fry at Allison. “At this rate, you’re going to give birth to a fryer chicken.”
“Stop talking about food,” Cassidy said, snatching up more of their fries. “I’m hungry!”
Nicole lightly slapped Cassidy’s hand. “You’ve got a bad habit of eating off other people’s plates, you know that?”
Cassidy’s grin was unrepentant. “In grade school kids used to make a big production out of licking their food in front of me so I wouldn’t eat it.”
“Did that stop you?” Allison asked.
Cassidy raised one eyebrow. “What do you think?”
The three women laughed.
Turning serious, Cassidy added, “I didn’t just pick this restaurant for the quality of its grease. It’s also close to where Katie disappeared. I saw both of you at the vigil.” She lifted her beer glass in Nicole’s direction. “And I heard that you’ve been handpicked to be the liaison with Katie’s parents. Congrats! The Triple Threat Club is on the case!” She raised her glass and leaned forward.
Allison tapped each of their glasses with her own. She was trying to drink more milk for calcium and eat more leafy greens for vitamin K—the existence of which she had only learned about this week. As a result, her dinner tonight was a Cajun Cobb salad and a glass of milk. McMenamin’s, which wasn’t exactly known for restraint, had dressed the salad in about a half cup of blue cheese dressing.
Her newfound hunger sometimes shocked her, especially since it alternated with bouts of nausea. Three hours after breakfast this morning, she had felt an overwhelming urge to eat. She ended up in the third-floor cafeteria, tucked away in a corner, her back to the empty tables, wolfing down an egg sandwich and a hashbrown disk. What if the baby’s fingers had been forming right at that moment? What if the knuckles were being made, and the only nutrition her body had to work with was junk?
Nicole’s smile was rueful. “Yeah, it may be an honor, but it’s not going to be easy. We’ve got no crime scene, no evidence, no clues, no suspects, no ransom note, and no verifiable sightings.” She popped another fry into her mouth.
Cassidy shook her head. “I’m like you, Nic, trying to work this thing when there is no new information. This morning I had the cameraman down on his knees so we could get a dog’s-eye view. Since you guys found the dog, it was supposed to be like what Jalapeño would have seen when he was with Katie. Did you guys get any clues from it?”
Allison didn’t bother asking where Cassidy had come across that little tidbit. She had sources scattered throughout the city. Sometimes she knew things before Allison and Nicole did, which came in handy.
Earlier that day, a woman had been walking her dog near Chapman Elementary when she had spotted the black Lab without a collar. With the help of a dog treat, she coaxed it into her van. She thought it looked like the dog on the Converses’ flyers, so she took it to an animal shelter. Luckily, Jalapeño had been chipped.
“There was something dark matted on its flank, but the dog was filthy—fur stuck together, burrs, cuts on its paws,” Nicole said. “Everyone got all excited. But it turned out to be canine blood, not human.”
“I’ve been trying for an interview with the woman who found him, but Channel Eight’s got her all sewn up.” Cassidy took another sip of beer.
“What would you guys have if you didn’t have nonstop coverage of this?” Nicole said. “Maybe some actual news?”
Cassidy snorted. “We’ve talked about this before. Everyone sitting at this table depends upon crime for her livelihood. We don’t make the bad guys. We catch them!”
Have joking, half not, Allison said, “But the media distort everything.”
“Right. Just like all cops are trigger-happy and all lawyers are sharks.” Cassidy laughed. Nothing ever seemed to get to her. “The media are not creating the problem. We’re reporting it. There’s a difference.”
As the
“Stop talking about food,” Cassidy said, snatching up more of their fries. “I’m hungry!”
Nicole lightly slapped Cassidy’s hand. “You’ve got a bad habit of eating off other people’s plates, you know that?”
Cassidy’s grin was unrepentant. “In grade school kids used to make a big production out of licking their food in front of me so I wouldn’t eat it.”
“Did that stop you?” Allison asked.
Cassidy raised one eyebrow. “What do you think?”
The three women laughed.
Turning serious, Cassidy added, “I didn’t just pick this restaurant for the quality of its grease. It’s also close to where Katie disappeared. I saw both of you at the vigil.” She lifted her beer glass in Nicole’s direction. “And I heard that you’ve been handpicked to be the liaison with Katie’s parents. Congrats! The Triple Threat Club is on the case!” She raised her glass and leaned forward.
Allison tapped each of their glasses with her own. She was trying to drink more milk for calcium and eat more leafy greens for vitamin K—the existence of which she had only learned about this week. As a result, her dinner tonight was a Cajun Cobb salad and a glass of milk. McMenamin’s, which wasn’t exactly known for restraint, had dressed the salad in about a half cup of blue cheese dressing.
Her newfound hunger sometimes shocked her, especially since it alternated with bouts of nausea. Three hours after breakfast this morning, she had felt an overwhelming urge to eat. She ended up in the third-floor cafeteria, tucked away in a corner, her back to the empty tables, wolfing down an egg sandwich and a hashbrown disk. What if the baby’s fingers had been forming right at that moment? What if the knuckles were being made, and the only nutrition her body had to work with was junk?
Nicole’s smile was rueful. “Yeah, it may be an honor, but it’s not going to be easy. We’ve got no crime scene, no evidence, no clues, no suspects, no ransom note, and no verifiable sightings.” She popped another fry into her mouth.
Cassidy shook her head. “I’m like you, Nic, trying to work this thing when there is no new information. This morning I had the cameraman down on his knees so we could get a dog’s-eye view. Since you guys found the dog, it was supposed to be like what Jalapeño would have seen when he was with Katie. Did you guys get any clues from it?”
Allison didn’t bother asking where Cassidy had come across that little tidbit. She had sources scattered throughout the city. Sometimes she knew things before Allison and Nicole did, which came in handy.
Earlier that day, a woman had been walking her dog near Chapman Elementary when she had spotted the black Lab without a collar. With the help of a dog treat, she coaxed it into her van. She thought it looked like the dog on the Converses’ flyers, so she took it to an animal shelter. Luckily, Jalapeño had been chipped.
“There was something dark matted on its flank, but the dog was filthy—fur stuck together, burrs, cuts on its paws,” Nicole said. “Everyone got all excited. But it turned out to be canine blood, not human.”
“I’ve been trying for an interview with the woman who found him, but Channel Eight’s got her all sewn up.” Cassidy took another sip of beer.
“What would you guys have if you didn’t have nonstop coverage of this?” Nicole said. “Maybe some actual news?”
Cassidy snorted. “We’ve talked about this before. Everyone sitting at this table depends upon crime for her livelihood. We don’t make the bad guys. We catch them!”
Have joking, half not, Allison said, “But the media distort everything.”
“Right. Just like all cops are trigger-happy and all lawyers are sharks.” Cassidy laughed. Nothing ever seemed to get to her. “The media are not creating the problem. We’re reporting it. There’s a difference.”
As the
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