by Carsen Taite
Less than a minute later, she was standing on the sidewalk outside of the gallery, wishing she had social skills. Lacy was beautiful, but meeting up with her for a drink wasn’t going to lead anywhere. She didn’t get involved with people, especially not ones who she hoped to be around for a while. And it wasn’t like she could have a one-night stand with the woman who was about to host her art show. Talk about awkward. If Lacy brought up the idea again, she’d play dumb and pretend like she hadn’t even noticed the flirting.
In the meantime, she actually did have a class to teach. The drive from the gallery to Richards only took a few minutes, but parking was the real bitch. After circling the streets of downtown numerous times, she finally snagged a spot on the street a few blocks from the college. She used the app on her phone to pay the meter and made her way to work. She enjoyed the continuing ed classes because most of the students were genuinely interested in learning new techniques, probably a result of the fact they were older and they were paying for the classes on their own, unlike the undergraduate students who tacked on art as an elective they’d decided would be an easy pass. Tonight, they were going to explore lighting techniques, a pleasant coincidence to Lacy showing her special lighting effects on her own work.
“Riley?”
Riley looked around at the sound of her name and spotted Claire Hanlon standing a few feet away. What was she doing here? Could she be following her? She started to ask the questions out loud, but people started to crowd around them, and Riley realized she was caught in a throng. She turned to leave, but Claire called out for her to wait, and while every instinct told her to keep walking, she held still until Claire was at her side. “What?” was all she could manage.
“I thought you didn’t know her,” Claire said.
Riley squinted as if she could make sense of Claire’s words if she concentrated really hard. “Who are you talking about?”
Claire pointed and Riley followed the direction of her finger. The church. The gathering of people. She looked back at Claire who was wearing a really nice suit, and all the cylinders clicked into place. This was the murder victim’s funeral. “I don’t. I’m headed to teach a class. Are you going to the funeral?”
She wasn’t sure why she’d asked the question, but she was genuinely curious about the answer. Did Claire really care so much for the victim’s family that she’d attend a funeral of a person she didn’t know? Was it an act of kindness or was Claire’s presence here some clue-gathering technique? Why did she care either way?
“Yes,” Claire said simply. “Just the service. I expect the burial will be mostly family.”
Riley nodded as if that made perfect sense. “Did she have a big family?”
Claire looked surprised at the question. “Not large.”
“Then it’s good that you’re going, I guess.” Riley looked around. “Where’s your partner?”
“It’s just me.” Claire looked toward the door. “I should probably go.”
“Me too.” Riley started to tell her to have a good evening, but the platitude seemed silly in light of where she was headed. “See you later” seemed inappropriate as well, considering how loathe she’d been to answer any of Claire’s questions. “Bye.”
She waited until she was about ten feet away before looking back. She told herself it was to see how many people had shown up for the victim’s funeral, to pay her own respects for a life lost, but when she met Claire’s questioning eyes across the crowd, she knew her curiosity had been singularly focused on the woman heading the investigation, and she knew it had nothing to do with the case.
Chapter Six
The funeral was like most Claire had been to, mostly sad with a few precious, uplifting moments as people came forward with stories of the best parts of Jill Shasta’s life, remembered with the hazy glow of hindsight. After the service, the pastor announced everyone was welcome to join them for the burial at a well-known cemetery in uptown Dallas.
Claire decided to pass on the invite. Based on her observation of the crowd and their interaction with the family before the service, she’d hadn’t picked up on anyone in particular who merited further interest, and she had no desire to stand outside in the cold for a mini version of the service she’d just witnessed. She hung back for a bit, waiting for most of the crowd to make their way out of the church, and then pulled out her phone to summon a car.
“Detective Hanlon?”
She looked up into the eyes of Jill’s father, Gene Shasta. “Hello. I hope you don’t mind that I came. It was a beautiful service.”
“Thank you. Jill would’ve hated it.” He smiled. “She wasn’t big on organized religion.”
Claire barely resisted saying “me too.” “I’ve come to learn that these memorials are more for the living. Based on what everyone had to say, your daughter was a wonderful person. I hope that’s the memory you can hang on to.”
He let out a long breath. “We’re doing the best we can.” He looked over his shoulder at his wife, who was talking to the pastor. “Any news?”
“Not yet.”
“But you have some leads?”
Claire hesitated, hating the part of her job where she had to walk a thin line between being helpful and being suspicious. “We do and I promise I’ll update you as soon as I can. I get that it’s frustrating, but it’s important at this stage of the process that we are very careful about controlling the flow of information. I trust you completely, but you might inadvertently give away a clue that could compromise the investigation.”
“I understand, but promise me you’ll contact us as soon as you know something.” He looked at his wife again. “Closure won’t solve everything, but it might help us heal.”
“I promise.” She shook his hand and watched him walk back to his wife and put a protective arm around her. Their lives would never be the same, and no matter how much they sought closure, nothing she would ever tell them about the resolution of the case would change that.
