too late for candle lighting and the family gathering around the Jewish Sabbath table that even Grace, born of Italian Catholic and Swedish Protestant parents, had come to cherish since their marriage – and it was a source of pleasure and amusement for the Beckets, on occasions like Thanksgiving, to list their remarkable multiracial, national and religious legacies, with Sam always claiming, until Joshua’s birth, that he had won the melting pot contest as an African-Bahamian-Episcopalian-Jewish-American descendant of a runaway slave.
Late as it was tonight, though his son was sound asleep, Grace was waiting for him with beef and potato soup simmering in a copper pan, a ciabatta loaf ready for slicing, and the remains of the good Chianti they’d shared last night standing on the kitchen table.
Sam kissed his wife, sank on to a chair, fondled Woody’s ears as the dog leaned against his right leg.
‘My day for being spoiled,’ he said.
He’d already told her about Jess bringing in lunch.
‘Must mean you deserve it,’ Grace said.
‘Talk about good enough to eat,’ Sam said. ‘Look at you.’
Nothing overtly sensuous about what she was wearing – Grace didn’t do slinky or black lace – but she could make one of his old white shirts look a damned sight sexier than any GQ spread.
‘You look bushed,’ she said, ladling soup into a ceramic bowl.
‘Truth,’ he said. ‘I am.’
‘Too tired to talk over an idea?’ She set down the bowl in front of him, sliced a hunk of bread and poured him a glass of wine.
‘Of course not.’ He grasped at her hand. ‘Thank you, Gracie.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ she said, loving the fact that he still bothered to thank her for small kindnesses.
‘And the idea?’ He had a spoonful of soup. ‘That is so good.’
‘Do you think Al would mind if we threw him and Jess a party?’
Sam raised both eyebrows in surprise. ‘Really?’
She sat down beside him. ‘Only I can’t picture him arranging that kind of thing, but I think they might like it, so if you think it would be OK, I’d love to do it.’
‘You are truly a spectacular woman,’ Sam said.
‘Is that a yes?’
‘Definitely,’ he said. ‘Except I’m not sure we can invite anyone from the department.’
‘So they’re really not telling people yet?’ She pulled a face. ‘I don’t know who we could invite then. I’ve never heard Al talk about friends outside the office.’
‘He doesn’t really have much of a life outside,’ Sam said.
‘He didn’t,’ Grace said, ‘but he does now.’
‘So maybe we’ll just make them a family dinner – our family being his.’
‘That’s fine with me,’ Grace said. ‘And should it be a surprise, do you think, or should we consult with them?’
‘I think we should tell Al, and if he goes for it, leave it up to him to decide if he wants to tell Jess or not.’ Sam didn’t think he was up to organizing more than one surprise at a time.
‘That leaves the biggest problem,’ Grace said. ‘Finding a free evening for you guys with this case.’
Sam sighed because that was so true. ‘Let’s see what the next few days bring.’ He picked up his spoon, then set it down again, his appetite gone.
‘No ID yet on this couple?’
‘We can’t even be sure they are a couple.’
‘Dear Lord,’ Grace said.
THIRTY-FOUR
February 14
R omeo the Fifth was missing in action.
The keeper didn’t know whether to be more upset or impressed.
It had been apparent, from the go, that he was a rough one, and now it was clear that he was a tough guy, too, with an independent streak, and face it, the buck would have had to go soon anyway.
Anyway, the good news, as it happened, far outweighed the bad.
Because Isabella the Seventh was expecting.
Well, of course she was, fecund little mom that she was.
The keeper wasn’t going to bug her with stats this weekend, would allow Isabella to celebrate in peaceful isolation.
And who knew, maybe Romeo would
Late as it was tonight, though his son was sound asleep, Grace was waiting for him with beef and potato soup simmering in a copper pan, a ciabatta loaf ready for slicing, and the remains of the good Chianti they’d shared last night standing on the kitchen table.
Sam kissed his wife, sank on to a chair, fondled Woody’s ears as the dog leaned against his right leg.
‘My day for being spoiled,’ he said.
He’d already told her about Jess bringing in lunch.
‘Must mean you deserve it,’ Grace said.
‘Talk about good enough to eat,’ Sam said. ‘Look at you.’
Nothing overtly sensuous about what she was wearing – Grace didn’t do slinky or black lace – but she could make one of his old white shirts look a damned sight sexier than any GQ spread.
‘You look bushed,’ she said, ladling soup into a ceramic bowl.
‘Truth,’ he said. ‘I am.’
‘Too tired to talk over an idea?’ She set down the bowl in front of him, sliced a hunk of bread and poured him a glass of wine.
‘Of course not.’ He grasped at her hand. ‘Thank you, Gracie.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ she said, loving the fact that he still bothered to thank her for small kindnesses.
‘And the idea?’ He had a spoonful of soup. ‘That is so good.’
‘Do you think Al would mind if we threw him and Jess a party?’
Sam raised both eyebrows in surprise. ‘Really?’
She sat down beside him. ‘Only I can’t picture him arranging that kind of thing, but I think they might like it, so if you think it would be OK, I’d love to do it.’
‘You are truly a spectacular woman,’ Sam said.
‘Is that a yes?’
‘Definitely,’ he said. ‘Except I’m not sure we can invite anyone from the department.’
‘So they’re really not telling people yet?’ She pulled a face. ‘I don’t know who we could invite then. I’ve never heard Al talk about friends outside the office.’
‘He doesn’t really have much of a life outside,’ Sam said.
‘He didn’t,’ Grace said, ‘but he does now.’
‘So maybe we’ll just make them a family dinner – our family being his.’
‘That’s fine with me,’ Grace said. ‘And should it be a surprise, do you think, or should we consult with them?’
‘I think we should tell Al, and if he goes for it, leave it up to him to decide if he wants to tell Jess or not.’ Sam didn’t think he was up to organizing more than one surprise at a time.
‘That leaves the biggest problem,’ Grace said. ‘Finding a free evening for you guys with this case.’
Sam sighed because that was so true. ‘Let’s see what the next few days bring.’ He picked up his spoon, then set it down again, his appetite gone.
‘No ID yet on this couple?’
‘We can’t even be sure they are a couple.’
‘Dear Lord,’ Grace said.
THIRTY-FOUR
February 14
R omeo the Fifth was missing in action.
The keeper didn’t know whether to be more upset or impressed.
It had been apparent, from the go, that he was a rough one, and now it was clear that he was a tough guy, too, with an independent streak, and face it, the buck would have had to go soon anyway.
Anyway, the good news, as it happened, far outweighed the bad.
Because Isabella the Seventh was expecting.
Well, of course she was, fecund little mom that she was.
The keeper wasn’t going to bug her with stats this weekend, would allow Isabella to celebrate in peaceful isolation.
And who knew, maybe Romeo would
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