"As you can see, there's plenty for your lawyer to argue in court."

       Ashley stared at the tablet with a feeble little smile. "It looks fantastic!" She looked fantastic too—well, better than the last time I'd seen her. More washed. That was a good sign.

       I'd put together a digital file last night before bed that laid out my entire investigation. There was thorough background info on Felix Rosario, Kelli Olson, and David Howell, as well as exhaustive notes on each suspect and a complete account of each of their means, motives, and opportunities. Any lawyer worth their salt would be able to take the information and argue competently that Ashley Pham had nothing to do with the death of Noah Walker.

       What the police did after that was their business.

       "Great. I already emailed a copy to you." I took the tablet from her hands then replaced it with a freshly printed invoice with all the lovely fees and charges she owed. "So," I said, all business. "Here's the invoice. If you write a check, make it out to Harper Investigations."

        She avoided my gaze. "Here's the thing..." Oh, geez... "Money's a little tight right now with the lawyer and half the income I usually have..."

       My soul sighed but my smile didn't waver. In fact, I think my face almost cracked from the effort. "Okayyyy..."

       "I need to borrow from my parents."

        "Mmm hmm..." Still smiling...

         "Shouldn't take more than a couple of days."

        Sweet baby Jesus, grant me the serenity not to go off over these people playing with my money. But, honestly, how many times must you test me with people trying to nickel and dime their way out of paying me? As a businesswoman I find it offensive...but as a human being...when you're broke, you're broke. "Two days, then." I said.

        "Two days." She stood suddenly and brushed at the imaginary wrinkles in her skirt. Then she looked me in the eye and said, "Evie, I just want to say...thank you."

         My icy heart softened a bit. This must have been a hard week for her. "Just doing my job."

        "I know but, I don't know what I would have done without you."

         "Thanks isn't unnecessary." That's why God invented currency. She can thank me when she pays that bill.

        "Anyway, I need to go." She started easing toward the door.

       "See you in two days."

        "Of course." I waved goodbye as she walked herself out.

       She wasn't so bad. A bit meek from time to time and obviously living with limited means but a sweet girl, nonetheless.

        That's why it'll be a shame to have to take her broke ass to small claims court but come day three and that's where I'll take her.

       With the case almost officially closed, the rest of the day continued on as normal. I went through the motions of slinging coffee as usual. Jackson hadn't come back yet so I'd had to make the days pastries again but with a little practice it went much smoother than the day before. Still not folding butter, though.

       Around noon I was rounding the corner from the dining area to the hallway when I ran smack into Johnny. Once I re-stabilized I gave him the once over and noticed his tee-shirt covered in splotches of brown paint. I checked my shirt to make sure none of it rubbed off on me, but it must have been long dry.

       "Hey, Evie." He looked down at me, his hair tied back, his eyes searching like a schoolboy with a question.

       "What up?"

       His hands rubbed together nervously. "I wanted to apologize."

        "You stepped in during an emergency when I needed help. We're square." As long as he didn't bring alcohol on my property again.

       I started to move past him, but it seemed he had more to say. "Great. Do you still need help?"

       I turned back. "Do you bake?"

       "No but I worked in a donut shop in Iowa once so I can cook eggs and pancakes and work a donut fryer."

       It was lunchtime so the donuts were done, but I could use a sandwich assembler. "You're hired for today. But don't you have to finish your painting?"

       "It's done."

       "Really?" I grinned. "Can I see it?"

       "Of course."

       Upstairs in the conference room his masterpiece sat drying on the easel but otherwise he'd already cleaned up his paint and brushes and those sculpty tools he used sometimes. I moved in one fluid motion to the easel and gazed upon the painting like it was an ancient masterpiece.

       Conan the Pomeranian sat fat and happy amongst the delicate folds of red and gold colored silks and satins. A fire blazed in the background. Around his freshly groomed neck, not a collar, but some kind of cape. His tail was prone, his tongue wagging, and his eyes shined like he was the goodest boy that ever lived.

       "Oh, wow." I tried to remain stoic but the likeness of the pampered pooch sitting in luxury I could only dream of was too much to bear. In two seconds flat I snorted out the air I was holding in and laughed so vigorously my sides started hurting. "That is hilarious." I said once I caught my breath.

        Johnny didn't comment on the laughing but nodded his head and smiled at the painting. "It's what she asked for."

        "Johnny." I waved at the silly thing, because clearly, he couldn't see how nuts it was. "It's a fancy portrait painting of a goddamn dog laying on satin throw pillows and wearing a—what the hell is that? A teeny tiny bedazzled couture cloak?"

         He looked at the painting and shrugged. "My client referred to it as a high fashion cape. Note the Versace logo."

        I examined the cape and sure enough, hidden among its folds was the iconic black and gold Versace logo. That almost made me start laughing again. "Oh, yes. Very high fashion!"

        "If she can afford it, I'll paint whatever she wants."

        "The only weirdos who rival your client are those lunatics in the Kitty Sweater Knitters Club."