She waited until she was out of the building before signing into the ride share app. Before she could input her destination, a text popped up from Nick.
Checking the list. Nothing so far. Schedule more interviews for tomorrow?
The idea of several more hours spent talking to would-be artists was mind-numbing. Claire thought back to her desire to confront Riley. She would’ve been better off skipping the funeral and doing that instead. An idea popped in her head and she texted Nick back. Go ahead and schedule. Can you text me Riley Flynn’s teaching schedule?
Sure, hold on.
She stared at the phone, impatiently willing his text to appear. When it finally did, she opened the attachment and scanned the document. Riley’s class would be over in fifteen minutes. If she hurried she could make it.
Did you get it?
She typed back. Yes. Thx. I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow. She shoved her phone in her pocket, hoping he wouldn’t ask any follow-up questions, and started walking south toward the college.
The downtown building wasn’t large, and she managed to find the right classroom without having to ask for help. She could see Riley at the head of the class through the slim vertical window alongside the door. The students peered around their easels and appeared to be listening intently to whatever it was she had to say. For her part, Riley was animated, her arms and hands waving through the air in a clear demonstration of enthusiasm for the subject matter. Claire was so engaged in watching her, that she was caught off guard when the students started pushing through the door. Claire hung back and watched Riley talk to the few students who stuck around, impressed with her patient follow-up explanation of the techniques she’d been teaching earlier in the class. When all of the students finally cleared out, Riley started packing up her stuff and Claire entered the room.
Riley looked up and met her eyes. “You again,” she said with more wonder than annoyance.
“Yes.”
“This is not an accidental meeting.”
“No, I came here from the
funeral. I was hoping we could talk.”
Riley looked around, like she was seeking some excuse to beg off or an exit route. When she looked back at Claire, she sighed. “I have a feeling you’re going to keep showing up until I talk to you.”
Claire smiled. “It’s kind of my job.”
“Your job sucks.”
“Sometimes.”
Riley stared at her for a moment. “I’ll talk to you on one condition.”
Claire hesitated, unwilling to concede anything of substance, but not wanting to blow this opportunity. “I’m listening.”
“I’m starving and I’m craving Mexican food. I’m headed to Mia’s. If you want to talk to me, you’re going to have to talk to me there.”
“Okay,” Claire said, drawing out the word while she recalculated her plans.
“Don’t care for Tex Mex?”
“Actually, it’s my favorite. I’ll meet you there.”
“Great.” Riley started walking out of the classroom, but Claire pulled out her phone and started typing the new destination into the app.
“Uh, can you text whoever outside? I have to lock up.” Riley jingled her keys.
Claire stopped typing. “Sorry, I’m getting an Uber.” She walked out of the classroom and watched while Riley locked the door.
“I always picture cops as hating any kind of transportation where they’re not in control.”
Claire grinned. “It’s true, I’m not fond of being a passenger in a strange car, but it just kind of worked out that way today.”
“Well, it’s silly for you to pay a stranger for a ride when we’re going to the same place.” Riley held up her keys. “You can ride with this stranger for free.”
Claire was torn between the obviously dumb idea of taking a ride from a person of interest, and the desire to take advantage of a sneak peek into Riley’s personal space. Before she could think the decision to death, she blurted out, “Okay. Thanks.”
Riley’s car was a small SUV. Late model, but not with all the upgraded features like leather seats, sunroof, and four-wheel drive. The radio station was set to the local classical station, and Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony played lightly in the background as they drove to the restaurant. Riley navigated the heavily trafficked streets of downtown like a seasoned local, prompting Claire to ask if she’d lived in Dallas her entire life.
“Born and raised.”
“Me too. By the way, that’s the longest answer I believe you’ve given me since we met.”
“I might be slow to warm up to new people.”
“Cop people especially?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, I see we’re back to the one-word answer,” Claire teased. “Let’s just get it out on the table—you don’t like cops.”
“I have good reasons.”
Claire decided not to push. Yet. Riley turned into the restaurant parking lot, bypassing the valet stand in favor of a spot near the road. She waited outside the car for Claire to join her and led the way into the restaurant.
“Hello, Riley,” the woman at the hostess stand called out. She looked at Claire and then back at Riley. “Table for two?” she asked with a hint of surprise
Riley cracked a smile. “Yes, two.”
Once they were seated and ordered their drinks, Claire waded into small talk. “I’m guessing you come here often.”
“You must be a detective.”
Claire sighed. “I can tell you don’t like cops, but you don’t know me personally. I might be a good person. I mean you must think I’m okay because you let me ride in your car and you brought me to your favorite restaurant.”
“You have a point. I’ll reserve final judgment until after I see what you order.”
As if on cue, the waiter approached, and after a friendly hello to Riley, turned to take Claire’s order. “Brisket tacos, please. Side of Sunset sauce. Refried beans instead of ranchero.” She tossed her menu on the table and shot a how about that look at Riley, who nodded slightly and told the waiter she’d have her usual.
