Gabe was hungry, but he declined. “I’m okay. I’ll unpack your bags, if you want.”

“No one touches my things,” Jake said.

“Sorry,” Gabe said. “I won’t play your guitar anymore.”

“I’m ribbing you.” Jake jumped up from the bed. “You can have the guitar. I mean that. I never play it anymore. Never really played it much to begin with. Come with us, kid.” He gently whacked Gabe in his hollow stomach. “You look like you can use a couple of extra calories.”

Gabe felt his skin grow warm. “Thanks. Can I ask why you’re here?”

“Other than the fact that I live here?”

Sammy said, “We came in to surprise our dad.”

“Technically, he’s our stepdad. But after enduring all of the grief I gave him, he has earned the title of Dad.”

“The Loo is turning sixty on Sunday,” Sammy said. “We’re surprising him and our mother and sister. We’ve got a massive dinner planned at the station house today at seven. The only one who knows about it is our stepsister and her husband.”

“That’s Cindy and Koby, right?”

“You sure made yourself at home in a short time,” Jake said. “As long as you’re here, you can help us pick up the food.”

Sam said, “We ordered enough to feed the entire station house. We’re picking it up at five. What time is it?”

Gabe checked his watch. “Two-thirty.”

“Any idea where our mother is?” Jake asked.

“I think she’s at school. She said she’ll be home around four.”

“Perfecto,” Jake said. “We should be home just in time. Are you coming with us for pizza or not?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Gabe got his wallet and stuffed it into his pants. “That’s cool. I didn’t know that the Loo was that close to sixty.”

Then again, why on earth should he know?

He kept forgetting that he was a stranger.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

OVER THE MONITOR, the detectives saw Chuck Tinsley fidget and twitch, his meaty right leg bouncing up and down. He was also muttering, his thin lips making sounds that didn’t quite articulate into words. Although he had come in willingly—the cops had used the ruse that they needed his help—his facial expression said: Lemme outta here. Dark eyes set into a seamed face swept the room, failing to focus for more than a second or two. His muscular arms and chest were covered in a gray T-shirt. Faded jeans and athletic shoes completed the outfit. A lightweight black nylon jacket rested on his lap.

“He’s nervous,” Decker said to Oliver and Marge. “Like he’s guilty of something. Hang tight in case I need reinforcements.”

“We’re not going anywhere.”

As soon as Decker left, Oliver said, “When is the food for his party coming?”

“Around six-thirty. We were supposed to get him out of the station house by six.”