Chapter 14

Back at the apartment, Hope fed Lucifer and forced herself to pull out a bowl of curry from the freezer and put it in the microwave to defrost mainly because she didn't want another lecture from Aaron Nash about taking care of herself.

It felt a little weird to be alone finally after interacting with people all day. Sure, there was a guy or two on her roof and a whole bunch more squished into her wonderful neighbors' apartment, but there was no one watching her every move or following her around or waiting for her to pee, for God's sake.

She rubbed her bare arms, which were suddenly cold. She grabbed a long cardigan that was draped over the back of the couch.

She had notes to go over for tomorrow from her paralegal, whom she'd asked to dig into potential jurors. The woman was seriously good at her job, and Hope had begged the DA for her assistance on this case. Hope needed to pick the best jury she could based on their life choices and social media profiles. The defense had their own ultra-expensive consultant, but the DA refused to spring for that.

The microwave dinged, and she forced herself to stir the rich fragrant sauce and let it sit for a few minutes rather than burn the skin from the roof of her mouth, which she did far too regularly.

She poured herself a glass of wine and wandered around her home. It had been a long time since she'd felt so unsettled, so antsy. Usually, she was focused on cases or on writing Danny's books.

Of course, Leech being missing was one of the reasons she was so unsettled, plus Minnie Ramon's unexpected attack. But neither was the main one. Maybe a few hours of working would get her through the next twenty-four without her losing her mind.

She pulled out her iPad with the plot she'd been working on for her latest book. There was a murder and a crooked police officer. A massive drug bust.

The face of Pauly Monroe flashed into her mind.

She pressed her lips together. "Maybe I won't write a corrupt police officer in this one." She looked at the list of future plot ideas she had. Murder. Murder. Corrupt cop. Murder. Dirty cop. Seemed to be a theme, but she did write a homicide detective, so it wasn't like she was suddenly going to start writing about florists.

Although she liked that idea and wrote, "murder of a florist" and for variation added, "or new love interest. Florist could be a guy. A guy with a dark past who now arranged flowers."

She kind of liked the thought of introducing a hint of romantic interest. Frankie had been alone for a long time now, and Danny had said he intended for Frankie to get her Happily Ever After one day.

Hope put the iPad aside and went to pick up her bowl of curry and white wine.

At the table, she propped the tablet upright and started noodling ideas. Who was this florist? Why would Frankie be talking to a buff male florist who had dark hair, a short beard and a mysterious past?

Ex mobster? Undercover cop? Undercover cop who has been sent to the neighborhood to look into a corrupt cop on the take… Maybe someone had pointed the finger at Frankie herself?

Hope noodled for another hour, studiously avoiding the photo on her living room sideboard.

At ten, she cleaned away the dishes, poured herself another glass of wine, and went upstairs to run a bath. She soaked in bubbles and sipped her wine, not looking at the clock and yet feeling each second tick by in tune to the beat of her heart.

She stayed there for an hour until her skin was pruney and the bubbles burst. She climbed carefully out of the tub and wrapped herself in an old ratty terry robe.

She took her time drying off, pulling on flannel pajamas before going back downstairs, dragging Paige's favorite teddy with her. She pulled out a cupcake from the freezer and defrosted it.

Poured a third glass of wine, although there was only a half glass left in the bottle.

She found a fresh birthday candle and some matches. Put Paige and Danny's photo on the coffee table and pulled Paige's baby book off the shelf. She took her time leafing through the familiar pages. Touching Paige's baby face and tiny handprints. Knowing a lock of her hair and two baby teeth were held in the little pouches in the back. This practice of memorializing the living had seemed macabre at the time, and now it was all she had left.

When the clock struck midnight, she lit the candle and stared at the orange glow of the flame.

She smiled at the photo of her child frozen in time.

"Happy birthday, baby girl." Hope leaned forward and blew out the candle. "Happy birthday, Paige."