“I don’t know.” Then the tears he had been holding back started to roll over the rims of his eyes. “These are El’s very last words to me. And I don’t have a clue what she meant.”

54 - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

54

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Frustrated with the havoc the humidity wreaked on her already curly hair, Lopez spent more than fifteen minutes trying to tame it before giving up and tying it back in a bun. Then she tried on each of her five tops with both pairs of evening shoes she’d packed, before settling on a pale green sleeveless shirt, black skirt, and black pumps.

Before leaving the room, she tried Nelson Amar’s cell phone but got only his voicemail.

“Nelson, it’s Lina. I need to talk to you about Oraloxin. Please call me when you get a chance.” She hung up and headed out the door.

Fifteen minutes late and her stomach fluttering with schoolgirl butterflies, Lopez stepped into the lobby where Cohen sat patiently waiting in a navy textured short-sleeve shirt and black pants.

The temperature had cooled to a bearable level of mugginess. In the dwindling light of dusk, they walked out onto Market Street and strolled the mile down to the little Italian restaurant which the hotel concierge promised served “the best fettuccine pescatore in Philadelphia.” Once they were seated inside the quaint Caffé Quattro with two glasses of Chianti in front of them, Lopez remembered about shellfish. She flushed and brought a palm to her forehead. “I’m sorry, Seth. I feel like such an idiot!”

He flashed a confused smile. “Because?”

“I’ve been going on about my passion for shellfish for the last half hour,” she said. “And it’s not kosher, right?”

Cohen frowned. “What makes you think I’m kosher?”

“You know, that nickname Lieutenant Franklin calls you—Kosher Cop.”

“I don’t keep kosher.” His eyes lit up with amusement. “I’ve been living with that name since my first week on the job. One of the geniuses I worked with made that leap of an assumption because I told him I didn’t like ham-and-pineapple pizza.”

“And that’s why they call you KC?” She giggled out of nervous relief.

He nodded, joining in on the laughter. Lopez regarded Cohen. His navy shirt accentuated his dark handsome features. She realized she was relishing the time spent with him in the restaurant’s romantic ambience; it was her first chance to unwind in weeks. Only her concern for Kilburn dampened the mood and furrowed her brow.

“I feel awful for Graham.” She paused, but Cohen didn’t comment. “He’s taken Ellen Horton’s death so hard. I mean, I know they were once good friends, but …” She looked away, not quite knowing the best way to finish the thought.