Блейк Пирс - If She Knew

“What’s with you guys?” Kate asked. “You know I come here to try to get motivated about retirement, right? You two look downright sad.”

Jane and Clarissa shared a look that Kate had seen countless times before. During her times as an agent, she’d seen it in living rooms, interrogation rooms, and hospital waiting rooms. It was a look that translated one simple question without a spoken word: Who’s going to tell her?

“What is it?” she asked.

She was suddenly very aware of Deb’s absence.

“It’s Deb,” Jane said, confirming her fear.

“Well, not Deb exactly,” Clarissa added. “It’s her daughter, Julie. Did you ever meet her?”

“Once, I think,” Kate said. “What happened?”

“She’s dead,” Clarissa said. “Murder. So far, they have no idea who did it.”

“Oh my God,” Kate said, genuinely saddened for her friend. She’d known Deb for about fifteen years, having met her at Quantico. Kate had been working as an assistant instructor for a new crop of field agents and Deb had been working with some of the tech rats on some sort of new security system. They’d struck it off right away and had become fast friends.

The fact that Deb had not called or texted her with the news before anyone else showed just how quickly friendships could shift over the years.

“When did it happen?” Kate asked.

“Sometime yesterday,” Jane said. “She just texted me this morning about it.”

“They have no suspects?” Kate asked.

Jane shrugged. “She just said they don’t know who it is. No clues, no leads, nothing.”

Kate instantly felt herself go into agent mode. She figured it was the same way a trained athlete must feel after being away from their arena of choice for too long. She may not have turf or an adoring crowd to remind her of what her glory days had been like, but she did have her finely tuned mind for solving crimes.

“Don’t go there,” Clarissa said, trying on her best smile.

“Go where?”

“Don’t be Agent Wise right now,” Clarissa said. “Right now, just be her friend. I can see those wheels turning in your head. Jeez, lady. Don’t you have a pregnant daughter? Aren’t you about to be a grandmother?”

“What a way to kick me when I’m down,” Kate said with a smile. She let the comment go and then asked: “Deb’s daughter…did she have a boyfriend?”

“No idea,” Jane said.

An awkward silence sat over the table. In the year or so their little group of recently retired friends had been meeting, the conversation had always been mostly light. This was the first heavy topic and it did not fit with their routine. Kate, of course, was accustomed to it. Her time in the academy had taught her how to handle these situations.

But Clarissa was right. In hearing the news, Kate had so easily slipped into agent mode. She knew she should have thought like a friend first—thinking of Deb’s loss and emotional state. But the agent in her was too strong, the instincts still there at the forefront after having been on the shelf for a year.

“So what can we do to make her comfortable?” Jane asked.

“I was thinking a meal train,” Clarissa said. “I know a few other ladies that might get on board. Just making sure she doesn’t have to cook for her family in the next few weeks as she deals with all of this.”

For the next ten minutes, the three women planned out the most effective way to get a meal train going for their grief-stricken friend.

But for Kate, the conversation remained on the surface. Her mind was headed elsewhere, trying to dig up hidden facts and tidbits on Deb and her family, trying to find a case where there might not even be one.

Or there might, Kate thought. And I guess there’s only one way to find out.

After retirement, Kate had moved back to Richmond, Virginia. She’d grown up in the little town of Amelia, about forty minutes away from Richmond, but had gone to college right near the cusp of downtown. She’d spent her undergrad years at VCU, originally wanting to be an art major of all things. Three years in, she’d discovered that she’d had a heart for criminal justice through one of her elective courses in psychology. It had been a winding, crooked trail that had led her to Quantico and the thirty-year stretch of her illustrious career.

She now drove through some of those familiar Richmond streets. She’d been to Debbie Meade’s house only once before but knew exactly where it was located. She knew where it was because she envied the location, one of those older-looking buildings on the streets off the center of downtown that were lined with trees rather than street lights and tall buildings.

Deb’s street was currently awash in fallen leaves from the elms that overhung the street. She had to park three houses away because family and friends had already started to fill in the spaces in front of Deb’s house.

She walked down the sidewalk, trying to convince herself that this was a bad idea. Yes, she planned to enter the house as only a friend—even though Jane and Clarissa had decided to hold off until later in the afternoon in order to give Deb some space. But there was something deeper there, too. She’d been looking for something to do these past few months, some better and more meaningful way to fill her time. She’d often dreamed about somehow picking up freelance work from the bureau, maybe even just basic research tasks.

Even the most minor of references to her work got her excited. For instance, she was due in court next week to testify at a parole hearing. She was not looking forward to facing the criminal again but just being able to delve back into her work for such a brief amount of time was welcome.

But that was next week—and right now that seemed like an eternity away.

She looked up at Debbie Meade’s front porch. She knew why she was really there. She wanted to find some answers to questions that were storming in her head. It made her feel selfish, like she was using her friend’s loss as an excuse to dip her toes back into waters that she had not felt in over a year. This situation involved a friend, which made it tricky. But the old agent in her was hoping it might evolve into something else. The friend in her, though, thought it might be risky. And all together, those parts of her wondered if maybe she should have stuck with simply fanaticizing about a return to work.

Maybe that’s exactly what I’m doing, Kate thought as she walked up the stairs to the Meade residence. And honestly, she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

She knocked on the door softly and it was answered right away by an elderly lady Kate did not know.

“Are you with the family?” the woman asked.

“No,” Kate answered. “Just a very close friend.”

The woman scrutinized her for a moment before allowing her inside. Kate entered and walked down the hallway, passing by a living area that was filled with somber people sitting around one single person in a recliner. The person in the recliner was Debbie Meade. Kate recognized the man standing beside her and talking to another man as her husband, Jim.

She awkwardly entered the room and went directly to Deb. Without allowing Deb enough time to get out of the chair, Kate leaned down and hugged her.

“I’m so sorry, Deb,” she said.

Deb was clearly drained from crying, managing to only nod into Kate’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming,” Deb whispered into her ear. “Do you think you could meet me in the kitchen in a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

Kate broke the hug and gave little nods of acknowledgment to the few other faces in the room that she recognized. Feeling out of place, Kate made her way to the end of the hallway which emptied into the kitchen. There was no one there but there were empty plates and glasses from where people had been not too long ago. There were a few pies sitting on the counter along with ham rolls and other finger foods. Kate set to cleaning up, helping herself to the sink to start washing the dishes.