He shrugged. “Okay.”

“I also think it’s time we let this go, Brandon. What do you think?”

Brandon pulled a cupcake apart and slowly ate half. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“On TV, they always talk about cop intuition or playing a hunch.”

“Right.”

“Do you ever do that?”

“All cops do. Hell, all people do. But when the hunch flies in the face of the facts, it more often than not leads to mistakes.”

“And you think my hunch flies in the face of the facts?”

She thought about that. “No, not really. But it doesn’t match up with the facts, either.”

Brandon smiled and took another bite. “If it matched up with the facts, it wouldn’t be a hunch, would it?”

“Good point. But I still go with the Sherlock Holmes axiom.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m paraphrasing, but basically Sherlock warned that you should never theorize before you have the facts because then you twist the facts to suit the theory instead of twisting the theory to suit the facts.”

Brandon nodded. “I like that.”

“But?”

“But I’m still not buying it.”

“What about all that talk about not ruining it for your mom?”

“I won’t. If this is true love, I’ll let it be.”

“It’s not your place to say what kind of love it may be,” Kat said. “Your mom is allowed to make her own mistakes, you know. She’s allowed to get her heart broken by him.”

“Like you?”

“Yeah,” Kat said. “Like me. He was my demon lover. I need to leave him in my past.”

“Demon lover?”

She smiled and grabbed a carrot cupcake with cream cheese icing and walnuts. “Never mind.”

• • •

It felt good to let it go. For about twenty minutes. Then Kat got two calls.

The first was from Stacy. “I have a lead on Jeff Raynes aka Ron Kochman,” she said.

Too late. Kat didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter anymore. “What?”

“Jeff didn’t change his name legally.”

“You’re sure?”

“Definitely. I even called all fifty state offices. It’s a fake ID. Well done. Professional. A complete makeover. I even wonder if he was put into Witness Protection or something.”

“Could that be it? Witness Protection, I mean.”

“Doubtful. Guys in WP shouldn’t be advertising themselves on dating services, but it’s a possibility. I’m checking with a source. What I can tell you without question is that Jeff didn’t change his name legally nor does he really want to be found. No credit cards, no bank accounts, no residence.”

“He’s working as a journalist,” Kat said. “He has to be paying taxes.”

“That’s what I’m following up on now—my source with the IRS. I hope to get an address soon. Unless.”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you want to call me off,” Stacy said.

Kat rubbed her eyes. “You were the one who told me that Jeff and I might have the fairy-tale ending.”

“I know, but do you ever really read fairy tales? Little Red Riding Hood? Hansel and Gretel? There’s a lot of bloodshed and hurt.”

“You think I should leave it alone, don’t you?”

“Hell, no,” Stacy said.

“But you just said—”

“Who cares what I just said? You can’t leave this alone, Kat. You’re not good with loose ends. And right now? Your fiancé is a major loose end. So screw it. Let’s figure out what the hell happened to him, so once and for all, you can move past this dickwad who was dumb enough to dump your shapely ass.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Kat said. Then: “You’re a good friend.”

“The best,” Stacy agreed.

“But you know what? Let it go.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

No, Kat thought. God, no. “Positive.”

“Look at you, being all Miss Brave and whatnot,” Stacy said. “Drinks tonight?”

“They’re on me,” Kat said.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Brandon had felt well enough to leave after the cupcake. So Kat was alone, getting undressed and turning on the shower—she had a full day of binge-TVing in bed planned—when the second call came in.

“Are you home?”

It was Stagger. He didn’t sound pleased.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Stagger said.

It took less. Stagger must have made the call standing right outside her building. She didn’t greet him when he entered. He didn’t greet her back. He stormed in and said, “Guess who just called me.”

“Who?”

“Suggs.”

Kat said nothing.

“You went to Suggs, for crying out loud?”

It was funny. Last time she saw him, Kat had thought how much Stagger still looked like a little boy. Now she thought the opposite. He looked old. His hair was receding, growing flimsy and flyaway. His jowls sagged. There was a belly now, not a big one, but there was still the feeling of age and softness. His children, she knew, weren’t babies anymore. The trips to Disney were being slowly replaced with college visits. That, she realized, could have been her life. If she and Jeff had married, would she have joined the force? Would she right now be some aging soccer mom raising her family in some shiny-brick McMansion in Upper Montclair?

“How could you do that, Kat?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Stagger shook his head. “Look at me. Okay? Really look at me.” He came close and put his hands on her shoulders. “Do you really think I would hurt your father?”

She did as he asked and then replied, “I don’t know.”

Her words hit him like a slap across the face. “Are you serious?”

“You’re lying, Stagger. We both know it. You’re covering something up.”

“And so, what, you think I had something to do with your father’s murder?”

“I just know you’re lying. I know you’ve been lying for years.”

Stagger closed his eyes and took a step back. “You got anything to drink?”

She headed over to the bar and held up a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He nodded and said, “Neat.” She poured him a glass and figured what the hell, poured herself one too. They didn’t clink glasses. Stagger brought the glass quickly to his lips and took a deep gulp. She stared at him.