        "How are the ladies? I haven't seen them in a while."

        I straightened up. "They took a couple of weeks off for bereavement."

        His eyes widened. "Did one of them die?"

       "No, one of the cats."

       "Not Doodlebug!" he gasped.

        "...Have you met?"

       He nodded. "Yeah, she brought him in here a couple of times."

       I rolled my eyes at that. "Damn it! I told that old bitty not to bring her cats in here. This is a restaurant!" I mean, the upstairs isn't a restaurant but her sneaky ass had to walk through a restaurant! "How'd she even get him up here?"

       "She smuggles him in her knitting bag."

       I looked at him pointedly. "You knew about this?"

       He shrugged. "I'm no snitch."

       "You're soooo fired." I said with a laugh.

       "Damn," he smiled back. "Fastest job I've ever lost."

****************************

        That evening after closing I eased my tired ass into my car and started the trek home in high spirits. Now that the case was done, I felt pretty good. Sure, I technically didn't have a baker on staff but it wasn't the end of the world. I'd talk to Jackson tomorrow and if push came to shove, I'd hire someone else. In the meantime, I could manage. I don't know why but I felt competent again and not at all like the blubbering mess I was in the car a couple of days ago. Maybe it was talking to Henry or maybe it was just time and sleep, but I felt better. Truly.

        As I was exiting I95 I noticed a black car behind me exit too. Nothing wrong with that. But as I moved through the streets of the city, it seemed the car did too. Am I being followed? No, that was ridiculous. I could be paranoid. I was probably being paranoid. But as I drove, turn after turn, light after light the black car followed. Was I being followed or was I being paranoid?

        To test it out I turned into a random residential neighborhood then made four right turns until I was back on the main drag. The black car did the same. Fuck.

       Okay, I got something for that ass. I wasn't that far from downtown, so I played it cool and drove normally—even slowly. That's how I knew for sure the black car was following me. Every good Floridian knows you never drive the speed limit. You drive five over normally, ten over if weren't an old person with bad eyesight, but you never did the limit. And you certainly never drove slower than that. Well, not unless there was a cop nearby at least.

       That meant that either I was being stalked or someone from Georgia was in that car.

       Either way I kept going until I hit Forsythe, then I drove straight and pulled directly into the downtown Police Station parking lot. The black car sped to a normal speed then turned onto the Hart bridge. Hmm. That's what I thought.

       Unfortunately, I didn't catch the license plate but at least they were gone. I pulled into a space then backed out and continued my trek home. Every mile or so I looked back expecting to see the car, but it was nowhere to be found. If they were following me that meant they didn't know where I lived right?

       At home I'd undressed and unwound, but my mind stayed with my slow speed car chase.

       Who would stalk me and why? The obvious answer was that the killer was unhappy with my meddling. But then I am a woman in this world so it's entirely possible some loser I made eye contact with in line at the bank or something has been following me around just cause he thinks I'm cute or some crazy shit like that. But if it is the killer, I wonder what their game is. Halfassed threats? More murder? Hopefully the cops got to them before they could hurt anyone else.

       Especially if that anyone is me—

       The doorbell chimed. Who the hell is ringing my doorbell at—I looked at the clock—six thirty? Okay it's not that late, could be anybody.

       But it could be the killer too.

      What if I was being stalked by Noah's killer? What if he followed me home and was coming to kill me before I could share what I knew? Except I'd already emailed the file to Ash so if I ended up dead there was a paper trail a mile long. Of course, the killer could be stupid, especially if it was Rosario—

       The doorbell sounded again.

       Why would a murderer ring the doorbell? I was probably just paranoid again. That, or crazy...While I was contemplating it rang again.

        Where's my knife? Better safe than sorry, right? I found it folded in the pocket of my jeans laying on top of the pile in the laundry basket. Not the best place for it since I've accidentally run it through the washer before, but I can worry about being more responsible with my weapon maintenance later. I unfolded it from it's sheath until I felt it snap into place then gripped it tightly.

       At the door, I called out. "Who is it?"

       "It's me." Said Manny's muffled voice from the other side of the door.

       My shoulders relaxed and I left out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Then I grabbed the knob and cracked the door as far as the door-chain would allow. "I suppose you're here to apologize."

       The sliver of his face I could see through the gap looked contrite. "Yes."

       "I see. So is this the part where you do the grand romantic gesture, confess your undying love, and throw a bouquet of flowers at me?" He was about to respond but I cut him off. "Newsflash, flowers are useless trinkets better left in nature instead of butchered and mutilated for symbolism's sake before ultimately dying when some idiot forgets to water them because it's the new millennium and she has to work for a living."

       His mouth pinched together as he held back a snicker. "I know that. That's why I brought food." He raised his arm to show a bag of takeout boxes hanging from his hand.

       Be strong, Evie. "...What kind of food?"

       "I went by Taste of Venice and got the lobster ravioli and some mushroom, spinach, and ricotta cannelloni. Oh—and the fried calamari. You love fried calamari."

