Kitty plucked her cell phone from the small purse she carried, checked the time, then pressed her lips together and looked at Luke.

“You have to be somewhere?” he asked.

“Not right away, but yeah . . .” She gestured at her black dress and heels. “I got a new job. I should probably go home, lose the funeral clothes.”

“Right, yeah.” Luke nodded. “A new job, huh? Anything exciting?”

“No. Still couriering.” She dropped her phone back into her purse, then lifted her sunglasses to wipe a bead of sweat from beneath one eye. “Different company. Better . . . benefits.”

“That’s great,” Luke said. They walked toward the parking lot, their surroundings keeping an air of serenity, despite the roar of aircraft out of LAX. “I should go raise a glass to Floyd, but I can run you home first, if you want.”

“No need.” Kitty dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “Metro, Uber. I’ll manage.”

The mid-afternoon sun dropped a dry, inescapable heat. Luke fanned his shirt collar, trying to circulate the air across his chest. Kitty had produced her cell again, shielding the screen as she pulled up her Uber app.

“Listen, thank you,” Luke said. They’d pulled abreast of where he’d parked his car—his crappy, dented Caliber, looking decidedly low-income within a row of newer, shinier vehicles. “I really appreciate you being here today.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kitty said. “I’d go for that drink, but—”

“Hey, no. You’ve done more than enough.” He fanned his collar again. “Hope the new job goes okay.”

They embraced briefly, a touch awkwardly, then Kitty headed toward the main gates. Luke dug his keys from his pocket and started for his car. He was lost in thought, trying to remember where Doris lived, so didn’t notice the platinum-haired woman getting out of the vehicle parked two away from his.

“Got a thing for Black women, huh?”

Luke fumbled his keys—nearly dropped them. He looked up, surprised, as the woman approached. She wasn’t as tall as Luke, but it was close.

“Does she know,” she said, motioning in Kitty’s direction, “that you’re a homicidal maniac?”

Luke wanted to turn and walk away—heck, run away—but held his ground, maintaining eye contact as the woman stepped to the very edge of his personal space.

“Hello, wife killer,” she said.

“I guess you’re still not ready to join the fan club,” Luke returned bitterly, gripping his keys so tightly that the notches sawed into his skin. “How’ve you been, Detective Montecino?”