Perry Black’s condo

Thursday night

Perry and Davis sat side by side, drinking decaf and watching the small fire in the fireplace smolder and hiss, and spurt out the occasional spark.

Perry said, “I never thought Aunt Arliss would care so little about Mom. They’ve been friends forever. I’m afraid of what it’s going to do to her.”

“It’s not going to do anything. Being asked to resign won’t break your mother. She’s pure steel.”

“What? You’ve known her since Monday. Listen, after Aunt Arliss left, she looked ready to throw in the towel.”

Davis set down his mug, stretched his arms out along the back of the sofa. “It was a tough thing to hear, but she’ll deal with it. If you’d seen her handle that addict who tried to hijack her car on Monday, you wouldn’t be worried. That was your mom in action. If she goes down, it’ll be fighting tooth and nail, and screw Madame Secretary.”

She jumped to her feet. “You’re right, that’s my mom. Arliss may want to throw her to the wolves to save her own hide, but Mom will do what she thinks is right. And so will I. I don’t think I’m going to call her Aunt Arliss anymore. I wonder what Day will have to say about all this? And listen, you really don’t have to stay here again with me tonight.”

“Yeah, I do, no choice. My boss ordered me to.”

She eyed him. “All right. I cleaned the bathroom.”

“I appreciate it. Monroe has made me real particular about bathrooms, right down to the shower grout.”

She gave him a distracted smile, then began pacing the length of her living room. She paused at the windows and peered out into the darkness, then strode back to where he sat on the sofa, watching her.

“Don’t you have your blog to write?”

She stopped, rubbed her hands in front of the fire. “It seems so trivial, given what’s happening with Mom. And me. I called the insurance adjuster, and the company officially ruled my beautiful Harley totaled. Isn’t it sad that’s what I was thinking about, how I would replace my baby? And what about poor Carlos Acosta? No one has seen him for over twenty-four hours. Do you think he’s dead, Davis?”

Davis didn’t have a clue, but he said without hesitation, “No, Carlos isn’t dead.” He paused for a moment, seeing her slumped shoulders. “I have some better news. Savich didn’t want to say anything about it himself unless it panned out.”

She whirled to face him, eyes a hundred watts bright. “What? Come on, Davis, tell me.”

“All right, but remember, we can’t take it to the bank yet. Savich spoke with Hamish Penderley again today, you know, the big muckety-muck in Scotland Yard? Penderley got word from one of the inspectors who had been checking out automobile repair shops in the region of Kent where that black sedan collided with your mother’s dark green Jaguar. There was nothing all this time, but yesterday a black sedan was brought in for repair at a small shop in Ashford. The damage matches your mother’s description of the collision. They’re analyzing small paint chips left on the car now to see if they match your mother’s car.”

“We should call my mom, right now!”

“If you do, you’re going to get me in trouble with Savich. Wait until tomorrow, then we’ll know for sure. I only told you because you looked so pitiful. See, Black, you’ve got to have some faith here. So pick your optimism up off the floor.”

She squared her shoulders. The fighter was back. “Yes, all right, that’s better, but I’m going to tell her first thing tomorrow. This is the greatest news.” She pumped her fist in the air. “Let’s hear it for Scotland Yard.”

“Don’t you have a blog to write?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts.”

“What I was going to say was my blog’s in good shape already. Well, there is one thing. I got hold of Marcie’s mom. Marcie Curtis—you remember, she’s Tebow’s girlfriend. The mom wouldn’t talk to me, even got her husband on the phone to burn my ears, but it turns out he’s a huge football fan. Even better, he likes my blog, and he liked the photo of Tim and Marcie I’d posted. After that, I couldn’t shut him up. He even told me his little girl met Tim at a skating rink.”

“I didn’t know Tebow ice-skated.”

“I didn’t, either, but given how athletic he is, what couldn’t he do? Marcie’s dad bragged to me that Tim wasn’t as good as his little girl, but that’d give her something to be better at. All right, I’ll go write it. Truth is, I’ve never had as many comments posted about any of my sports stories.”