had looked. Even though she'd confessed to Luc that she'd spoken with Xander the previous morning, he still didn't need to see a photo of her sneaking out from under the guy's fence looking guilty-as-sin of something. She checked her watch. Nine in the morning was too early to wake him after his typical frantic Saturday night of cooking at the café. This was the only morning he had to sleep in, a Sunday with no trip to the food market, no suppliers to call.
Then again, maybe this was the perfect time to catch him with his guard down. She changed into black jeans and a sweater, then snapped Sheba's leash onto her pink leather collar with biker's studs.
As soon as Iris opened the door to Luc's condo, Sheba raced toward the bedroom. Only then did Iris pause. Was it such a great idea to barge in on Luc the morning after they'd had a disagreement? What if he had company? It wasn't as if they had ever discussed any ground rules for this relationship. After a month or so of spending nights together, Luc had simply given her a key. She had done the same.
Iris crept toward the door without hearing any voice, much less two. She peered in to see Sheba sitting on Luc's empty bed. The dog looked at her and let out a mournful howl.
Iris remembered, several Saturdays before, when she had swung by the restaurant at closing time to find two foxy, thirtyish women avidly chatting up Luc.
She slid under Luc's duvet and curled her body around his cold pillow.
CHAPTER 21
D etective Russo's stomach roiled in protest at his third cup of scorched police station coffee. It was Sunday morning and he tossed the front section of the Globe into the trash can. He ran his hand from the base of his short, powerful neck up over his shaved head and back again, which did nothing to relax him. The brass wanted Paul Malone to handle this Lara Kurjak case instead of Missing Persons. Since Malone was his lieutenant as well as his partner, the case was his as well. Russo hated these missing kids cases. He stared at the framed photograph on his desk of his red-headed son, ten-year-old Charlie Junior, in a little league uniform. If he had his way, knowing what he did about the pervs out there,
Budge had interviewed Mr. Kurjak directly after the Saturday “bombshell,” and the man had been apoplectic in his denials about any part Xander might have played in Lara's parentage after an affair with his wife. “The disrespect this man shows me!” he was quoted as shouting. “How dare he?”
Ever the conscientious reporter, Budge had done follow-up interviews with “persons on the street” reacting to Xander's speculations.
“Lara looks a lot more like that cute architect than the other guy. The cops need to find her so they can, you know, be a family,” said Tiffany from Quincy.
“I think it's tragic. Poor kid gets nabbed from her own apartment. I hate that,” said Ritchie from South Boston. “Oh, yeah. The Harvard guy. He needs to man up—get out there and find his kid.”
“I pray for Lara. I'm sure the police are doing their best to bring her home to whichever man turns out to be her father. Poor thing doesn't have a mother,” said Mrs. Edward Stritch from Scituate.
That last was the most noncommittal of the reactions that Budge offered up.
Iris took a bowl of oatmeal out of the microwave and put it in the freezer to cool.
“Sheba, Xander bumped us off the front page. Bless the man!”
Sheba, from her resting place inside the kitchen fireplace, raised her head at mention of her name, then sensing a rhetorical comment with no pathway to treats, lowered it again.
The memory of the photo Budge was holding over her head brought a pang of guilt as Iris remembered how hurt Luc had looked. Even though she'd confessed to Luc that she'd spoken with Xander the previous morning, he still didn't need to see a photo of her sneaking out from under the guy's fence looking guilty-as-sin of something. She checked her watch. Nine in the morning was too early to wake him after his typical frantic Saturday night of cooking at the café. This was the only morning he had to sleep in, a Sunday with no trip to the food market, no suppliers to call.
Then again, maybe this was the perfect time to catch him with his guard down. She changed into black jeans and a sweater, then snapped Sheba's leash onto her pink leather collar with biker's studs.
As soon as Iris opened the door to Luc's condo, Sheba raced toward the bedroom. Only then did Iris pause. Was it such a great idea to barge in on Luc the morning after they'd had a disagreement? What if he had company? It wasn't as if they had ever discussed any ground rules for this relationship. After a month or so of spending nights together, Luc had simply given her a key. She had done the same.
Iris crept toward the door without hearing any voice, much less two. She peered in to see Sheba sitting on Luc's empty bed. The dog looked at her and let out a mournful howl.
Iris remembered, several Saturdays before, when she had swung by the restaurant at closing time to find two foxy, thirtyish women avidly chatting up Luc.
She slid under Luc's duvet and curled her body around his cold pillow.
CHAPTER 21
D etective Russo's stomach roiled in protest at his third cup of scorched police station coffee. It was Sunday morning and he tossed the front section of the Globe into the trash can. He ran his hand from the base of his short, powerful neck up over his shaved head and back again, which did nothing to relax him. The brass wanted Paul Malone to handle this Lara Kurjak case instead of Missing Persons. Since Malone was his lieutenant as well as his partner, the case was his as well. Russo hated these missing kids cases. He stared at the framed photograph on his desk of his red-headed son, ten-year-old Charlie Junior, in a little league uniform. If he had his way, knowing what he did about the pervs out there,
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