He drove her to the airport and went with her all the way to security. Being needed by someone had truly lifted her spirits, he thought. He hoped her mother would not disappoint her.
He called Kiki later from his empty room.
“Saw you at the funeral today,” he said. “Lucias muy bonita. Sorry it was so crowded we had no chance to talk.”
He invited her to dinner.
“No.”
He frowned. “What is this? It’s still my turn.”
She sighed. “Pete, you are such a neat guy, but I think you suffer from self-esteem issues.”
“¿Qué?” What?
“You don’t think you deserve the better things in life. You should really get some help.”
“How can you make such a diagnosis,” he protested, pacing the floor as he talked, “when we hardly know each other?”
She didn’t answer.
“What about Fergie and Di? Does this mean I’ll never see them again? How can you do that to me?”
“Well…. Maybe we could arrange visitation. I’m taking them to the Dog Brunch on Lincoln Road Sunday. They serve a special dog menu. And the humans who accompany them get a free drink. Fergie and Di love to socialize.”
“Dog Brunch?” He rolled his eyes. “Cuenta conmigo.” Count me in! “We can drive over with the top down.”
“Okay,” she said. He heard the smile in her voice. “See you then.”
A federal magistrate set bond at two million dollars each for Ron John Cooper, Ernest Lee Evans, and his son, Wesley Evans.
Sam Stone was spending more time than ever at his grandmother’s house. Ashton Banks was occupying his old room, being fussed over by Gran as she recuperated from her injuries.
Stone held Ash’s hand after the bond hearing and explained that he was driving across the state to take another woman out to dinner.
“You’re welcome to come along,” he said. “You’ll like her. Her name is Katie. Just don’t let her kid sneak up behind you with a baseball bat.”
“It looks smaller than I remember.” Sky Nolan had arrived in Miami the night before, his first trip back since age nine. Burch and Riley accompanied him to the Shadows.
“Childhood homes always do when you go back,” Riley said.
“I used to dream about this place,” he said. “A shame it’s so neglected and overgrown. You should have seen it in all its glory. My mother would give garden parties out here with chamber music and tables set out all over the lawn. It was spectacular.
“I went to San Francisco for Brooke’s funeral,” he told them. “It was interesting to see them all. I’ve even talked to Summer a few times since. We’re so grateful to know at last what happened to my father.”
Burch and Riley wandered out back to look at the water, leaving Sky alone to reminisce.
“This case is a perfect example of how life could be so simple if people just told the truth in the first place,” she said.
“Look how peaceful it is here.” Burch took a deep breath and drank in the view.
As they watched, a sudden squall blew toward them, materializing like a gray ghost across the bay.
“Let’s go before it hits,” Burch said.
“No. It’s just liquid sunshine,” Riley said, her hair whipping like a banner in the wind. “Rain always makes me appreciate the sun.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am indebted as always to Gradwohl Laureate Dr. Joseph H. Davis, recent recipient of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences’ highest honor, the Gradwohl Medallion. He contributed greatly to this book.
So did Dr. Stephen H. Nelson, William and Karen Sampson, the brave and brilliant former Metro-Dade Homicide investigators William Venturi and Raul J. Diaz. My deep thanks go to Sgt. Joy Gellatly of the Savannah Police Department, and to ace attorneys Lisa Kreeger and Joel Hirschhorn. I’m grateful to my kind and generous friends: Renee Turolla, attorney and journalist Siobhan Morrissey, Dale Kitchell, Ann Hughes, Ed Gadinsky, the Rev. Garth Thompson, Pam Stone Blackwell, Andrew K. Adams, Shane Willens, and my good, old, new friend Jesse Webb. They work overtime trying to keep me out of trouble.
The usual suspects were there when I needed them: Patricia Keen, Bill Dobson, Howard Kleinberg, Al Alschuler, Pauline Winnick, George Keen, and Dr. Howard Gordon, along with the other stouthearted Sesquipedelians.
My getaway driver, coconspirator, friend, and longtime accomplice Marilyn Lane helped me pull off another caper.
I am ever grateful to my agent, Michael Congdon, to Cristina Concepcion, Mara Lurie, and to the stalwart Josh Martino, who rescued me again, right at the brink. Friends are the family we choose. How cool is that?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Edna Buchanan won the Pulitzer Prize for police reporting and the George Polk Award for Career Achievement in Journalism. She is the author of fifteen books that have been translated into eleven languages. Two received Edgar nominations. Her novels include The Ice Maiden, You Only Die Twice, and Garden of Evil. Her nonfiction classic, The Corpse Had a Familiar Face, was reissued by Pocket Books in 2004. She lives in Miami. Visit Edna on the web at www.ednabuchanan.com.
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