until she got her pulse under control. She hadn’t had a flashback in a long time. She’d thought she was over them.
But would she ever truly get over what had happened? Failure was tough to accept.
She turned on the overhead light and lifted the coffeepot, grateful that it was already full. Pouring herself a mugful, she drank half its contents standing over the sink. The caffeine hit her system and eased her lack-of-sleep headache. Three restless nights were beginning to take their toll.
The front door opened and her grandfather entered, fully dressed and carrying a camera rigged with a telephoto lens.
“You were working so late, I didn’t expect you to be up this early.” He kissed her cheek. Worried eyes scanned her face. It was impossible to hide anything from the retired NYPD homicide detective.
“I need to get to the station.” Stella had reviewed her case notes until she’d fallen asleep over the files.
“If you’re not going to sleep, you need to eat. Let me make you some breakfast.” Setting down his camera, Grandpa ignited a burner and set a frying pan on the stove. On cue, nails pattered on the tile as her sister’s French bulldog trotted into the room and sat at Grandpa’s feet, his oversize head cocked in expectation.
“What were you doing outside with the camera at this hour?” Stella leaned a hip on the counter. “Obviously you weren’t walking the dog.”
Snoozer wasn’t an early riser, unless there was food.
Grandpa added butter to the pan and retrieved a carton of eggs from the fridge. “Someone has been letting their dog crap on our lawn during the night. I’m going to find out who it is.”
Stella covered her grin by sipping from her mug.
“What? I still know how to conduct an investigation.” He pointed to the camera. “People should take responsibility. I’m tired of cleaning the kids’ shoes.”
“It’s probably a loose dog.”
“Then people should keep their dogs on leashes.” Grandpa cracked eggs into the pan one-handed. “I will find out who it is.”
“I don’t doubt you for a second.” Stella knew her grandfather would hunt their errant pooper like a bloodhound.
“You’d think three-acre lots would give people enough room for their animals on their own property.” He slid four slices of bread into the toaster. “You were late last night and now up early this morning. Tough case?”
“Several. Do you remember Missy Green?”
“Didn’t you hang around with her in high school?” He took two plates from the cabinet and poured Stella a glass of orange juice.
“Yes. She turned up dead on Monday.”
Grandpa paused, the carton in one veiny hand. “I’m sorry to hear that. She was a good kid.”
“She was tortured and killed. Then her body was dumped.” How many people could share that kind of information with a grandparent?
“It must be hard to work on a case when you knew the victim.” Grandpa loaded the toast and eggs onto two plates and carried them to the table. Snoozer followed, his bulgy eyes sticking with the plates.
Only at the Dane house was homicide a topic of breakfast conversation.
“I was lucky.” He tucked his napkin into the front of his shirt. “I worked in a big city department. I rarely ran into a homicide that wasn’t a stranger. Maybe I’d have to investigate the death of an informant or someone I’d arrested previously, but never a friend. If your former relationship with Missy prevents you from doing your job, there’s no shame in stepping away from the case.”
“You’re right, of course.” Stella sampled her breakfast. Heavy on the butter as usual but tasty. “But I get this feeling that something is off with the case, and I don’t know if I have enough experience to trust my gut.”
“Are you investigating all possible leads?”
“I am. I’m waiting for forensics and a toxicology report. Until then, I’m digging into her life.”
Grandpa dug into his breakfast. “That’s all you can do. Keep
But would she ever truly get over what had happened? Failure was tough to accept.
She turned on the overhead light and lifted the coffeepot, grateful that it was already full. Pouring herself a mugful, she drank half its contents standing over the sink. The caffeine hit her system and eased her lack-of-sleep headache. Three restless nights were beginning to take their toll.
The front door opened and her grandfather entered, fully dressed and carrying a camera rigged with a telephoto lens.
“You were working so late, I didn’t expect you to be up this early.” He kissed her cheek. Worried eyes scanned her face. It was impossible to hide anything from the retired NYPD homicide detective.
“I need to get to the station.” Stella had reviewed her case notes until she’d fallen asleep over the files.
“If you’re not going to sleep, you need to eat. Let me make you some breakfast.” Setting down his camera, Grandpa ignited a burner and set a frying pan on the stove. On cue, nails pattered on the tile as her sister’s French bulldog trotted into the room and sat at Grandpa’s feet, his oversize head cocked in expectation.
“What were you doing outside with the camera at this hour?” Stella leaned a hip on the counter. “Obviously you weren’t walking the dog.”
Snoozer wasn’t an early riser, unless there was food.
Grandpa added butter to the pan and retrieved a carton of eggs from the fridge. “Someone has been letting their dog crap on our lawn during the night. I’m going to find out who it is.”
Stella covered her grin by sipping from her mug.
“What? I still know how to conduct an investigation.” He pointed to the camera. “People should take responsibility. I’m tired of cleaning the kids’ shoes.”
“It’s probably a loose dog.”
“Then people should keep their dogs on leashes.” Grandpa cracked eggs into the pan one-handed. “I will find out who it is.”
“I don’t doubt you for a second.” Stella knew her grandfather would hunt their errant pooper like a bloodhound.
“You’d think three-acre lots would give people enough room for their animals on their own property.” He slid four slices of bread into the toaster. “You were late last night and now up early this morning. Tough case?”
“Several. Do you remember Missy Green?”
“Didn’t you hang around with her in high school?” He took two plates from the cabinet and poured Stella a glass of orange juice.
“Yes. She turned up dead on Monday.”
Grandpa paused, the carton in one veiny hand. “I’m sorry to hear that. She was a good kid.”
“She was tortured and killed. Then her body was dumped.” How many people could share that kind of information with a grandparent?
“It must be hard to work on a case when you knew the victim.” Grandpa loaded the toast and eggs onto two plates and carried them to the table. Snoozer followed, his bulgy eyes sticking with the plates.
Only at the Dane house was homicide a topic of breakfast conversation.
“I was lucky.” He tucked his napkin into the front of his shirt. “I worked in a big city department. I rarely ran into a homicide that wasn’t a stranger. Maybe I’d have to investigate the death of an informant or someone I’d arrested previously, but never a friend. If your former relationship with Missy prevents you from doing your job, there’s no shame in stepping away from the case.”
“You’re right, of course.” Stella sampled her breakfast. Heavy on the butter as usual but tasty. “But I get this feeling that something is off with the case, and I don’t know if I have enough experience to trust my gut.”
“Are you investigating all possible leads?”
“I am. I’m waiting for forensics and a toxicology report. Until then, I’m digging into her life.”
Grandpa dug into his breakfast. “That’s all you can do. Keep
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