The bomb blast that killed his father had shattered those illusions, taught him the world was an unholy place filled with bastards who would murder you just because you were different from them.
Shaking off his melancholy, he hiked to the car, passing a pair of young Latinas in tight black capri pants and T-shirts. One giggled and said something to the other. He caught the word pelirrojo , “red,” no doubt in reference to his hair. He hoped the rest was a compliment.
O’Fallon sat in his car for some time, watching the boys in the street. No matter how much he hoped, the trail of the missing rosary kept pointing toward the cops. He turned the key in the ignition.
“At least it’s stopped raining.”
* * *
Though Gavenia purposely chose her sister’s favorite restaurant, seeking a neutral location that wouldn’t add to the stress of the evening, unease sat between them like an unwanted dinner companion. She and Ari chatted about the weather and LA traffic. Then they moved on to the astronomical cost of British housing. Superficial social conversation, nothing that dug into the marrow of their private pain.
Gavenia toyed with her dinner, her appetite nonexistent. Ari had no such problem and tackled her rare steak with bravado. She wielded her eating utensils English style, cutting the meat with the knife held in the right hand and then using the fork in her left to bring the morsel to her mouth. An efficient food delivery system, no time wasted changing utensils from one hand to the other. Just what you’d expect from a woman with a scientific mind and a doctorate in archaeology.
“So why are you such a grump?” Ari asked between mouthfuls, tired of the social banter. She’d always been the more direct of the two.
Gavenia opened her mouth to retort and then let a low sigh escape. She couldn’t really argue with that observation—she was a grump.
“I’ve got a difficult case.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have anything interesting going on right now.”
Oops , Bart chimed in as he appeared on the bench seat next to his charge. She caught your little white lie.
Gavenia paid him no heed. “I fibbed. I didn’t want to talk about it.”
Ari gave her a measured look and resumed her assault on the steak. The crimson juices oozed across the white china plate, making Gavenia queasy. She averted her eyes, studying her sister’s clothes. As usual, Ari wore head-to-toe black.
The perpetual widow , Bart observed.
“So do you want to talk about it now?” Ari asked.
Gavenia pondered and then nodded. The way things were headed, the Alliford case wasn’t going to be resolved anytime soon and her grumpy mood would only get worse. Ari might as well be in the loop.
“It’s a little boy,” Gavenia began. As she buttered a warm roll, she related Bradley’s tale. By the end of the story, Ari’s eyes were misty, her dinner ignored.
“God, that’s horrible. And his grandmother won’t help?”
“Nope. Mrs. Pearce is a block of ice.”
Ari frowned and took another sip of her red wine. “Is there anything I can do?”
Gavenia’s first instinct was to refuse, but something held her in check. Her sister was taking a tiny step out of her all-encompassing widowhood. Why not foster that?
“Yes. I’d like to know more about Mrs. Pearce. Ask a few questions, see what you can find out about her. The Hansford name should open a few doors.”
“It’s not my name, it’s the zeros behind it.” Ari retrieved her knife and fork. “I’ll see what I can find out for you.”
“Thanks.” Gavenia relaxed her posture. She’d been sitting so rigidly that her back cramped in protest.
Ari waved a hand in the air as if she’d suddenly remembered something important. “Oh, I didn’t tell you. I’ve been asked to arrange a charity auction in London to benefit a museum exhibition.”
“That sounds cool.”
“I doubt they would have bothered with me before I married Paul.”
“It’s that hefty
Shaking off his melancholy, he hiked to the car, passing a pair of young Latinas in tight black capri pants and T-shirts. One giggled and said something to the other. He caught the word pelirrojo , “red,” no doubt in reference to his hair. He hoped the rest was a compliment.
O’Fallon sat in his car for some time, watching the boys in the street. No matter how much he hoped, the trail of the missing rosary kept pointing toward the cops. He turned the key in the ignition.
“At least it’s stopped raining.”
* * *
Though Gavenia purposely chose her sister’s favorite restaurant, seeking a neutral location that wouldn’t add to the stress of the evening, unease sat between them like an unwanted dinner companion. She and Ari chatted about the weather and LA traffic. Then they moved on to the astronomical cost of British housing. Superficial social conversation, nothing that dug into the marrow of their private pain.
Gavenia toyed with her dinner, her appetite nonexistent. Ari had no such problem and tackled her rare steak with bravado. She wielded her eating utensils English style, cutting the meat with the knife held in the right hand and then using the fork in her left to bring the morsel to her mouth. An efficient food delivery system, no time wasted changing utensils from one hand to the other. Just what you’d expect from a woman with a scientific mind and a doctorate in archaeology.
“So why are you such a grump?” Ari asked between mouthfuls, tired of the social banter. She’d always been the more direct of the two.
Gavenia opened her mouth to retort and then let a low sigh escape. She couldn’t really argue with that observation—she was a grump.
“I’ve got a difficult case.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have anything interesting going on right now.”
Oops , Bart chimed in as he appeared on the bench seat next to his charge. She caught your little white lie.
Gavenia paid him no heed. “I fibbed. I didn’t want to talk about it.”
Ari gave her a measured look and resumed her assault on the steak. The crimson juices oozed across the white china plate, making Gavenia queasy. She averted her eyes, studying her sister’s clothes. As usual, Ari wore head-to-toe black.
The perpetual widow , Bart observed.
“So do you want to talk about it now?” Ari asked.
Gavenia pondered and then nodded. The way things were headed, the Alliford case wasn’t going to be resolved anytime soon and her grumpy mood would only get worse. Ari might as well be in the loop.
“It’s a little boy,” Gavenia began. As she buttered a warm roll, she related Bradley’s tale. By the end of the story, Ari’s eyes were misty, her dinner ignored.
“God, that’s horrible. And his grandmother won’t help?”
“Nope. Mrs. Pearce is a block of ice.”
Ari frowned and took another sip of her red wine. “Is there anything I can do?”
Gavenia’s first instinct was to refuse, but something held her in check. Her sister was taking a tiny step out of her all-encompassing widowhood. Why not foster that?
“Yes. I’d like to know more about Mrs. Pearce. Ask a few questions, see what you can find out about her. The Hansford name should open a few doors.”
“It’s not my name, it’s the zeros behind it.” Ari retrieved her knife and fork. “I’ll see what I can find out for you.”
“Thanks.” Gavenia relaxed her posture. She’d been sitting so rigidly that her back cramped in protest.
Ari waved a hand in the air as if she’d suddenly remembered something important. “Oh, I didn’t tell you. I’ve been asked to arrange a charity auction in London to benefit a museum exhibition.”
“That sounds cool.”
“I doubt they would have bothered with me before I married Paul.”
“It’s that hefty
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