“Knock it off. This is so much more fascinating than the other calls I got from parents today. And, I got my usual,” she says, lifting her cup and taking a sip. “Plus, it’s a hell of a story. Are you going to write about it?” She asked it in a joking-but-not-really-joking tone.

I shake my head. “Not my genre. I’m more of a political thriller type of guy.”

“I know. I read In the Shadows of Justice.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s not every day a best-selling author moves to your town.”

“Did you like it?”

“I did. When am I getting a sequel?”

“I need a good night’s sleep first.”

“Best-selling author …” she muses. “What’s that like?”

I’m dying to tell her. This has turned into one of the first conversations in a while with someone that’s not about Nicole’s death and it’s taking my mind off the house. It’s taken a pleasant turn and I’m in no rush to have it end.

I glance out the window, across the square.

“You know what? I haven’t eaten anything since early this afternoon and I’m starving. As a way of saying thank you and for putting my mind at ease, can I buy you dinner?”

17

After an initial hesitation, she agrees to my offer. We walk across the square to La Piazza, Kingsbrook’s fanciest, and only, Italian restaurant. I’m a meat and potatoes man. I’ve been learning to cook because I want to make sure Caitlyn eats well. I’m still a novice, but Denise is an outright foodie, which was the product of a semester studying in Tuscany.

“That’s sounds terrible,” I say with mock sympathy.

“Yes. Vineyards and cafés. It was truly awful.”

“And this was towards your degree in …?”

“Political Science.”

“Riiiiiight.”

“I’ve always wanted to be a writer,” she says over her glass of wine. “They say everyone has at least one good book in them.”

“Well, I hope that’s not true or I’m out of a job.”

She picked out a bottle of wine, insisting that we split it, but I reminded her that I haven’t had my first flop, yet.

She chuckles but then grows quiet. “Listen, I really do appreciate you buying me dinner, but I need to be clear that … I don’t want to seem ungrateful … but …”

“No. Please, I completely understand. I wanted to know what was going on with Caitlyn. That’s all. And after the day— no, weeks that I’ve had, I needed to get out for a night. This is my way of saying thanks for helping me with Caitlyn … and for reminding me that there are no such things as ghosts.”

She laughs.