I hung up and poured a glass of orange juice from the fridge. A floating circle of mold dropped down the ribbon of juice and into the glass. Which caused me to promptly toss it down the drain and clean out the whole fridge. I’d wait and have a Coke at dinner.

I took Purvis for a walk and let the laundry go through the cycles while I watched a recording of that afternoon’s Bulldogs game against Arkansas State. The Dawgs trounced the Red Wolves 55–0, and it looked like the decision to let that quarterback go to Ohio State wasn’t so bad after all. Who knows? The quarterback carousel was a funny one in college football these days. For all we knew, Fields would go on to be a Heisman finalist at Ohio State the following year.

20

By eight p.m., I had met Kelly Borland at her condo, and we’d walked to a restaurant that was six blocks from her place, called Olive and Chive.

Kelly had a striking look—an oval face framed by a mane of frizzy curls that ended just past her shoulders.

The red dye she’d put in her hair was fading, and her natural brown shade was starting to peek through.

At the restaurant, I ordered the Dijon chicken, and she got a Caesar with steak atop it.

She told me about an issue the residents of her condo complex had been having with an older neighbor.

“This guy’s eighty-five and lives there with his son,” she said, lifting her white wine and taking a drink. “But he sneaks out all the time. Forgets where he is after a few blocks.”

I shook my head. “I saw that years ago on patrol. It’s as common as missing kids, you know.”

“Missing adults?”

“These days, yeah.” I nodded, finishing my chicken.

A second glass of wine came, and she lifted it to her lips. I was having a Dr Pepper.

At some point, Kelly reached a hand across and laid it on mine. “Listen, I googled you,” she said. “Read about what happened to your family. I figured I’d tell you that, rather than have you wonder. I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that. How are you feeling, by the way?” I asked. “I mean—since everything went down?”

“Well, I’m kinda stir-crazy, to be honest,” she said. “We’re all on leave for another couple days, but they told me to take three weeks now, so I started painting today.”

“Is that like . . . therapy for you? Artistic release?”

“I guess,” she said. “But I’m used to working, you know?”

“I do,” I said. “I’m on leave too.”

Kelly cocked her head at me, confused. “Yesterday you said you were on a new case.”

“Yeah, that ended.” I chose my words carefully. “So I finally got a chance. For a break.”

Kelly lifted the glass. “To time off, even if we don’t think we can handle it.”

I smiled, cheering her with my glass of soda.