Umbrellas were one of those New-Yorky things she’d never quite gotten into since moving here from Minnesota with her mom when she was in fifth grade.

She stood outside the school debating where to go.

Two things to take care of.

Yes, she wanted to deliver the journal to Timothy Sabian, but first she needed to find out what was up with the woman disappearing after his last book signing.

So, go home and work on that, or do it at a restaurant or something?

Home was close.

Home was free.

Two for two.

Doing her best to stay out of the ever-deepening puddles, she left for their apartment.

70

The coffee—if you could call it that—that awaited us in the pot was cold, somehow gray, and in need of immediate disposal. It might have been sitting there for days.

Troubling.

I found the beans that I kept on hand and headed to the grinder.

“Senator, Mannie told me that he was watching Jon’s funeral to see who you might talk to but that he wasn’t able to confirm what he wanted to confirm. Do you know what he might’ve been referring to or who he might’ve been looking for?”

“No. I have no idea.”

“Do you remember who you spoke with while you were there?”

“I don’t know, exactly. I mean, well-wishers. Family. Friends. The media was on hand.”

“What about someone named Jake Reese?”

“Yes. From Phoenix. He flew in.”

“How do you know Mr. Reese?”

“He was on an advisory committee that we put together from the pharmaceutical industry. We met when the Senate was addressing the opioid epidemic.”

“What about Marcus Rockwell?”

“Yes.” He was slow in answering. “Now that I think about it. He was there.”

I poured in the beans and dialed the knob toward a coarser grind, which provides a better cup of coffee than a finer one when you’re using a drip percolator, then I punched the button and waited.

The machine whirred to life, and when it was done grinding the beans, I poured in enough filtered water for four cups, transferred the beans into the filter, then found the spray bottle in the cupboard and carefully spritzed a mist of water across the beans.

“What’s that for?” the senator asked.

“Dampening them makes for a more uniform brewing experience. Adds to the flavor.”

“You take this seriously.”

“There’s a lot at stake.”

“A tasty cup of coffee.”

“Exactly.”

I closed the lid and started the coffeemaker. “You were saying that you spoke with Marcus Rockwell?”

“Yes. As you know, my son interned with him over the summer, but seeing him there did surprise me. We aren’t what I would call close.”

“Do you recall him saying anything out of the ordinary to you?”

The senator looked at me curiously. “Is he under investigation?”

“No. Not at all.”