Keeping my gaze averted, I let him take me in a solid minute before looking back at him. When our gazes locked, he schooled his expression, shaped it into one of cordial congeniality, and nodded a greeting. Then he went back to his paper, unfolding it and refolding it at a different section. But underneath, he was more shocked to see me than Mrs. Foster had been the day before.
So, once again, he either knew who I was or he could see what I was. But his surprise went deeper. Mrs. Foster had been taken aback, but he was downright astounded. Mrs. Foster must have told him about me. The last thing he was expecting was for me to show up out of the blue.
I decided to push my luck just a little further. “I’m sorry, are you Mr. Foster?”
He looked up, a shock wave punching him in the gut. “Have we met?”
“No.”
“Then how —”
I grinned and pointed to the billboard outside his office. The one with his picture on it.
He had the wherewithal to look sheepish. “Of course.”
“I didn’t mean to bother you. I was just at your office and your receptionist said you weren’t in, so I decided to get some coffee and wait.”
He was staring. He caught himself and put the paper aside. “And you are?”
“Cordelia Chase. I was going to talk to you about insurance, but I can wait.”
“No, please.” He gestured toward the seat across from his. “Join me.”
I grabbed my bag and my cup and did just that.
“You need insurance?”
“Yes. Life insurance. For my husband. He’s dying.”
“Oh.” He didn’t believe me. Not for a hot minute. But he was playing along so I went with it. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. He doesn’t know it, yet, but I have a strong suspicion he doesn’t have long to live.”
Mr. Foster cleared his throat and leaned back in his seat. “Can I ask who your health insurance is with?”
“That’s a good question.” I crinkled my nose in thought. Cookie handled all that stuff. “I don’t know what the name is, but it has a red logo? With, maybe, a triangle? Or a square? Yes, that’s it. It’s definitely a square. Or possibly a circle.”
“It doesn’t matter, Ms. Chase.”
“Oh, Cordy, please.”
“Cordy, if I can get some basic information from you, we can go from there. See what we can come up with and get you some quotes. How does that sound?”
I nodded. “Perfect.”
Sadly, I didn’t get a read off him when I said my name, so I still had no clue if he knew who I was or not.
He pulled a memo pad and pen from an inside pocket just as Angel popped into the diner.
“I quit,” he said, bending down so that his face was inches from mine. I had to concentrate not to look at him. “I’m only thirteen. There are some things I just shouldn’t see. Ay, dios mio.” He turned, his agitation evident in his sharp movements. He scrubbed his head.
I dragged out my phone and held up an index finger, faking a phone call. “I am so sorry. I have to take this.”
“Not at all.” He’d schooled his features again and created a steeple with his fingers, but the fact that I took a call in the middle of his break, a break I was interrupting, irked him. As it should have. Rude was a bit of an understatement, but I had to see what was up with my best – not to mention only – investigator.
“Hey, Angel. What’s going on? I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
He spun around to face me again. “My job. Your uncle is a detective for the freaking police department. Do you know what that means?”
“Uncle Bob? Is everything okay?”
“It means he gets called to shootings and stabbings and child abuse cases and guys beating the fuck out of their wives. It means his job is screwed up as hell. And it means I quit.”
I eased out of the booth. “Angel, did something happen to Uncle Bob? Is he okay?”
He railed at me. “No, he’s not okay. Have you been listening?”
Alarm cinched around my throat. “You need to calm down, hon. Tell me what happened.”
After taking a few deep breaths, he finally calmed enough to explain. “He’s at a shooting. Happened early this morning at one of those breakfast places on Central.”
“Like an IHOP or a Denny’s?”
“There was a kid,” he said without answering. “Just eating eggs with his mom before he went to school. What the fuck is wrong with people?”
The moment he said kid, dread started its slow ascent up my spine like a funeral march. I had to see for myself what would upset Angel so much. “Sweetheart, where is Uncle Bob?”
“What?” He tried to gather himself. “No, not an IHOP. It’s like a breakfast place with a yellow sign. It has a sun coming up in the corner.”
“Okay, I think I know which one you mean.” I slammed a quick gulp of coffee, picked up my bag, and tossed a couple dollars onto the table. “Off Tramway, right?”
He nodded and I turned to Mr. Foster. “I am so sorry, Mr. Foster, but duty calls. I can drop by later, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” He refolded his memo pad and stuffed it inside the pocket again. “I hope everything is okay.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
Unfortunately, mass shootings rarely meant everything was okay.
9
Everyone complains about the weather, but no one wants to sacrifice a virgin to change it.
— TRUE FACT