Page 67 of Rest In Pink

“Okay, no waffles,” Molly said. “Who bought the Shady Rest?”

None of us knew, but Vince was so grateful for the change of subject that he gave up everything he knew about that—which was nothing—and I finished my plate of breakfast.

I wasn’t clueless, I was careful. That was a good thing.

But I was pretty sure I was falling for Vince Cooper. Who was never going to leave Burney. Damn it.

I cut into another one of his waffles.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“You owe me,” I said and chowed down.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I escaped from the Red Box, leaving Rain with Liz and Molly, which worried me, but which I could do nothing about. Rain had multiple combat deployments; she could hold her own with that crowd. It was the three of them joining forces that was of concern.

I told Rain we’d meet up later in the afternoon, and she called Olson, arranging to meet him at the cardboard museum to get his take on it. I called the nursing home and found out that Jim Pitts was at work, but out on the job, driving the nice bus they had. They had GPS tracking on it, I guess in case one of the old folks knocked Jim out and hijacked the bus and took off for, I have no idea. Anywhere but here.

More likely it was to keep track of Jim. I’d had to vouch for him with the staff supervisor who hadn’t been keen on hiring him. Jim had pulled a double over on me: when I told him to get a job, he got one that required a license, forcing me to give it back to him and also being a reference.

I respected such maneuvering.

I found the bus exactly where the supervisor said: at Blue Park along the cunningly named Front Road, I guess because it was along the river. It was within view of the remains of the cardboard museum. Of course at this rate, you’d be able to see a burnt-out building in Burney from any vantage point, much like the South Bronx had been in my firefighter grandfather’s time.

It was a nice spring day and the passengers were sitting on benches enjoying the view of the Dark and Bloody Ohio River. Jim was sitting with a white-haired lady inside the old pavilion that officially made it a park. The pavilion and the benches were the park. That was it. I don’t think the Blues had committed much to the enterprise other than the name and the land and painting the pavilion blue. They probably got a tax break.

Jim popped to his feet when he saw me approaching. “Officer Cooper.”

“Sit down, Jim.” I tried out my besthello to the publicsmile on the old lady. “Ma’am. How are you?”

“I’m old, Detective Cooper. How are you?”

I scaled back my idea of ‘old lady’. She was in a nursing home and knew my name and that I’d been promoted. And she wasn’t going to take anyyou’re just like my grannyshit from me.

“Let’s try this again.” I held out my hand. “Detective Vince Cooper.”

She took it and gave it a firm shake. Good grip. “Henrietta Mayhew. Call me Hen.” She squinted up at me. “Detective Vince Cooper. The new boy in town who’s seeing Lizzie Danger. Good for you. Maybe dating a cop will keep her in line. Or at least keep Cash Porter from dogging her.” She shook her head. “She was something else. I expect great things from her.”

“You’re not a fan of Cash?”

She looked almost sad for a moment. “He could be . . . very sweet. Hewantedto be very sweet.” She stopped. “You’re backing George Pens over at the department. Good. George has his faults, but none of them are evil. He just lost his bearings when he lost Honey. Is it true that he’s seeing that Patterson woman?”

“I’m not sure . . .”

“Is she a good person?”

“Yes,” I said, remembering how she’d shown up to get Liz out of jail.

“Good,” she said. “It’s about time somebody handed Honey her ass.”

I sat down, angled to them on the benches arranged around the inside of the pavilion. “How do you like the new job, Jim?”

“It’s cool,” he said.

“Sir,” Hen said. “You call your elder ‘sir,’ or Detective Cooper, or Mister Cooper.”

“Yes, Mrs. Mayhew,” Jim said, half smiling. “It’s a good job, sir.”

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