“So Heather’s in the clear, then?” Ron asked.
“Yes,” Ross said. “I believe she is. That, combined with Dillon’s last e-mail, make for pretty convincing evidence. I can’t imagine any prosecutor in the state wanting to take it on.”
Ron heaved a sigh of relief. Without a word, Amy reached over, took his hand, and held it.
“As for your Camry,” Ross continued, taking out one of his business cards, “I realize that it’s a somewhat specialized vehicle and that you can’t just go out and rent a replacement. The crime lab isn’t going to be done with it for a while. You should probably have your insurance agent contact me about arranging for a replacement.”
Ron took the card. “All right,” he said.
“I’ve spoken to your boss, by the way,” Ross said. “Tony Freeman and I have agreed that you’re free to return to work tomorrow morning, if you want to, that is. Of course, if you’d like to take more time off…”
“No,” Ron said. “I’m happy to go back to work. It’s been rough at our house lately. I think everyone there will be thrilled to have me back on some kind of normal schedule.”
“I’ll be going then,” Ross said, heading for the door. “See you when you’re up to it, Beau. And thanks for the coffee, Mel. Are you coming, Harry, or are you going to hang around here all day?”
Harry I. Ball and Lars Jenssen had been caught up in some deep conversation. Harry got up and lumbered after Ross, giving me a half-salute on the way by. “Try to stay out of trouble,” he said.
Ralph came over and deposited a plate of bagels and cream cheese in front of me. Whatever pill Mel had given me was already working. My head felt fuzzy around the edges. My mouth was as dry as toast. I couldn’t imagine being able to choke down a single bite of the bagel without it getting caught in my throat.
“No, thanks, Ralph,” I said. “I’m not hungry.”
“Well, then,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind if I help myself.” And he did.
Ralph dived into his bagel with all the relish of someone who’s never had to worry about his weight. “How long are you going to keep this up?” he asked finally.
“Keep what up?” I asked.
“Keep on working for a living.”
“What would I do instead?”
“I understand your 928 is done for. Why don’t you get yourself a new one? Fly across the pond and pick one up at the factory?”
“In Germany?” I asked.
“Stuttgart, I believe. I understand the factory tour is really terrific.”
“How would I get the time off?” I asked.
“There you are,” Ralph said. “And I rest my case. Quit. When are you going to finally get used to the idea that you don’t have to work for a living?”
“I’ve been a cop all my life,” I said. “I don’t know anything else.”
“Did I ever tell you about the Last Chance, that cold case organization one of my clients bankrolled?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I’m not sure.” The pill was working overtime. I was getting fuzzier and fuzzier.
“I’ll talk to you about it some other time,” Ralph said. “But you’re getting a little old to be putting people through glass walls-although, from what I understand, Bill Winkler is in a lot worse shape than you are. He whacked his head a good one on a solid concrete floor. Gave himself a pretty nasty concussion. And his girlfriend’s in the slammer, by the way. She probably wishes she were the one in the hospital.”
I tried to focus on what Raelene Landreth would look like in one of King County’s signature orange jail jumpsuits, but I couldn’t make the picture come together in my head.
“Sorry, Ralph,” I said. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I think I’d better go back to bed.”
And I did. I seem to remember that I needed help making it back down the hall and into the bed. Those pills were really something!
The next thing I knew it was 6:00 P.M. A whole day had disappeared on me, and I was starving. I went to my bedroom door and listened. Not a sound, so maybe the house was empty. This time I didn’t bother getting dressed. I pulled on a robe and padded out to the living room. Enough illumination comes into my unit from downtown that I didn’t bother turning on the lights. It wasn’t until I was halfway across the room that I realized I wasn’t alone. Mel Soames, wrapped in Beverly’s afghan, was curled up in my recliner, sound asleep and snoring softly.
I sat down on the window seat and watched her. Most of the women I know regard my beloved recliner with disdain. Mel looked completely at home.
I don’t know how long I sat like that. Suddenly she jerked awake. “How long have you been up?” she asked when she saw me. “What are you doing?”
“Watching you,” I said. “Did anyone ever tell you that you snore?”
“You’re not exactly blameless on that score,” she said. “But I chalked it up to your meds. How long have you been sitting there?”
“A while,” I said.
“Do you want something to eat?”
“I’m hungry enough I could probably tackle one of Ralph’s dead bagels.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Mel said. “When I went home to shower and change clothes, I brought you back some lentil soup from the Mediterranean Kitchen. That should be good for what ails you.”
I followed her into the kitchen and stood out of the way while she heated the food in my microwave, put it in a soup plate, and handed it over. (Had I been left to my own devices, I would probably have heated it in the styrofoam container and eaten it from same. I think I had forgotten I actually owned soup plates.)
“Thank you,” I said.
“I remembered how much you liked the soup the other night.”
“Not just thank you for the soup,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “But if you’re feeling better, maybe I should go so you can get some rest.”
“Rest?” I repeated. “I’ve been resting all day. When I fell asleep I had a houseful of company. Where’d they all go?”
“Home,” she said. “And that’s where I should be, too.”
“Stay for a little while,” I urged. “At least long enough for me to finish my soup, which is delicious, by the way.”
Mel sat down beside me and watched while I ate. It made me feel self-conscious. “You’re not having any?” I asked.
“I already ate,” she said.
So we sat there in silence for a while, but it didn’t seem that uncomfortable. In fact, it felt fine. It made me think about what Beverly had said-about my finding a life and a mate and doing something besides work. I thought about how it had been the last week-sharing work and coffee and soup and hospital waiting rooms with Mel Soames. It had been nice, far nicer than I would have thought possible.
I finished my soup and pushed the plate away. “The last thing I remember was Ralph Ames saying something about my going to Germany to pick up a new Porsche at the factory,” I continued.
“Sounds like fun,” Mel said. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to drive on the autobahn, where there’s no such thing as a speed limit.”
“You’d probably be good at it,” I said. “Take to it like a duck to water.”
“Maybe so,” she said with a smile.
The depth of that smile made me feel all warm and fuzzy. At first I thought the pill might be kicking in again, but even at the time, though, I was smart enough to wonder if it wasn’t something else altogether-something that had the potential for making my grandmother a very happy woman.
Anne Corley had been gone from my life for a long time. Mel Soames wasn’t.