He plucked a pencil from his shirt and scribbled against the hood of his truck. He handed it to her. It was the text of Lucia’s letter, written out in a bold, angular cursive script.
“It’s maybe not word for word, but that’s the gist of it,” he said.
“That’s incredible! Do you have a photographic memory?”
“Not really. In an hour, I wouldn’t be able to write more than a rough paraphrase. And it has to really interest me. Otherwise I don’t retain a damn thing.”
Nancy broke eye contact and busied herself folding the paper into a pocket-sized square. “Well, thanks for being so interested, I guess.”
“Anything to do with Lucia and you interests me. Don’t thank me for something involuntary.”
“Involuntary?” She let out a self-conscious snort. “Like sneezing?”
“More like breathing.”
His low, quiet response abruptly halted that very bodily function to which he was referring. She shoved the square into her pocket. “Um, great. Thanks. Since they’re not going to let me in, I might as well—”
“The investigating officer’s going to want to talk with you,” Liam said. “I told her you were on your way. She should be back soon. You haven’t had breakfast, have you?”
She floundered, thrown off course. “I…um…huh?”
“Breakfast?” His subtle smile gleamed. “First meal of the day? Familiar with it?”
“Ah, I’ve…I’ve had coffee,” she offered.
“You’ve got me beat, then,” he said. “There’s a diner up there on the main strip. We could get some food before you talk to the cop.”
She started groping for excuses. Calm down, birdbrain. At mealtimes, normal people get food without reading any big, hidden meanings into it. Lighten up. Her stomach wasn’t in line with the lecture, though.
“Lunch would be great,” she said faintly.
Chapter
4
N ancy regretted her decision when she was seated across from Liam in the pink, madly mirrored interior of Luigi’s Diner. She wished she’d left her hair loose, worn contacts instead of glasses. Something low cut. Not that she had any cleavage to speak of.
He just waited, sipping his tea, and after a couple of minutes of that, her control snapped. “What is it?” she demanded. “What the hell are you waiting for? What are you looking at?”
He discreetly looked away. “I was looking at you. You look…”
“What?” she snapped. “Unapproachable? Unfeminine?”
His mouth twitched. “No, not at all.”
“What, then?” she almost shouted.
“You look good, Nancy.” His voice was velvety, soothing.
Nancy wrapped her arms across her chest. “Sorry. Those long, significant silences of yours are making me twitchy. I appreciate you being nice, but tell me the truth. I look like hell, don’t I?”
His eyes narrowed. “You look stressed and scared. But that doesn’t keep you from looking good. I’m sorry about the long, significant silences. They’re hardwired into me. I’m not much of a chatterbox.”
“That’s okay.” She stared down into her coffee and fished Liam’s copy of Lucia’s letter out of her pocket. “I am scared. I’m scared that things didn’t happen the way the cops said they did. She wrote this letter, but we didn’t find it. And your classic butthead burglar looking to trade a TV or a diamond for a hit of crack or meth—that guy is not going to take this letter. That guy does not give a shit about this letter.”
Liam nodded. “No. You’re right. He doesn’t.”
His quiet agreement rattled her even more. She realized she’d been hoping that he would talk her down from this terrifying line of reasoning. “So who did take it? And what the hell is this ‘thing’ she’s referring to, and what’s the deal with these pendants? And if she had this great big hairy family secret, why did she not tell us before?”
Liam cleared his throat. “Maybe she was—”
“And what did it do to her father? And who the hell knew she was ever married? I mean, married?
“It’s maybe not word for word, but that’s the gist of it,” he said.
“That’s incredible! Do you have a photographic memory?”
“Not really. In an hour, I wouldn’t be able to write more than a rough paraphrase. And it has to really interest me. Otherwise I don’t retain a damn thing.”
Nancy broke eye contact and busied herself folding the paper into a pocket-sized square. “Well, thanks for being so interested, I guess.”
“Anything to do with Lucia and you interests me. Don’t thank me for something involuntary.”
“Involuntary?” She let out a self-conscious snort. “Like sneezing?”
“More like breathing.”
His low, quiet response abruptly halted that very bodily function to which he was referring. She shoved the square into her pocket. “Um, great. Thanks. Since they’re not going to let me in, I might as well—”
“The investigating officer’s going to want to talk with you,” Liam said. “I told her you were on your way. She should be back soon. You haven’t had breakfast, have you?”
She floundered, thrown off course. “I…um…huh?”
“Breakfast?” His subtle smile gleamed. “First meal of the day? Familiar with it?”
“Ah, I’ve…I’ve had coffee,” she offered.
“You’ve got me beat, then,” he said. “There’s a diner up there on the main strip. We could get some food before you talk to the cop.”
She started groping for excuses. Calm down, birdbrain. At mealtimes, normal people get food without reading any big, hidden meanings into it. Lighten up. Her stomach wasn’t in line with the lecture, though.
“Lunch would be great,” she said faintly.
Chapter
4
N ancy regretted her decision when she was seated across from Liam in the pink, madly mirrored interior of Luigi’s Diner. She wished she’d left her hair loose, worn contacts instead of glasses. Something low cut. Not that she had any cleavage to speak of.
He just waited, sipping his tea, and after a couple of minutes of that, her control snapped. “What is it?” she demanded. “What the hell are you waiting for? What are you looking at?”
He discreetly looked away. “I was looking at you. You look…”
“What?” she snapped. “Unapproachable? Unfeminine?”
His mouth twitched. “No, not at all.”
“What, then?” she almost shouted.
“You look good, Nancy.” His voice was velvety, soothing.
Nancy wrapped her arms across her chest. “Sorry. Those long, significant silences of yours are making me twitchy. I appreciate you being nice, but tell me the truth. I look like hell, don’t I?”
His eyes narrowed. “You look stressed and scared. But that doesn’t keep you from looking good. I’m sorry about the long, significant silences. They’re hardwired into me. I’m not much of a chatterbox.”
“That’s okay.” She stared down into her coffee and fished Liam’s copy of Lucia’s letter out of her pocket. “I am scared. I’m scared that things didn’t happen the way the cops said they did. She wrote this letter, but we didn’t find it. And your classic butthead burglar looking to trade a TV or a diamond for a hit of crack or meth—that guy is not going to take this letter. That guy does not give a shit about this letter.”
Liam nodded. “No. You’re right. He doesn’t.”
His quiet agreement rattled her even more. She realized she’d been hoping that he would talk her down from this terrifying line of reasoning. “So who did take it? And what the hell is this ‘thing’ she’s referring to, and what’s the deal with these pendants? And if she had this great big hairy family secret, why did she not tell us before?”
Liam cleared his throat. “Maybe she was—”
“And what did it do to her father? And who the hell knew she was ever married? I mean, married?
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