Daddy's Girl by Lisa Scottoline Page A

left side of the house, was parked up with an older Honda and a Toyota SUV, and in the side yard, a snow-covered metal swing set waited for summer. Nat took the lead as they walked up the side of the driveway. She could hear noise as they got closer to the house.
    “Don’t worry,” Angus said as they reached the white metal door, its screens replaced with storm windows, and Nat knocked. A minute later, the door was opened by a young woman with strawberry blond hair, wearing a black knit top and jeans. Her gaze shifted from Nat to Angus; she was plainly frowning at their wounds. In other circumstances, Nat would have gone with “trick or treat.”
    “I’m Nat Greco, and this is my colleague, Angus Holt.”
    “Oh, jeez, of course. Nice to meet you,” the woman said, chastened. She extended a hand to them both. “Jennifer Paradis. Please, come in.” She stood aside, opening the door wide and motioning them through. “My mom’s expecting you, too. She’s in the kitchen.”
    Nat thanked her and they followed her into a warm, paneled living room crammed with people. Men stood talking, holding clear plastic glasses, and women gathered together, balancing paper plates that sagged under roast beef sandwiches on hamburger buns and thick squares of casserole. An oversized projection TV played SpongeBob SquarePants on mute, though a bunch of kids watched it anyway, sitting rapt in a circle. Two little girls sprawled nearby on the brown shag rug, their legs splayed carelessly as they crayoned in coloring books. Nat and Angus made their way through the crowd, and heads turned as they passed. Angus’s ponytail and big bruise drew more than a few stares, but the mourners smiled at Nat as if they knew her.
    “They’re all C.O.s,” Angus murmured under his breath, and Nat saw a balding man waving from near the TV. He threaded his way to her and shook her hand.
    “I heard you tried to save Ron. He was a good friend of mine, and I thank you for your efforts. We all do.”
    “You’re welcome.” Nat’s voice caught, with surprise. They walked on and entered a small eat-in kitchen filled with the delicious aroma of baked ham. Pyrex dishes of scalloped potatoes, macaroni and cheese, spinach lasagna, sliced eye roast, and other comfort foods covered every surface, though they did little to comfort at times like these.
    “Mom, she’s here,” Jennifer said, and an older woman in red reading glasses, a black cardigan, and black stretch pants looked up from the double sink, where she’d been draining a can of Acme pineapple slices.
    “Ms. Greco, my goodness, excuse me.” She set down the can and tugged at a beaded lorgnette, so that her glasses tumbled from her nose and to her soft chest. She dried her hands hastily on a thin dishcloth and took Nat’s hand in hers, clasping it. “I’m Clare Cracy, Barb’s mother. Thank you so much for coming, and for what you did for Ron.”
    “You’re welcome, and my deepest condolences.” Nat introduced Angus again, as one little boy chased another into the kitchen, yelling for his Game Boy. Jennifer took off after them.
    “My grandchildren have a lot of energy. We feed them too well.” Mrs. Cracy smiled, then looked again at Nat and Angus. “Goodness, the two of you are the walking wounded.”
    “We’re fine.” Nat was feeling tense again. “Is your daughter around?”
    “Barb’s upstairs resting, but she wants to see you.”
    “If she’s not up to it, I could come back another time.”
    “No, she’s waiting for you. Come with me.” Mrs. Cracy faced Angus, gesturing to the food. “I’ll come right back and fix you a ham sandwich. It’s honey baked.”
    “I’ve eaten, thanks.” Angus winked at Nat. “I’ll wait for you here.”
    Mrs. Cracy led the way from the kitchen and back through the crowd, and Nat felt every pair of eyes on her as she climbed the shag-carpeted stairs and disappeared from their view, into the darkness of a second-floor hallway. Leading her,