Patrick’s gaze landed on me in surprise. He was leaning on a windowsill, watching his wife. Another woman, large and dressed in true mourning attire, sat beside her, an arm wrapped firmly around Mrs. Sussman’s shoulders.
She raised a viperous glare on me. Uh-oh. Turf war.
“I’d like to talk to Mrs. Sussman, if it’s okay with her,” I said.
The woman shook her head. “Now is not a good time.”
“No, it’s okay, Harriet,” Mrs. Sussman said. She looked up at me, her large brown eyes reddened with sorrow, her blond hair haphazardly brushed back. She was the kind of beautiful that men didn’t notice at first. A soft, honest attractiveness. I had a feeling her smiles were genuine and her laughs were sincere.
“Mrs. Sussman,” I said, leaning forward to take her hand. “My name is Charlotte Davidson. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She sniffed into a tissue. “Did you know my husband?”
“We’d met only recently, but he was a great person.” I had to explain my presence somehow.
“Yes, he was.”
Ignoring the caustic stare of the other woman, I continued, “I’m a private investigator. We were working on a case together, and now I’m working with APD, helping to find out who did this.”
“I see,” she said in surprise.
“I hardly think now is the time for this, Ms. Davidson.”
“Not at all,” Mrs. Sussman said. “This is precisely the time. Do the police know anything yet?”
“We have some promising leads,” I said evasively. “I just wanted to let you know that we are working very hard to solve this case and that—” I turned back to Sussman. “—you’re all he talked about.”
The sobs began again, and Harriet went to work consoling her friend. A weak, appreciative smile spread across Sussman’s face.
After handing her my card and saying good-bye, I gestured for Sussman to meet me outside.
“That was awkward.”
We were in front of his house, leaning against Misery, watching the occasional car slide past. The wind had picked up. Its crisp chill gave me goose bumps, and I hugged myself, thankful for the sweater underneath my leather jacket.
“Sorry,” he said. “I meant to go back with the others. I just…”
“Don’t worry about it. You have a lot on your plate. I understand.”
“What have you found out?”
After I filled him in, he seemed to perk up a little. “You think this is about human trafficking?”
“We have a semi-solid plan of action if you want in.”
“Sure do.” Good. He seemed to be doing better. He turned thoughtful a moment, then asked, “In the meantime, can I jump in your body and make out with my wife through you?”
I fought a grin. “It doesn’t really work that way.”
“Then can you just make out with my wife and pretend I’m in your body?”
“No.”
“I can pay. I have money.”
“How much we talking?”
* * *
I sneaked back into the law offices of Sussman, Ellery & Barber, dumped the flash drives into Barber’s desk, then did another quick search, just in case I missed one. Nora hadn’t been in, which was good. She couldn’t have realized the flash drives were missing and made a mess for me.
Now on to Reyes’s classmates. Dave’s Diner was a fifties flashback, complete with tin signs and chocolate egg cream sodas, which surprisingly contain neither eggs nor cream. When I walked in, two women sitting in a corner booth waved me over. Wondering how they knew what I’d look like, I strolled to their table.
“Charley?” one asked. She was big and startlingly pretty with a dark brown bob and wide smile.
“That’s me. How did you know?”
The other one smiled, a Latina with curly hair pulled back into a frizzy ponytail and skin to die for. “Your assistant told us that you’d probably be the only girl walking through the door who looked like she could do the name Charley Davidson proud. I’m Louise.”
I shook Louise’s hand, then the other one’s.
“I’m Chrystal,” she said. “We just ordered food, if you’re hungry.”
After sliding into the circular booth, I ordered a burger and a diet soda. “I can’t tell you how thrilled I am that you agreed to meet me.”
They laughed at some private joke, then took pity on me and explained. “We jump at any chance to talk about Reyes Farrow.”
“Wow,” I said in surprise, “I do, too. You knew him well?”
After another sideways glance at Chrystal, Louise said, “Nobody knew Reyes Farrow well.”
“I don’t know,” Chrystal said, “Amador.”
“Right. I’d forgotten that he hung out with Amador Sanchez.”
“Amador Sanchez?” I opened my bag and pulled out the file I had on Reyes. “Amador Sanchez was in prison with him. They were cellmates, in fact. Are you telling me they were friends before they met in prison?”
“Amador went to prison?” Chrystal asked, surprised.
“That surprises you?” Louise arched a delicate brow at her friend.
“Kind of. He was a good guy.” She looked at me then. “Reyes mostly kept to himself until he met Amador. They became friends pretty quick.”
“Can you tell me about Reyes?” My heart raced with wanting and anticipation. I’d searched for him for so long, only to have him find me instead, to have him turn out to be the Big Bad. How could I not have known?