Next to me, Tomasetti takes my hand and squeezes. I don’t look at him; I can’t. All of those gnarly parallels between Rachel Esh—and me—hover too close to the surface. The circumstances are different, but too much is the same. I was lucky; I got to live my life. Rachel didn’t.

Reaching into my pocket, I remove Frank Betancourt’s card and slide it across the counter. “When you’re ready, you need to call him and tell him what happened.”

She looks down at the card as if it’s on fire. “Am I in trouble with the law?”

I struggle to find the right words. I meet Mary’s gaze and hold it. “Detective Betancourt is mainly going to want to know everything Rachel told you about Dan Suggs. The rest is up to you.”

Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

When I was nine years old and grumbling about some chore I’d been tasked with by my mamm, my grossmuder made a statement I never forgot: Appreciation has the power to transform the mundane into something beautiful. At the time, I was too young to understand the wisdom of those words. It wasn’t until decades later that I realized my grossmuder was as wise as she was astute and very much unappreciated by her nine-year-old granddaughter.

It’s late afternoon and I’m sitting at my beat-up desk in my cramped little office, trying to ignore the cold draft wafting down from the window that looks out over downtown Painters Mill. The once-vibrant fiddle leaf fig plant my team of officers gave me for my birthday last summer is as dried and brown as a cornstalk. The old steel file cabinet next to the door looks as if it’s been run through a car crusher and hastily refurbished. I won’t even get into the paint on the walls—or the lack thereof.

I love every imperfect inch of this place. Through the open door, I can hear my dispatchers cutting up with my officers. Glock and Skid debating a topic that shouldn’t be discussed in mixed company. Pickles grousing about a motorist that sped through the elementary school crosswalk this afternoon. Mona’s talking about how things will be done when she’s a cop—a possibility that might just become a reality one of these days. I don’t have to look to know there’s more than likely a good bit of flirting going on as well.

I listen, smiling, and a sense of belonging and pride swells in my chest. Not for the first time since finishing my assignment in Roaring Springs, I count my blessings.

I’m putting the finishing touches on my notes for our weekly meeting when my third shift dispatcher, Mona, sticks her head in my office. “Gang’s all here, Chief.”

“Thanks, Mona. I’ll be right there.”

“Oh, and you have a visitor.”