“Oh, come on,” Claire said as he walked away. “Can I get a ruling, please?”
“It was close to perfect. Ranchero beans all the way.”
Claire raised her glass of iced tea. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”
“Fair enough.”
“I haven’t been here in a while, but my recollection is that the brisket tacos are amazing.”
“Truth. And I come here every Thursday after class.”
“You have good taste,” Claire said. She glanced around searching for some way to get Riley to talk about her work. “I like how they’ve left the building intact instead of trying to make it look all new and modern. Have you ever sketched the outside?”
“Yes.” Riley looked surprised and even a little pleased at the question. “I have a whole sketchbook of my favorite restaurants, and I’ve painted a few.” She pointed to the room closest to the kitchen. “They usually have one of my paintings in the room they use for big parties, but it’s being used elsewhere right now.”
Probably for the gallery showing, Claire thought, disappointed she wouldn’t get a chance to assess whether the painting resembled the sketch from the crime scene. “Nice. Where else could I see your work on display?”
Riley narrowed her eyes. “I find it hard to believe you’re really interested.”
“Is this another of your preconceived cop notions? Let me guess—we’re all meatheads who don’t have any appreciation for more esoteric pursuits.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I just think you’re only here because you hope to get something out of it, and seeing my artwork isn’t part of the ultimate plan.”
Riley’s remark struck hard considering comparing the sketch at the scene to Riley’s drawings was exactly one of the reasons Claire was interested in getting closer to her, but she couldn’t deny there was something more here. She was actually enjoying Riley’s company far more than she’d expected to, and the realization caught her off guard. “Or maybe it’s as simple as I love a good brisket taco.” She paused and assessed Riley’s dubious expression. “If it makes you feel better, why don’t you pose the questions? Whatever you want to know.” She braced for Riley’s first question.
“Why law enforcement?”
“Why not?” Claire heard the slight edge of defensiveness in her own voice and softened it with a smile. “Seriously, I never really considered anything else. My dad was in law enforcement with the Marines before he signed on with the DEA, and his best friend is on the force. I was destined to wear a uniform one way or another, and given the option, I’d prefer to stay in Dallas rather than be assigned to some military base God knows where.”
“So you consider the job more of an obligation than a calling?”
“It’s complicated. You make it sound like I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t raised a certain way.”
“I guess that’s something only you can know.”
Claire took a moment to consider her answer. She would not have chosen the word calling to describe how she felt about the job. She was motivated and driven, not simply for advancement, but, as corny as it sounded, for the pursuit of justice. Seeking the truth, routing out wrongs, made her feel good at the end of the day, but it was more than that. It was her duty, her way of giving back to society for the privileged life she’d led. She supposed those feelings made it a calling of some kind. “I like being a cop. I get tremendous satisfaction from helping people.”
Riley sucked in her lower lip and appeared to be contemplating a response when their waiter arrived with their food. They both dug in, and Claire was surprised at how ravenous she was, but more so how comfortable she felt in Riley’s presence.
After they’d each eaten a few bites, Riley asked, “How was the funeral?”
Claire’s radar pinged at what might be prurient interest in the case. “It sucked. I mean it was well-attended, and lots of people had nice things to say about her, but…”
“But it does
n’t seem right to have a celebration of someone’s life when they’re not around to enjoy it.” Riley shook her head. “I read she was only twenty-two. That’s unbelievably sad.”
“It is.” Claire scanned Riley’s face, struck by the anguish reflected in her eyes. She’d questioned enough suspects over the course of her career to detect the difference between genuine feeling and convenient emotion. Riley’s reaction was real, and witnessing it put a wedge of doubt in her theory Riley might be involved in Jill Shasta’s murder.
They ate the rest of the meal in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward. It was the companionable silence of two people who’d shared the same space many times and didn’t need conversation for comfort.
When their meal was over, Claire insisted on paying. “I can’t let you pay. Besides, you saved me cab fare.”
“Speaking of which, do you need a ride home?”
Claire started to say that would be great but stopped. She’d already acted completely out of character tonight by taking a ride and sharing a meal with a potential murder suspect. Letting Riley drive to her house and see where she lived was crossing a line. “Actually, I’m not going home. I have some work to do. I’ll grab a ride back downtown.” As she followed Riley outside, the lameness of the excuse echoed in her ears, and when Riley turned back toward her, she prayed Riley wasn’t going to press the issue.
“It’s not true, you know.”
“What?” Claire asked.
“It’s not true that I don’t like cops,” Riley said. “It’s only the ones who’re more concerned about closing a case than learning the truth I don’t like.”
“Good thing I’m not one of those.”
“I hope not.”
Riley didn’t wait for a response before walking to her car, leaving Claire to stare at her back, wondering if Riley thought she was one of the good ones. She waited until Riley was in her car and out of the parking lot before she pulled out her phone to get a ride. The Uber driver chatted incessantly the entire ride to the station, but Claire barely heard a word he said, unable to focus on anything other than her desire to know more about Riley Flynn. Much more.