for the next hour. Detweiler motioned to a seat at the far end of the counter, beyond the State Street sign, and underneath a black and white of Marilyn Monroe with pursed lips. I think Marilyn was reacting to the cigarette smoke, too.
The smell of frying onions overpowered Detweiler’s cologne, but still … he smelled like a guy on a date.
Boy, I wished that date was with me.
My brain said, “Are you NUTS?” But other parts of my self were not so logical. Between the adrenaline from my near miss and my hormones, I felt woozy. I needed to sit down or prop myself up, fast. Added to the general mayhem, my stomach rumbled. After that buzz saw of a book club meeting, I’d left without sampling Jennifer’s offerings. Except for one cookie. And one cookie didn’t put a dent in my empty tummy. I wanted food. REAL food.
I climbed onto the stool and studied the menu board. Detweiler offered to buy. “Union employees get a discount,” he said.
He stepped to the window and gave our orders to a tough-looking girl with a Slovakian accent, a tattoo, and a “don’t mess with me” attitude. Definitely not a Wendy Ward’s Charm School graduate. (Which I am. I even made a scrapbook page with my diploma. It’s really cute, too.) She shoved a pair of Styrofoam cups toward him and gestured to the fountain drinks dispenser. I took my cup and walked to the dispenser.
My hand was shaky. I poured diet cola all over my fist.
“Self-serve not your bag?” He said as we settled onto our seats.
“Um, I was almost hit on my way back from the book club meeting. Close call.” I explained about the bridge. What I didn’t say was that being near him made me jittery. My heart pounded in my chest. My eyes measured the space between us at the counter, and I leaned away from him. If we touched, I feared we’d both go up in flames.
Boy, I had it bad.
Detweiler sipped his soda and shook his head. “Drivers here run stop signs all the time.”
“Ah, the famous ‘St. Louis stops,’ right? If everyone else stops, why should I?” I watched him wince. “What’s up with Coach Johnson?”
Detweiler ran a hand through his hair. “He’s out.”
“No kidding! That’s good news, right?”
“Maybe.” Detweiler lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “He’s not talking to anyone, not even me, on the advice of his attorney. I have no idea who paid his bail.”
His voice carried a touch of hurt. While Corey staying quiet made sense, Detweiler felt excluded. Worst of all, I wondered if Corey knew his old friend was working overtime trying to exonerate him? I started to ask, but realized, how could the coach know? If Detweiler talked to Corey’s lawyer, he’d be going behind the back of his captain in the Major Case Squad. He’d be telegraphing how weak the department’s case was. And since he couldn’t talk to Corey, Detweiler couldn’t pick up any new leads from his friend. A real Catch-22.
The wild card was whatever I could dig up from my snooping around.
“How’s Anya?” The detective’s voice was gruff with emotion. “She okay?”
I filled him in on her nightmare. Repeating it made me more tired. I shook my head as I said, “I hope she’s safe.”
He nodded. “She’s safer at school and school events, with all the attention being paid to security, than she would be at your house. I flashed her photo to the security guards, so they’ve promised to be extra vigilant. A lot of them are off-duty cops. We watch out for each other’s families.”
Families. I swallowed hard. So that was what he considered my daughter? A member of his family? A pricking started behind my eyes and I gulped my drink to push down the pain in my throat. I set down my cup carefully and studied him from under my lashes. A patch of beard had been missed when he shaved. His fingers drummed restlessly on the counter and his leg jiggled frantically. Under his eyes were puffy half-circles, and his lips were chapped. He was definitely not himself.
The smell of frying onions overpowered Detweiler’s cologne, but still … he smelled like a guy on a date.
Boy, I wished that date was with me.
My brain said, “Are you NUTS?” But other parts of my self were not so logical. Between the adrenaline from my near miss and my hormones, I felt woozy. I needed to sit down or prop myself up, fast. Added to the general mayhem, my stomach rumbled. After that buzz saw of a book club meeting, I’d left without sampling Jennifer’s offerings. Except for one cookie. And one cookie didn’t put a dent in my empty tummy. I wanted food. REAL food.
I climbed onto the stool and studied the menu board. Detweiler offered to buy. “Union employees get a discount,” he said.
He stepped to the window and gave our orders to a tough-looking girl with a Slovakian accent, a tattoo, and a “don’t mess with me” attitude. Definitely not a Wendy Ward’s Charm School graduate. (Which I am. I even made a scrapbook page with my diploma. It’s really cute, too.) She shoved a pair of Styrofoam cups toward him and gestured to the fountain drinks dispenser. I took my cup and walked to the dispenser.
My hand was shaky. I poured diet cola all over my fist.
“Self-serve not your bag?” He said as we settled onto our seats.
“Um, I was almost hit on my way back from the book club meeting. Close call.” I explained about the bridge. What I didn’t say was that being near him made me jittery. My heart pounded in my chest. My eyes measured the space between us at the counter, and I leaned away from him. If we touched, I feared we’d both go up in flames.
Boy, I had it bad.
Detweiler sipped his soda and shook his head. “Drivers here run stop signs all the time.”
“Ah, the famous ‘St. Louis stops,’ right? If everyone else stops, why should I?” I watched him wince. “What’s up with Coach Johnson?”
Detweiler ran a hand through his hair. “He’s out.”
“No kidding! That’s good news, right?”
“Maybe.” Detweiler lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “He’s not talking to anyone, not even me, on the advice of his attorney. I have no idea who paid his bail.”
His voice carried a touch of hurt. While Corey staying quiet made sense, Detweiler felt excluded. Worst of all, I wondered if Corey knew his old friend was working overtime trying to exonerate him? I started to ask, but realized, how could the coach know? If Detweiler talked to Corey’s lawyer, he’d be going behind the back of his captain in the Major Case Squad. He’d be telegraphing how weak the department’s case was. And since he couldn’t talk to Corey, Detweiler couldn’t pick up any new leads from his friend. A real Catch-22.
The wild card was whatever I could dig up from my snooping around.
“How’s Anya?” The detective’s voice was gruff with emotion. “She okay?”
I filled him in on her nightmare. Repeating it made me more tired. I shook my head as I said, “I hope she’s safe.”
He nodded. “She’s safer at school and school events, with all the attention being paid to security, than she would be at your house. I flashed her photo to the security guards, so they’ve promised to be extra vigilant. A lot of them are off-duty cops. We watch out for each other’s families.”
Families. I swallowed hard. So that was what he considered my daughter? A member of his family? A pricking started behind my eyes and I gulped my drink to push down the pain in my throat. I set down my cup carefully and studied him from under my lashes. A patch of beard had been missed when he shaved. His fingers drummed restlessly on the counter and his leg jiggled frantically. Under his eyes were puffy half-circles, and his lips were chapped. He was definitely not himself.
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