“So what’s new?” I drop my satchel on the couch and shrug out of my jacket. “Haven’t seen you around for a couple days.”

“Yeah. I’ve been busy at the café, and we’ve got a couple big catering jobs this weekend, so we’ve been slammed.” He moves a stack of newspapers and deposits himself in the armchair in the living room.

I lean over and unlace my boots. “You want something to drink?”

“Only if you do.”

I slip my feet into my slippers, pad into the kitchen, and pour us each a glass of red.

“How is your case going?” he asks as I hand him his wine.

“Slow.” I sigh. With Joe here, I’d hoped to get a solve quickly, but the lack of DNA and other clues is dragging things out.

“That’s too bad. I feel sorry for Mrs. Bradley.” He sets his glass on the end table and leans forward. “I saw a story about her on the news. Did you guys know who she was?”

“Not until recently. She’s been keeping a low profile.”

Collin shudders. “It’s horrible what happened to her. Now this.”

“Yeah. Trouble just seems to follow some people.” It makes me uncomfortable to talk about Mrs. Bradley. Knowing her background just makes me feel more pressure to catch her husband’s killer quickly. She’s been through enough. “So what have you been doing besides work?” I ask.

Collin’s gaze shifts to the door and back. “Mrs. Antonelli had me down to make gnocchi.”

“Right. How did that go?”

“Awkward.”

“Why’s that?”

“She invited her granddaughter. A nurse from New York who just moved to town. I guess her longtime boyfriend dumped her.”

“Oooh.”

“Yeah. She was really sweet, though. I complimented her shoes. She was wearing these really cute Christian Louboutin pumps. Later, she cornered me in the hall and said, ‘Sorry about my nonnie. She’s clueless.’ ”

I smile. Collin’s sensitive and yearning, it seems to me. Like most of us, I guess. I worry about him and André sometimes. While Collin is twenty-nine, André is in his mid-thirties, born in Paris to an American mother, an actress who pops up occasionally in old made-for-TV movies. André’s traveled the world, speaks three languages, and is constantly on the go. Sometimes in the warm weather, I open my kitchen window, and I smell André’s cigarette, hear him on the fire escape talking on his phone, switching from French to English to Spanish on the turn of a dime. He’s a nice man, but there’s a certain carelessness about him, and I can’t help but worry that Collin’s going to be hurt someday.

Collin and I have a second glass of wine and laugh about Mrs. Antonelli and her numerous extended family members. Nothing mean, but snarky enough to get us giggling like fools, just blowing off steam.

CHAPTER 59 - Molly

CHAPTER 59

Molly