Detective On The Hunt. Marilyn Pappano
the checkout counter and texting. Her hello was perfunctory until she glanced up. Then a smile split her face, she clutched her cell phone, jumped to her feet and rounded the corner to approach them. “What are you doing here? Did that six-pack of T-shirts you bought five years ago finally wear out? Can I take your picture and send it to everyone as proof of life?”
Curious, JJ looked from Quint to the girl. She was way too young for anything romantic between them. Sure, some older guys had to go young for an emotional-needs match, but he seemed far too stolid to date someone he could have fathered. Besides, with the blond hair, blue eyes and the square angle of both their jaws, she’d put money on a relative. Much younger sister, niece, cousin.
“If you take my picture and send it to everyone, there won’t be any life left in your phone by the time I finish grinding it into the ground,” he said, gaze narrowed, voice gravelly enough to give some weight to the threat.
But the girl wasn’t the least bit threatened. “Uncle Quint, you haven’t scared me since the time you caught me and my friends drinking beer at the park. That was ages ago.”
“Four years.”
“Like I said. Ages.” Her gaze shifted to JJ, raking up and down. “I love that jacket, but it’s way too cold for it today.”
“That’s why I’m here.” JJ saw racks of coats near the back of the store and headed that way. A murmured conversation drifted behind her—Quint’s voice low and raspy, the girl’s higher and lighter—then came the click of high heels on the tile floor. JJ lifted a black wool coat from the rack to examine it, and when she lowered it, the blonde was on the other side.
“Hi, I’m Lia, and though my job is to sell the merchandise, that coat is something my grandma would buy. We have a great plum one, and a persimmon one, and a gorgeous fuchsia. Even something like this brown does so much more for you than black. Plus, it’s more fitted, like your jacket, so you still have a shape when you’re wearing it, instead of being padded and curveless like the black one.” Lia held up the brown coat, flashed a smile at Quint, waiting by the register, and lowered her voice. “So you’re a friend of Uncle Quint’s.”
JJ couldn’t help but smile at both her fashion advice and her conspiratorial tone. “We just met this morning. I’m in town on business.” She patted her Taser after removing her own jacket and before pulling on the brown coat. The shade was rich and dark and reminded her of hot cocoa with just a sprinkle of cinnamon. Its luxe lining embraced her with warmth.
Lia smoothed the collar, then turned JJ to face a mirror. “See, the color plays up the reddish tints in your hair and those freckles you do a decent job of hiding. You really shouldn’t be hiding them. They’re there, they’re cute, and Uncle Quint likes freckles. And you can be warm without adding so much bulk.” Without a breath, she shifted gears again. “How long will you be here?”
“No idea. A few days, maybe a week.” She shrugged.
“Oh. Too bad…or maybe not. I mean, not everything’s got to be forever, right? You’re pretty, and you have good taste, and a week of innocent—”
Quint cleared his throat, and Lia literally jumped. Her face went pale, then a few shades darker than his own flush. “I’m telling Grandma you eavesdropped.”
“Grandma was the one who taught me that when your voice got quiet, you were up to something.”
Lia sniffed. “She should have been the cop in the family.” Her pout turned immediately to a smile when she turned back to JJ. “Do you like this coat, or would you like to see the persimmon one? And do you need a scarf or gloves to go with that? They’re right this way—”
The glimpse JJ got of Quint’s aggravated face as Lia pulled her away was sweet. He wasn’t terminally cranky, after all; he was kind to old ladies and fond of his niece. Chief Dipstick had clearly sent her here as punishment, but the universe had smiled on her by putting Quint in her path.
Wouldn’t that make the old man spit nails?
Quint stayed nearby while Lia rang up JJ’s coat, scarf and gloves, then cut the tags from them. The only way to stop a Foster woman from talking about anything and everything was to stand watch, ready to put the fear into them. He’d forgotten that when he’d let his niece wander off to wait on JJ. He hadn’t heard everything when he joined them, but he’d heard enough to get the impression that Lia was trying to set up JJ with someone, and since he was pretty much the only single guy in Lia’s life right now—definitely the only single one in JJ’s age range—he figured he’d been Lia’s target. All the Foster women—and, sadly, most of the men—thought another relationship was the best way to get him over the one he’d lost.
He rubbed idly at the center of his chest where it ached. There had been a few times in the beginning when he’d thought he was having a heart attack. Had hoped he was. He hadn’t wanted to live without Linny. Had never even imagined it. She’d been the best part of his life for so long, and the idea that he would have to live without her had been incomprehensible.
Forty was too young to die. Sure, it happened all the time—accidents, suicides, homicides—but natural causes fell pretty low on the list. Linny had never had surgery before. How could anyone have known she would have an adverse reaction?
Adverse reaction. A nicer, neater way of saying stroke. How in the hell had a healthy forty-year-old woman having a minor surgical procedure had a stroke and died on the table? How could anyone have prepared for that?
Slim fingers caught his hand and pulled it away from his chest. His vision was fuzzy when he focused, slowly clearing to show concern on Lia’s face as she gazed up at him.
“Uncle Quint?”
How many times had she spoken to him? Her expression suggested several. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “What were you saying, Bean?”
As he’d expected, she rolled her eyes at her childhood nickname. “Mom is gonna call and see if we can have Easter at your house.”
Easter. Was it already time for that? Then came Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, the Fourth of July and enough birthdays to tire out a partier like Maura Evans. “She knows I prefer family get-togethers where I can go home when I’m done.”
She laughed. “That’s why she wants to do it at your place. So you can’t make an early escape.”
Quint tugged at his ear. He didn’t want a celebratory dinner at his house. Cleaning it to meet his mother’s standards wasn’t a problem; he kept it neat. An overgrown yard wasn’t an issue, either. He would surely mow it between now and then. But instead of saying no flat out and wiping that sweet grin from Lia’s face, he said, “I’ll think about it.”
“All right! We’re partying at Uncle Quint’s! I’ll tell Mom.” She folded JJ’s suede jacket and handed it to her. “Thank you for the business, it’s nice to meet you and have fun while you’re here.” She’d whipped her phone out before finishing the words and was already texting when they turned away. No doubt telling her mom that Easter was a go.
He walked behind JJ through narrow aisles to reach the door. Before she opened it, she pulled the new orange wool cap over her head and slid orange gloves onto her hands. This time, when they stepped outside, she didn’t act as if she were the loser in a game of freeze tag. “Your niece is cute.”
“Huh. How did ‘I’ll think about it’ turn into ‘Sure, bring the whole gang’?” He zipped his jacket, then shoved his hands into the pockets.
“When my mom said, ‘I’ll think about it,’ that was exactly what she meant. With our dad, my sisters and I heard what we wanted. And because we were so adorable, it usually worked for us.”
Adorable. That was his niece. She’d had him wrapped around her little finger when said finger was only an inch or two long. He could see some