Page 41 of 25 Alive

“Ladies, these are tonight’s specials. We have a jerk chicken wings appetizer, with bones or deboned if you prefer. Also, a very nice grilled sea bass …”

This was my cue to leave.

I squeezed my friends’ hands, kissed the cheeks of those I could reach, and waded through the crowd toward the door.

The streets were quiet, and the sky was still light when I drove home.

CHAPTER62

YUKI WAS FINISHING her chicken wings while listening to Cindy’s thoughts about the Orlofsky murders when Rikki’s steel drums burst into the “Happy Birthday” song. She looked up to see a pink, blue, and yellow cake with flaming candles being carried to a nearby table. Cheers and singing “How oh-old are youuu?” rang throughout the room. But there were no cheers from the booth at the rear.

And that’s when Yuki’s phone sounded with the muted wail of a police car siren. That ringtone was Brady’s inside joke, but now Yuki grabbed the phone and said to her husband, “Hon? Is everything okay?”

Yuki listened to Brady while her friends looked on.

“Great. Thanks. See you soon.”

Yuki clicked off, saying, “He’s sending a couple of patrol cars for me. He’s worried.”

“Me too,” said Cindy. “The smoke bomb outside the courtroom? The cards inside the box had the names and addresses of the court officers.”

“Including mine,” Yuki said.

Less than ten minutes later, Lorraine approached. “Yuki, there are police officers at the front door. For you.”

“That was quick.”

Yuki put two twenties on the table beside Claire, who said, “You’ll text me when you’re home?”

“You’re Claire-voyant, you know that?”

Yuki hugged Claire and Cindy good-bye, then went out to the street, where four uniformed officers were waiting to escort her home.

CHAPTER63

WHEN I OPENED the door to our apartment, I heard laughter spilling from the kitchen. It was Julie with a severe case of the giggles. And then I heard a dog barking through the giggles. It was our dog. After ten days away, Martha was finally back home!

I locked up my weapon in the bedroom gun safe and then called out, “Mommmmy’s heeeeeeere,” so that I could hear my daughter’s shouts and more woofing from my beloved doggy friend of many years.

I was not disappointed. As I rounded the bend, Julie and Martha reached me. I stooped so I could hold them both at the same time and they bowled me over. There was more laughter and more barking, and then Joe reached his hand down and helped me up from the floor. God, I was glad to be home.

Joe said, “The pasta’s ready, sweetie. Come to the table.”

I shed my blazer, hung it on the back of a chair, washed my hands, and accepted a bowl of linguine with Joe’s chunky homemade red sauce. Joe filled me in on Martha.

“The little nuggets were benign,” he said.

I translated “nuggets” into “tumors.”

“Joe, is that the end of them? Does she need more treatment?”

“Barbara said no, but she’ll watch for any recurrences every three months …”

I leaned down and hugged Martha gently so that I wouldn’t hurt her, and she gave me a soap-free face washing with her tongue.

After dinner, we had dessert: chocolate ice cream and creamy decaf coffee. Joe loaded up the dishwasher and turned down Julie’s bed while I took a hot shower.

I put on Joe’s bathrobe, wondering what I could tell him and still keep my promise to James Walsh within the lines of “I swear not to tell.” I hadn’t yet worked it out when Julie called out to me.

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