“Some of it’s got to be ours,” Kendall said, “since Dad took all of our money, too.”
“Probably. The police will sort it out and … and be fair.”
“But that won’t be in time for you to buy me a car for my sixteenth birthday,” Kendall objected.
“You’re not even old enough for a permit yet,” Dexter said.
Kendall stamped off, muttering about vile, loathsome brothers and the selfishness of insensitive parents. I sighed.
“Don’t worry about her, Mom,” Dexter said. “Now that I’ve got the Beemer back, I can drive her where she needs to go.”
I looked at him, surprised. “Oh, Dexter, honey, thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”
Silence fell between us as we split a cinnamon roll at the kitchen table. We both shifted in our seats, and finally Dexter said, “You know, I called the cops on Dad because I couldn’t stand the thought that you might take him back after he treated you the way he did.” He kept his eyes on his plate, where he was crumbling a bit of cinnamon bun into sandy grains. His hair hung down over his eyes. “You wouldn’t have, would you?”
My mind darted back a couple of days to when I’d last visited Les in his hospital room. He’d still been hooked up to all sorts of beeping machines, but his color was much better than on the day he had his attack, and he was sitting up in bed eating a Fudgsicle when I came in. Little bits of chocolate clung to his mustache. It scraggled down over his lips since no one had trimmed it. That nice Officer Padgett had been on guard duty outside his door, and she’d said they’d be moving him to the jail the next day.
“I hear you’re moving,” I said, sitting in the chair beside his bed.
“Oh, Gigi,” he said, giving me a tired smile, “everything’s gone wrong since I left you.” He reached for my hand.
I let him hold it for a moment. My heart didn’t go pitty-pat like it used to when he was affectionate with me.
“I made a horrible mistake when I left you.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Yes, you made a big mistake,” I said. “In fact, you made lots of them.”
“That’s all water under the bridge,” he said, clinging to my hand when I tried to pull it back. “It’s not too late. We can start again.”
“No and yes.”
“What?”
“No, we can’t start again, and yes, it’s too late.” I smiled a huge, relieved smile. I didn’t want Les back. My life might not be perfect now, and I might spend lots of time worried about money and how to handle the kids, but I liked being a private investigator, and I liked being friends with women like Charlie and Albertine. I even kind of liked driving that awful Hummer, although if I could afford it, a Miata convertible might be more fun. “I’m sorry you’re going to prison, Les, and I’ll come visit you now and then, but I’m over you.”
“What!”
He sounded so disbelieving that I giggled. I felt like someone had blown up a big balloon inside me, so light that I could float away. I stood up. “Buh-bye, Les.”
I walked toward the door.
“But, Gigi, I need you. You don’t want to walk away—”
Officer Padgett gave me a thumbs-up as I came through the door, and I was momentarily embarrassed since she’d clearly heard every word. “Way to go, Gigi. Ma’am,” she said. “Hey, I like that nail polish. What’s it called?”
“Mischievous Mint.”
* * *
I ducked my head now so I could see up into Dexter’s face. “No, I wouldn’t get back together with your dad. I’ve moved on.”
Dexter nodded, and I could see his shoulders relax. “Good.” He scraped back his chair and stood up. “You deserve someone nicer.”
I blinked back tears, knowing my son would get grossed out if I started crying. “Thanks,” I said, my voice all squeaky. He shrugged one shoulder and slammed through the garage door. My son thought I deserved someone nice. That must mean he thought I was nice. The thought warmed me until I remembered I had resolved to practice being meaner. Tomorrow. There was always time for meaner tomorrow.
Also by Laura DiSilverio
Swift Edge
Swift Justice
About the Author
LAURA DiSILVERIO spent twenty years as a U.S. Air Force intelligence officer—serving as a squadron commander, and with the National Reconnaissance Office, as well as with a fighter wing—before retiring to parent and write full time. She resides in Colorado with her hubby, teenaged daughters, and dog.
Visit her Web site at www.lauradisilverio.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
SWIFT RUN. Copyright © 2012 by Laura DiSilverio. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
DiSilverio, Laura A. H.
Swift run: a mystery / Laura DiSilverio.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-312-62381-4 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-01732-1 (e-book)
1. Women private investigators—Fiction. 2. Mystery fiction. I. Title.
PS3604.I85S97 2012
813'.6—dc23
2012033907
e-ISBN 9781250017321
First Edition: December 2012
3 Swift Run Page 25