Chapter Thirty-One

Thirty-One

Once I finally arrived back at Mass General, I noticed I had three texts from Blake, two of which asked when I was coming back to the office. The third one just said: Helloooooo?

It was odd, considering he almost never texted me. He also knew I was busy—I'd let him know about both the shooting and my meeting with Rhonda as they were happening. From the front seat of my car, I called my office. Blake picked up quickly.

"Hey," I said. "What's going on?"

"So you had four new client queries," Blake said. "Two calls and two emails to the website. You want to hear about them?" He sounded strange, his words running together. It was like someone had pressed his fast-forward button.

"Is that why you texted me?"

"I texted you?" He stopped talking for a brief moment. "Oh, right. I did."

"Any replies to the emails you sent?"

"To the people on the list that Mrs. Welch gave you?"

"Yes."

"No. Not a one. That's kind of sad, isn't it? You'd think more of them would care."

I sighed. "So…can the queries wait, then? I'm back at the hospital. Sky pulled through. She's going to make it, and—"

"She did? Oh, that is great. Amazing! Fuckin' awesome! "

"Uh, yeah," I said. "Anyway, I'm going in to see her, so I won't be back at the office for at least an hour."

"Okay. I'll be here. Guess what? I waxed the floors. They look sick . Shit, I shouldn't have told you. It was going to be a surprise."

"Blake?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"Huh? What do you mean? I'm like…better than okay."

"Can you do me a huge favor?"

"Anything," he said. "Oh, wait. Oh, no. Do you need me to drive somewhere? Because I don't have a car. I took the T to work today. I'm sor—"

"Blake, listen to me." I said it slowly and, I hoped, soothingly. "I don't need you to drive anywhere."

"Good," he said. "Awesome sauce."

"All I need for you to do is this," I said. "You listening?"

"Yep."

"Take a deep breath—in for five counts. Then out for five counts."

He did. I listened. He exhaled so loudly it was like sticking my ear in a wind tunnel.

"Okay," I said when he was done. "The next thing I need for you to do is lay off the Gonzo."

"Bruuuuh."

"For the rest of the day," I said. "Please. Promise me."

He said nothing. I heard swallowing sounds, another outpouring of breath. I was pretty sure he'd just finished off another can.

"How about this, Blake?" I said. "I promise I'll bring Rosie tomorrow. But only if you don't touch another one of those drinks. If you do, she's staying home for a month."

"That's not fair."

"Life's not fair."

He sighed. "Fine," he said. "I promise."

"What do you promise? Say it to me."

"No more Gonzo," he said. "For the rest of the day."

"Thank you."

I ended the call and checked my email. There was a new one, from Lee, with a photo attachment. The subject line was Because I owe you one .

One of the best things about Lee was that he always made good on his word. It was a rare quality, and it made me feel guilty for keeping information from him, even if it was only on occasion.

I opened the photo—a gloved hand holding a baggie that was half filled with a white powder that sparkled slightly. It was Lee's hand. I recognized the Cartier Tank watch. The email itself read: Call me when you see this .

I called Lee.

"You opened the email," he said.

"Yes," I said. "What is the powder and where did you find it?"

"First question: We don't know yet. They're testing it in the lab," he said. "Second question: We found it sewn into the lining of Trevor Weiss's jacket."

"The one he was wearing when he was shot?"

"Yes."

"So…if someone murdered him and searched his body for the stuff—whatever it is—they wouldn't find it right away."

"That's true."

"But if the meeting had gone the way Trevor had wanted it to, he could have simply given this person his coat, and the powder would be hidden."

"True as well," Lee said. "But at this point, it's all conjecture."

"A dead man can't tell you his motivations for sewing a baggie full of mystery powder into his coat," I said. "Or even if he'd been the one to sew it in there."

"Exactly."

I thanked Lee—not just for the information, but for reminding me again not to make assumptions during an investigation.

"I'll let you know what the lab says," he told me.

"I'll let you know what Sky says," I told him.

"Hopefully between the two of us," Lee said, "we'll come up with some real answers."