Lisa Scottoline - Daddy's Girl

"Okay." Nat went in her desk for her handbag, feeling guilty for not telling him about Saunders. He was the only one who could really understand what yesterday had been like. Then again, if she told him, she'd be admitting that she'd lied to the police. On impulse, she closed her office door and showed him the seat across from her desk. "Sit down a minute, would you?"

Angus sat down, mystified. "You gonna emasculate me, too?"

"No, but I have to tell you something. The whole truth and nothing but." Nat went back to her desk, sat down, and told him the story of finding Saunders, alive despite his wounds. As Angus listened, his bright eyes grew somber, and Nat managed not to cry. "The thing I didn't tell you is that, before he died, Saunders said something to me. His last words. It was a message for his wife. I didn't want to tell the cops. It's not their business."

"I understand." Angus rubbed his beard. "It's not mine, either."

Exactly. "But I have to tell his wife. That's where I was going just now. Out to the Saunders house."

"In the subs? That's the errand?" Angus smiled. "You're a terrible liar Natalie. You acted so guilty, I was worried you were having an affair, and I'm not even your boyfriend."

Nat laughed. It felt good to joke around with him. A shaft of sunlight moved onto his hair, bringing out golden highlights she hadn't noticed before. Either he had washed it last night or he was a total hunk and probably not a drug addict. She had a new respect for him, after yesterday and this morning.

"I also think that you're extraordinary, for trying to save him."

"I could have done more."

"No. That's not fair." Angus shook his head. "You can't ask so much of yourself. You'll lose sight of what you did accomplish."

"Like what?"

"Like simply being there when he died."

It's what his mother-in law had said on the phone.

"You know, sometimes it's enough just to be. Just be. Don't fix. Don't perform. Don't control. Just be" Angus paused "I know, it sounds so Zen."

"Faculty Steven Seagal."

"Forgive me, I was a religion major. I almost went to divinity school."

"Really?"

"I know, right? Anyway, so you're going out to the house now? I think that's the right thing to do. You have to do it, and in person. It's the man's last words before he left the planet." I agree.

"You want me to go with you? I know the area better than you do. I'll give you some privacy when you talk to his widow."

"Are you free?"

"I have to make some calls, but I can do it on the way. You shouldn't have to go alone, and I'm the one who got you into this. It's the least I can do."

Nat smiled, touched. "Falafel's on me."

The country sky was ice blue and so cold that even the sun was keeping its distance. The Saunders house was the only one on this winding road, and it was surrounded by an expanse of frosted white snow, broken only by dark, barren trees, their branches heavy with snow. Nat parked her red Volvo down the street from the house, finding a space only at the end of a long row of salt-sprayed parked cars. She twisted off the ignition and eyed Angus, sitting in the passenger seat.

"It looks like she has a houseful," Nat said, stating the obvious. "I wonder if it makes sense to do this now."

"The mother asked you to come today." Angus flashed her an encouraging smile. "You'll do fine."

"Thanks, Coach." Nat reached behind the seat for her purse, and they got out of the car. There were no sidewalks, so they walked in the street, which had been recently plowed. Snow sat piled along the side of the road in powdery triangles, clean as spooned sugar. Nat held her camelhair coat closed at her neck, missing her serviceable wool toggle, which she'd left at the prison. Angus shoved his hands in his jeans, with only his sweater and his beard to keep him warm.

They made their way up the street, their breath frosty, their shoes crunching road salt and ice. Nat's stomach tensed as they approached the house, a modest white rancher with forest green trim and a tan garage door. The driveway, on the 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, Mrs. Cracy said, "We keep the lights off because Barb gets migraines when she's under stress. It's the second door, up ahead."