“I guess this is good-bye then, for now.” Elena throws her arms around her. “I don’t really want to go back.”
“Hang in there, with the Tony thing,” Landry says, remembering.
Last night Elena told her and Kay that she’d blocked his number on her cell phone, so at least he can’t call her anymore.
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she says now. “I dread seeing him at school tomorrow morning. I really hope this week flies by. Not just because of Tony, or because it’s my last week of work before the summer, but because I can’t wait to see you and Kay again.”
“Same here,” Landry says hollowly, hoping that by then there will have been an arrest and they can all put this nightmare behind them.
Long distance driving, for whatever reason, is somehow easier for Kay today.
Maybe because she’s once again accustomed to being at the wheel after yesterday’s long journey.
Maybe because the funeral—and all the accompanying dread—is behind her now, just as the outskirts of Cincinnati have fallen away in a rearview mirror, showing nothing but the road she’s already traveled.
Or maybe it’s simply because she’s surprisingly well-rested.
After wrestling with her thoughts—and uncooperative, unfamiliar bedding—into the wee hours, she’d managed to finally fall asleep, and stay asleep, for a full eight hours, and then some.
She was still sound asleep in her room when Landry called to tell her they were going to breakfast.
“Come on down and join us,” she said.
“I’m not even dressed yet.”
“We’ll wait.”
“I don’t want to hold you up.”
“You’re not. We don’t even have to leave for the airport for a few hours. Come on. Breakfast for three.”
Over pancakes and coffee, they again discussed Meredith, and the Jenna Coeur business. But they managed to laugh a lot, too, and made plans for next weekend. Decadent desserts, Netflix movies, a beach day.
“I can’t wait,” Kay told them. “I’ve never even seen the ocean.”
“And here I was afraid you were going to back out,” Elena said.
“Why would I?”
“You’re afraid to fly.”
“I know, but you’re my friends. Who knows how many more opportunities we’ll have to see each other?”
“Lots more opportunities,” Elena said firmly.
Kay allows her hands to tighten on the steering wheel. Again she wonders, What if . . . ?
No. Nothing can happen to the others, to any of them. It’s going to be fine, from now on. Forget cancer. Forget Jenna Coeur, whoever, wherever, she is. Forget Tony, crazy Tony, Elena’s so-called stalker. Nothing bad is going to happen, not to any of them. Not ever again.
“Whatever you do,” Landry told them before they parted ways, “please don’t mention next weekend to any of the other bloggers and don’t post anything about it online. Just in case . . . you know.”
Yes. They know.
They promised her they wouldn’t say anything.
“I just wish I hadn’t told Jaycee,” Elena mentioned yet again.
“If Jaycee is just Jaycee, we have nothing to worry about,” Kay pointed out.
“And if she’s not . . .”
“We still have nothing to worry about. It’s not like she has any reason to hurt any of us. And it’s not like Elena gave her your address.”
“It wouldn’t be hard to find.”
“But why would she want to?” Kay asked. She shook her head. “I really don’t feel like she’s a threat to any of us. Even if she is Jenna Coeur. That might be a bizarre coincidence, but it’s not like it puts us in danger.”
By the time they parted ways, the others seemed reassured.
Seeing a blue rest stop sign looming through the windshield, Kay puts on her right turn signal. She’s feeling pretty good, but she’s got a long trip ahead and it’s probably a good idea to stop and stretch for a bit.
What a difference a day makes. Now, anything seems possible. Anything at all, as long as she has her friends.
When Landry arrives at the gate for her flight, she sees that there are only a few passengers waiting in the boarding area—and Bruce Mangione is one of them.
He’s sitting reading a newspaper, with empty seats on either side of him. It would be awfully bold of her to walk right over there and take one of them. What if he gets the wrong idea?
He won’t if you tell him about the case.
Her feet are already propelling her toward him, but guilt dogs her when she thinks about Rob. He doesn’t know about the Jenna Coeur twist yet. She was going to tell him when she called home this morning, but the kids were right there, wanting to talk to her, too, and they were all headed for church. By the time they got back, she was having breakfast with Elena and Kay.
She probably could have snuck in a quick call home, but it wasn’t really something she wanted to get into on the phone with limited time. She’ll tell him as soon as she lands, of course.
For now . . .
Maybe she shouldn’t tell this total stranger about it. Even if he is a detective. Even if she did Google his name last night, just to see what came up.
Retired cop, just like he said.
Private investigator and personal security, just like he said. He even has a Web site that lists his credentials, along with his specialties: Missing Persons, Infidelity, Surveillance, Background Checks, Criminal Investigation . . .
Okay. He’s certainly qualified. But it’s not like she’s planning to hire him.
Am I?
Maybe I am.
To do what, exactly, though?
Solve the case?
It’s not as if there isn’t an entire homicide squad working it. But their main concern is solving the murder, and her concern is . . .
Well, she does want the murder solved, of course. But it’s safe to assume that her own personal safety—and thus, that of her family—is probably more consequential to her than it is to Detective Burns.
Plus, she’s seen enough police procedural dramas and read enough thrillers—fiction and non—to know that private investigators don’t have to deal with the tremendous amount of red tape and bureaucracy police detectives face.
Bruce might be able to find out more information about Jenna Coeur and Jaycee; whether there’s a connection between them—and between Jenna and Meredith.
Landry’s bag, rolling around behind her, gets caught on a chair leg. It thumps, and Bruce glances up.
He starts to look down again, then double-takes and recognition dawns. “Writer mom,” he says, pointing a finger at her. “Landry, right?”
“That’s right. How was your family weekend? Are you on the next flight, too?”
“I am. You’re early.”
“So are you.”
“That,” he says, “should be your first clue to just how much I enjoyed my family visit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was to be expected. Hope your weekend was better.”
“I was at a funeral, so . . .”
“I’m so sorry. I forgot. Your friend.” He shakes his head. “That must have been rough.”
She nods and tells him, briefly, about the funeral, but that there were other complications.
He raises a dark eyebrow. “What kind of complications?”
Here goes, she thinks, and gestures at the empty seat beside him. “Do you mind if I . . . ?”
“Not at all.” He tucks his newspaper into the bag at his feet. “Sit down.”
“I just want to ask you a couple of questions. Maybe you can help. You said you’re a detective . . . ”
“That’s right.”
“My friend—the one whose funeral this was—she was murdered.”
“I’m sorry. What happened?”
She explains, trying to make the tale as uncomplicated as possible and realizing there’s no way to boil it down to a simple story. But he listens intently, nodding, leaning closer as the seats around them begin to fill up. She keeps her voice down, particularly when she utters the name anyone would recognize.