      This is why you can't share your weaknesses with boyfriends. Sooner or later, they will be exploited. "Drinks?"

       "Bottle of the cheapest, most high proof red wine I could find."

       That sounded good as hell, but I made a show of frowning and narrowed my eyes. "Feels like something's missing..."

        He took a deep breath, then looked me in my eyes. "I should have never talked to you like that. I was in a bad mood and I should have rescheduled. I had a bad day and I took it out on you and I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

     "So, you're stank-ass attitude had been fixed then?"

       He chuckled. "Yeah."

        I love a side of groveling with my meal. Warms the bones. "Alright." I closed the door, unlocked the chain, then opened it wide. In his hands were my promised dinner, slung over his shoulder was the black attaché case he took to work sometimes. "Apology accepted."

        After dinner we were both pretty tuckered, so we opted to go ahead to bed. My mind was abuzz with things I needed to get done—pretty normal for me, but I was glad Manny chose to stay. It might have been him at the door, but it wasn't him following behind me before. Feeling him lay next to me made me feel safer—at least for now.

       It wasn't long before I drifted off. It was surprisingly peaceful for the week I'd had. Or at least it was until I randomly awoke at one AM. Unfortunately, that wasn't unusual for me either.

       I turned over, careful not to jostle the bed too much but I needn't have worried because Manny wasn't in it. He's not prone to dipping in the middle of the night so I deduced he was in the bathroom. I closed my eyes and tried like hell to drift back off to sleep but found it difficult. I mostly thought about Jackson and the baker situation but somewhere in there was a thought about Noah.

       Something wasn't right.

       After ten minutes I was still wide awake, and Manny still hadn't returned to bed. I weighed my need to fall back to sleep against my curiosity. It was possible he'd left but he's only ever done it once when he'd gotten an emergency call from work about a break in a case he'd been working. He'd left a note on the bedside table that night.

       I rolled over and gripped in the dark for a Post-it but only felt my phone attached to its charger and the tissue box.

       I sat up, in full curiosity mode, and climbed from under my sheet. The bedroom door had been left open, so I walked right through it and found him.

       He was sitting on my couch, his back to the bedroom door and his head bent in concentration. As I drew closer, I saw that he'd opened his briefcase and scattered some official looking paperwork over my coffee table. Propped open in his hands was a thin folder, though I couldn't see what exactly he was looking at.

       "You okay?" I asked.

       He jumped, then slammed the folder closed. "Uhhhh, yeah."

       I walked around the couch and stood in front of him, my eyes drawn to the folder. "Crime scene photos?"

       "...Yeah." He nodded.

       "What happened?" When he hesitated I said, "You can skip the gory details if that makes you uncomfortable."

       He placed the folder on the table then beckoned me to sit with him. I slipped past him and sat. He rested a hand on my bare knee, and I naturally slipped my arms around his. "I...well, there was this case last week."

       "The one with the child."

       "Yes." He took a deep breath. The disturbed look in his eye seemed to age him ten years. "I just keep seeing him lying there staring up. And then I keep seeing every mark they left on him when they were beating him. Too many bruises to count. A cut above the eye from when they threw him into a glass table. Burns from when they put out their cigarettes on his arms."

       "Jesus Christ, that's awful." I felt myself hugging him tighter. "How old was he?"

        "Eight. Way too young..." His face was hollow for a moment, then in a flash a fire raged across his eyes. "His parents sat there in my face crying, and begging, and telling me about how much they loved him and how it was an accident! An accident! I almost lost it in the interrogation room. My boss told me to think about taking some time off."

       "Are you going to do that?"

       "No, but I did schedule a few sessions with the company shrink."

       I rest my head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

       "I love my job," he said, though it wasn't me he was trying to convince. "Not the murders, of course, but there's something fulfilling about finding out the who and why, you know?"

       I did know. "Do you need more time? I can give you more time."

       "No, no. It's not you. It's never you." He turned his head and kissed me gently on the forehead then sighed. "I can't bail every time something happens. Not on you or my mom or my friends or my bills. I'm an adult. There's no pause button when you're an adult."

       "Adults take vacations when they get overwhelmed."

        "That's true. A vacation's not off the table I'll just probably kick it out for a few months. Then we can take that camping trip we were talking about."

       I sat up. "A—are we going camping? Did I agree to that?"

       "Yeah, I think you did."

        "That doesn't sound like me. That's where the bears live."

       "We wouldn't camp near the bears."

       "Who gon' stop the bear? They put up signs? 'Hey bear, go back the other way'? Bears can't read."

       He laughed deeply and the air got lighter. "This is why I love you. You're crazy!"

       "I don't think I'm the crazy one here."

       "God, I needed that laugh."

       I smiled. "Glad I could be of service."

      "I went a little crazy this week."

       "Well, you were in good company. I also had a spectacular breakdown." He looked at me, his eyes wide with curiosity. "Even cried a little."

       He leaned back and pulled me into his embrace. "Tell me about it."