Page 96 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

Cissy pulled up in front of Joltz, feeling as if she were having some kind of epiphany. A parking spot had miraculously appeared, and she slid into it almost by reflex. She had some time before the appointment with the attorneys. Enough anyway to grab a coffee and take advantage of the parking spot, which was almost a must-do in San Francisco whenever one came available.

She felt slightly dazed. Both with the events of the past several weeks and her own self-realization. She wanted the police to catch her mother. She wanted to know how Marla had killed Eugenia or orchestrated her death. She wanted Cherise’s murder to be solved.

But she was glad she had Jack back. And she resolved that she would never let anything break them up again.

Never.

Diedre and Rachelle were behind the counter as Cissy walked inside. They were both busy helping customers, so Cissy got in line. Across the room Cissy saw Selma seated at one of the small tables near the window. It figured. There was no escaping her. If Cissy was anywhere near Joltz, Selma was there. Spying Cissy, Selma waved and headed her way. Cissy inwardly groaned. She wasn’t ready for Selma to take their “friendship” to the next level.

“Hi,” Cissy said, trying to infuse her voice with enthusiasm, failing miserably.

“You’re all dressed up,” Selma observed. “Where are you going?”

She managed to make the question sound cheery and perky instead of downright nosy, but it grated on Cissy’s nerves all the same. “Financial meeting with lawyers.”

“No jeans. Dead giveaway that you weren’t planning to spend the afternoon writing here.” Selma sounded proud of her powers of observation.

Cissy reached the front of the line, and Rachelle shot her a smile. “The usual?”

“Please. And a muffin. Those apple bran ones?”

“You got it.”

Cissy moved to one side to wait for her order. Selma moved with her as if they were old pals. She started telling Cissy how she’d always wanted to be a writer but was thinking of becoming a novelist rather than a newspaper and/or magazine writer. Cissy wondered if this, maybe, was what was driving Selma’s seemingly deeper interest in her. Did the woman hope she could help her in her writing ventures? Or was it something else?

Rachelle handed Cissy her latte and a plate with her muffin, and Cissy moved to an open spot at the bar surrounding the baristas, hoping Selma would take the hint and return to her own table. But Selma said, “Let me get my coffee,” then hurriedly gathered her things and settled onto the stool next to Cissy. Other patrons quickly scooped up Selma’s table, and Cissy was stuck with unwanted company. Rachelle caught her eye and looked sympathetic.

When Selma winced and rubbed above her right eye, Cissy tried to ignore her. But after the third time, she felt obliged to ask, “You okay?”

“I’ve been trying some decaf the last couple of weeks, but weaning off the caffeine gives me a headache. I guess that’s what it is. I thought caffeine was making me tense, but this is almost worse. Maybe if my problems went away, it wouldn’t matter.”

She’d opened the door for Cissy to ask her about those problems, but Cissy was already sorry she’d gotten dragged into the conversation. Faced with way more information already than she wanted about Selma, Cissy didn’t take the bait. Rachelle did, though.

“What kind of problems?” she asked, right on cue.

“The worst kind. The kind that involve men.”

Diedre looked over, her expression skeptical. “You got man problems?” she called over the blast of the espresso machine.

Cissy tore off a small piece of her muffin. It was lunchtime, but she couldn’t seem to get her appetite engaged no matter what she did.

“Sure do,” Selma said.

It felt odd to hear that Selma was involved in some kind of relationship. She hadn’t been with a guy at the funeral reception. Like Diedre, Cissy was kind of surprised. Selma had seemed single, unattached and maybe even not all that interested. With a small jolt, she realized she’d made assumptions about Selma like Sara and Larissa had made about her.

“How do you trust a guy?” Selma ask

ed suddenly, as if she really wanted to know. “Really trust him.”

Rachelle slid her a look. “The million-dollar question.”

“We all have problems,” Diedre said.

“Maybe you have to have a little faith,” Cissy suggested.

“Do you trust your husband?” Selma gazed at her curiously.

Cissy dusted her hands, finished with her muffin, leaving about a third of it on the plate. “It’s important in a marriage,” she said, sliding from her stool.

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