loading boxes into the car.
When we had finished, Rachel peered into her trunk. “Been a long time since I could fit all my worldly possessions into the trunk and backseat of a Plymouth.”
“Look, if you’re hinting that I ought to feel ashamed of myself-”
“Hey, relax! I’m sorry about what I said earlier. Nobody’s trying to blame you for anything. All right?”
“Sorry. Guess I’m on edge. Maybe it’s because your friend McCain
is
trying to blame me.”
She closed the lid of the trunk a little more forcefully than necessary. “Let’s see if we can find this little grocery store,” she said, opening the driver’s side door.
“It’s probably within walking distance.”
“I don’t want to leave the car sitting here-not with all her belongings in it.
No sooner had she said this than a now-familiar car pulled up. McCain. He double-parked, blocking us. Even though Rachel was the one standing between the two cars, I took a couple of steps back on the sidewalk, a brief, wild urge to run passing through me. Run? From what? Maybe it was just that McCain was starting to make me feel hemmed in.
There was a humming sound as he lowered the passenger window.
“You live in this neighborhood, Mac?” Rachel asked.
“Just wondered how you were doing,” he said. “And I brought you a little present.”
“We’re fine,” she said coolly. “We just finished up, in fact. You caught us just as we were leaving.”
“Find anything?”
“Nothing we could walk off with,” she answered. “But you ought to turn on the famous Mac charm with the old ladies in the neighboring apartments. Ask them about break-ins.” She laughed. “Or ask the knuckleheads who took the breaking-and-entering complaint calls before Briana Maguire was killed.”
“Briana Maguire called in a burglary in progress?”
“No, but her neighbors did. You didn’t run a history on this address? Mac, Mac, Mac. You’re slipping.”
“Planning to do it Monday,” he said, turning red.
“Well, we have to get going.”
He extended a manila envelope. “Your present.”
“What is it?” she asked, taking it.
“Copies of her bills. Maybe they’ll help you find the kid.”
“All this time, you been down at the PD, running copies of all this for me?”
He nodded.
She gave him a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Mac. I owe you.”
“No, no, you don’t.”
“Tell you what-wait just a second.” She turned to me. “Come on, get in.” I obeyed. She got in on her side and rolled the window down. “You can have your parking spot back. Talk to those other tenants-it will make you look good.”
If he was disappointed that she was leaving, he hid it well. “Thanks, Rach.”
She pulled out, let him park, then backed up to block him as he had blocked us, only McCain couldn’t even open his door. When he lowered the driver’s side window, she said, “You know what, Jimmy Mac? Those old gals just might make you let up on Irene.”
She put the car in gear, laughing as she pulled away. I picked up the envelope and started looking through it, hearing her hum a catchy oldies tune. She had stopped the car again by the time I realized the song was “Jimmy Mac.”
It hadn’t taken long to find the small
tienda,
which was about two blocks from Briana’s apartment. We parked on the street, at the corner beneath a shady tree. As I stepped out of the car, I noticed a little white cross was planted in the crook of the tree roots, a small, dusty cluster of artificial roses entwined at its base. I looked away from it and strode resolutely toward the store.
The store owner, Mr. Reyes, smiled and welcomed us in English, but when he learned that we spoke Spanish, he was happier to converse in it. My Spanish is passable, but Rachel speaks it fluently, so I let her do the talking. She explained my relationship to Briana, and at his questioning look, added that Briana was the lady who was killed in a hit-and-run accident. Wasn’t the accident at
When we had finished, Rachel peered into her trunk. “Been a long time since I could fit all my worldly possessions into the trunk and backseat of a Plymouth.”
“Look, if you’re hinting that I ought to feel ashamed of myself-”
“Hey, relax! I’m sorry about what I said earlier. Nobody’s trying to blame you for anything. All right?”
“Sorry. Guess I’m on edge. Maybe it’s because your friend McCain
is
trying to blame me.”
She closed the lid of the trunk a little more forcefully than necessary. “Let’s see if we can find this little grocery store,” she said, opening the driver’s side door.
“It’s probably within walking distance.”
“I don’t want to leave the car sitting here-not with all her belongings in it.
No sooner had she said this than a now-familiar car pulled up. McCain. He double-parked, blocking us. Even though Rachel was the one standing between the two cars, I took a couple of steps back on the sidewalk, a brief, wild urge to run passing through me. Run? From what? Maybe it was just that McCain was starting to make me feel hemmed in.
There was a humming sound as he lowered the passenger window.
“You live in this neighborhood, Mac?” Rachel asked.
“Just wondered how you were doing,” he said. “And I brought you a little present.”
“We’re fine,” she said coolly. “We just finished up, in fact. You caught us just as we were leaving.”
“Find anything?”
“Nothing we could walk off with,” she answered. “But you ought to turn on the famous Mac charm with the old ladies in the neighboring apartments. Ask them about break-ins.” She laughed. “Or ask the knuckleheads who took the breaking-and-entering complaint calls before Briana Maguire was killed.”
“Briana Maguire called in a burglary in progress?”
“No, but her neighbors did. You didn’t run a history on this address? Mac, Mac, Mac. You’re slipping.”
“Planning to do it Monday,” he said, turning red.
“Well, we have to get going.”
He extended a manila envelope. “Your present.”
“What is it?” she asked, taking it.
“Copies of her bills. Maybe they’ll help you find the kid.”
“All this time, you been down at the PD, running copies of all this for me?”
He nodded.
She gave him a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Mac. I owe you.”
“No, no, you don’t.”
“Tell you what-wait just a second.” She turned to me. “Come on, get in.” I obeyed. She got in on her side and rolled the window down. “You can have your parking spot back. Talk to those other tenants-it will make you look good.”
If he was disappointed that she was leaving, he hid it well. “Thanks, Rach.”
She pulled out, let him park, then backed up to block him as he had blocked us, only McCain couldn’t even open his door. When he lowered the driver’s side window, she said, “You know what, Jimmy Mac? Those old gals just might make you let up on Irene.”
She put the car in gear, laughing as she pulled away. I picked up the envelope and started looking through it, hearing her hum a catchy oldies tune. She had stopped the car again by the time I realized the song was “Jimmy Mac.”
It hadn’t taken long to find the small
tienda,
which was about two blocks from Briana’s apartment. We parked on the street, at the corner beneath a shady tree. As I stepped out of the car, I noticed a little white cross was planted in the crook of the tree roots, a small, dusty cluster of artificial roses entwined at its base. I looked away from it and strode resolutely toward the store.
The store owner, Mr. Reyes, smiled and welcomed us in English, but when he learned that we spoke Spanish, he was happier to converse in it. My Spanish is passable, but Rachel speaks it fluently, so I let her do the talking. She explained my relationship to Briana, and at his questioning look, added that Briana was the lady who was killed in a hit-and-run accident. Wasn’t the accident at
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