“It seems odd to linger,” he admitted, adding, “especially as we’ve finished our meal.”
“Yes. Right. Exactly. Inefficient to lurk and gag in alleys. C’mon. We’re gonna go somewhere private and where my dry heaves will attract no undue attention and you’re gonna tell me all the stuff I’ve studiedly ignored for the last decade and—and—”
“Yes?” His dark gaze never wavered; he just stood there holding her salmon scramble and waiting for her to finish, all tall and dark and broad-shouldered and intense and annoying.
“Well, I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out.”
And she strode out of the alley like she had a clue where she was going. But hey—when you’ve committed to the dramatic entrance (and departure), you had to stay committed. It was the rule.
Fifteen
“This isn’t what I had in mind.”
“My understanding is that you had nothing in mind.”
“Hey! Well, okay. Technically that’s correct.” Ava looked around the park and had to admit, it was a lovely day to talk about murder in a public place filled with frolicking children. But that was how Minnesota got you. It occasionally gave you a perfect summery day and tricked you into thinking it didn’t suck the rest of the time.
The most duplicitous state in the union! Besides New Jersey, which has a bad rap but is actually pretty great.
They’d walked a half mile to the Lowertown Dog Park (so they were going to discuss murder near children and their beloved pets), and Tom had had very little to say, which should have been awkward but wasn’t. When he did say something
(“That’s the building where the accountant was strangled with his ex-wife’s bra.”)
it was morbidly fascinating. Who knew the capital of Minnesota was such a hotbed of exotic/weird murders?
I should be alarmed. I should be very, very alarmed, or at least put off. But he’s so earnest. He really wants me to understand the area’s murder-ey history. He’s like a ghoulish tour guide! A ripped, intense, ghoulish tour guide.
Before long they were sitting at a picnic table while Tom outlined what he’d learned from Danielle’s case and last night’s shenanigans.
“Wait, you just carry these around?” she asked, indicating the files.
“Yes.”
Asked and answered. Dr. Baker is nothing if not straightforward.
“The police were unable to find a motive for Danielle’s death. She wasn’t pregnant, she wasn’t seeing anyone, she was well liked and had a healthy family life. She was going to graduate soon—”
Ava nodded. “Yeah, our grad was coming up in another few weeks.”
“—and was going to the U of M in the fall. No drama that anyone could find.”
“Clearly you don’t remember high school girls,” Ava pointed out. “Let’s amend that to ‘no unusual drama.’”
“As you like. So I got to thinking … what if Danielle wasn’t the target?”
“Well … maybe … but why assume I was? I wasn’t pregnant or seeing anyone, and I might not have been homecoming queen, but I wasn’t the school Igor, either.”
“That’s what I’d like to figure out. First we hypothesize—”
“Is that what we’re doing?”
“—and then we prove or disprove.”
“Well, what do the cops think?”
Tom sighed. “The police for the most part disagree with my theory. Which is understandable.”
“Because…?” Who could doubt this guy? This meticulous, efficient guy who pulled all-nighters and drove around with autopsy folders in his trunk and kissed like it was about to be outlawed? Someone like that wasn’t prone to wild leaps of imagination.
“Because it’s a cold case—though it’s been dusted off due to last night’s vandalism. I need more than a theory to rekindle their interest in solving Danielle’s murder.”
“Okay. But can I ask you something? Why this case? You knew all about Danielle before we met. You didn’t just learn all this last night. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you’re going over and above, but you’ve gotta have bunches of unsolveds in your files.”
He nodded. “Every medical examiner does. But I was only a teenager when Danielle was killed.”
“Join the club. You’re—what? Four years younger than me? Five?” So he would have been thirteen or so. Ouch.
He nodded. “Before Danielle was murdered, I thought I had understood the concept of death, if only from an intellectual standpoint. But that was the first time I truly understood that some people simply get away with murder, and often for no good reason at all. And”—he paused, then met her gaze and finished with—“it stayed with me. It always will, I think. Even if we solve it.”
We?
She glanced down at his folder, saw an autopsy photo, looked away. But that wasn’t enough, so she physically pushed the photos to the side and leaned forward. “Okay, so … what’s the plan?”
Tom ran his hand over his bare scalp and frowned. She assumed he was either deep in thought or worried about sunburn. Or both. “In progress. There is little I can do on my own, and you’ll be leaving the Cities by the end of the day. Would you consider making yourself available to me—”
Down, girl. Put your libido in park already.
“—via telephone and social media and the like?”
I can’t remember the last time someone said “telephone” instead of “phone” or “cell.” Adorable!
“Sure. I’d be glad to. But c’mon, Dr. Baker…”
“Tom, please. Unless you wish for me to use Captain.”
She waved it away. “We’re past that, Tom. I don’t even know why I used your title.” Please tell me I don’t have a latent Little House on the Prairie kink.
“Not Tommy, though,” he added with odd intensity. “Never Tommy.”
“Got it. I am making a mental note to never call you Tommy. Okay? So don’t worry. We’re in a Tommy-free zone.”
“Oh, Tommy?”
They both looked up at the same instant to see a smiling elderly man holding hands with a girl who looked about five. Tom’s eyes widened and he was on his feet before she had time to blink.
“What—what are you doing here?”
Before Ava could ask if there was a problem, she was hit by something with enough force to knock her right off the picnic table bench. Because that’s what kind of weekend this was. No matter where she was or what she was doing, something was always trashing her equilibrium.
Now what fresh hell is this?
Sixteen
“Ack! What the—agh, not there, that tickles!” Elbows flailing, Ava managed to heave the weight off her chest and struggle upright. She blinked up at the old man, the giggling girl, and an aggrieved Tom. She blinked down at the dog, who had rolled over for a belly scratch.
“I should have deduced you’d be here!”
“Why, Tom?” the elderly chap asked, extending a wiry arm. Ava was surprised at how easily he got her back on her feet. He looked like a stiff breeze would turn him into a human tumbleweed. “We haven’t taken Turq here for a month.”