Читать книгу Mourn The Living - Henry Perez - Страница 17

Chapa had his colleague’s obituary finished in just under an hour. The story about the explosion, including the official police version along with quotes from the female neighbor took a little longer. There just wasn’t much meat on that bone.

Every few minutes he would look around the corner and make sure Nikki was okay and that Zach’s babysitting skills were holding up. After he’d milked every possible detail and cruised up one side and down the other of the story’s angles, Chapa put it together as best as he could.

Nikki gently complained when he scooped her up and told her it was time to go. But there was no time for debate, they were already late for dinner.

He thanked Zach, “I owe you lunch sometime this week.” Then headed out the door before Wormley said something stupid or Sullivan lured him into another hand-rubbing conversation.

Erin and Mike, her five-year-old son, were already at Barnaby’s Grill when Chapa and Nikki got there, nearly forty minutes late. Chapa watched as Erin got up from where they were seated at a table by the front windows, and introduced herself to Nikki. He marveled at how natural this all seemed for her.

Chapa and Erin had met under circumstances that were less than romantic. He’d walked into her bank, the one where she still worked as a vice president, hoping to clear up the finances of his married past. They hit it off in every way, and by the end of their first month together they were seeing each other several times a week, and spending hours on the phone on nights when they were apart.

Erin had a casual way about her that fit nicely with Chapa’s often manic life, and he shared things with her in a way he never had with anyone else before—not even with Carla. Sometimes Chapa wasn’t sure what he brought to Erin’s life, and he wasn’t about to ask.

Though they had been together and going strong for more than six months, Chapa’s hesitancy to commit further was beginning to cause a strain. With Erin’s help he had succeeded in clearing up the financial fallout from his failed marriage, only to find that there were some other lingering issues that were also the product of his past failures.

The restaurant was crowded, mostly by families, and for Chapa the feeling of fitting in with this group was both alien and comforting. Nikki and Mike were getting along well, and Erin gave Chapa a look and tossed a nod in their direction. He knew what she was thinking.

They’re cute, aren’t they.

And they were, but something else had captured his attention. Chapa had first noticed the man and his car as he and Nikki were walking in the door. The banged-up, late model Ford had rumbled through the parking lot at a speed that was just a bit beyond casual.

Now the guy Chapa had seen behind the wheel was standing by his Toyota, eyeing it, and not trying to act like he was doing anything else. Chapa watched as the man with at least fifty hard years of living on his body circled the Corolla.

“Something wrong?” Erin asked in a way that let Chapa know she already knew the answer.

“Not sure, maybe.”

Four days’ worth of salt-and-pepper stubble crowded the guy’s face, but Chapa sensed it wasn’t the beginning of a beard. He looked like he’d dressed himself in the dark, putting on the first clothes his unsteady hands landed on.

The waitress brought a platter of appetizers, but Chapa didn’t notice right away. His attention was on the guy who was now staring right back at him from the parking lot.

“Who is he?” Erin had noticed him too.

“No idea. But I have a feeling we’ll know soon,” Chapa said as he watched the man stride across the parking lot, toward the front door of the restaurant, like he had to be someplace in a hurry. His eyes fixed on Chapa the entire time.