“Wait a minute. He’s a cop, right?” Ariel asked, twisting her head and squinting up at Kristi. She was suddenly interested. “Didn’t he crack that case at Our Lady of Virtues a year or so ago?” She shuddered. “That was soooo weird.”

Amen, Kristi thought, anxious to end the personal conversation about a time she’d rather forget.

“Weren’t you involved?” Lucretia was now serious. “I mean, didn’t I read something about you being injured?” Her forehead wrinkled as she thought. “The way the article was slanted it was as if you were almost killed.” She was nodding, her hair shimmering in dark curls beneath the overhead lamps. “Like before.”

Kristi didn’t want to be reminded of her close calls at the hands of sicko perverts. Twice already, she’d nearly been killed by a psychopath, and the shards of memory about those encounters were enough to turn her blood to ice. She needed to deflect the conversation and fast.

“It was a while back. I’m over it. So, the special today is red beans and rice, I mean Hamlet’s hash.”

But Lucretia wasn’t about to be derailed. She had everyone at her table and the surrounding area’s attention, and she wasn’t going to let go. “I think I read or heard that you died and came back or something.”

“Or something,” Kristi said as all of the women at the table, Lucretia’s friends who had been so animated a few minutes earlier, grew silent. The strains of an old Elvis tune ran over the clink of silverware, buzz of conversation, and hiss of the ancient heater as it struggled to keep the diner warm. She shrugged, relegating the story of her past to “who cares” status.

“Kristi’s used to it,” Lucretia said. “Lives the life.”

Ariel asked, “What does it feel like to have a famous father?”

Pen poised over her order pad, Kristi ignored the knot in her gut. “Quasi famous. It’s not like he’s Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise or even—”

“We’re not talking about movie stars.” Lucretia interrupted her. “Just local celebs.”

“Local celebs like Truman Capote and Louis Armstrong?” Kristi said.

“Dead,” Trudie said.

“My dad’s just a cop.”

Lucretia stared at her as if she’d just said she’d become a devil worshipper. “He’s not just anything.”

Kristi held on to her patience with an effort. That hadn’t been what she’d meant, but Lucretia had always had a way of twisting things around. Maybe it was because her divorced parents had hardly had time for her; they’d been so wrapped up in their own problems. Or, maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever it was, it was annoying and always had been.

“You’re right,” Kristi managed. “He’s great, but he’d be the first to tell you he was just doing his job.”

“How cool is that?” Trudie asked.