It was almost a year before I saw Daisy again. Technically, there wasn’t any reason to be in touch. I’d been paid in advance, and when my final written report was met with silence, I didn’t think much of it. As the weeks went by, however, I found myself feeling ever so faintly miffed. It’s not that I expected effusive gratitude or praise, but I would have appreciated some response. I had, after all, put my life at risk and killed a man in the process. In the wake of his death, I was subjected to the scrutiny of the Santa Teresa County Sheriff’s Department, which (as it turns out) looks unkindly on fatal shootings, whether justified or not.

I suppose I could have initiated contact with Daisy, but I really thought the move should be hers. This was one of those rare instances where our professional relationship had veered closer to friendship… or so I’d thought. On the few occasions when I stopped in at Sneaky Pete’s, Tannie didn’t know anything more than I did, which generated a certain sulkiness on both our parts.

I went about my business, taken up with other matters in the intervening months. Then, late morning on the last day in August, I returned to the office to find her sitting in her car, which was parked out front. I unlocked the door, letting it stand open while I picked up the mail. Moments later, Daisy followed me in.

I tossed the stack of envelopes on the desk and said, “Hey, how are you?” in that breezy offhand manner that conceals emotional injury. I sat down in my swivel chair.

She took the seat on the other side of the desk. She seemed uncomfortable, but I wasn’t going to make it any easier on her. Finally, she said, “Look, I know I should have called you, and I’m sorry. I stopped by Sneaky Pete’s, and Tannie’s so mad she’s hardly speaking to me. I owe you both an apology.”

“You did leave us hanging.”

“I’m aware of that,” she said. Her gaze traveled over the surface of my desk. She was probably desperate for a cigarette, but the absence of an ashtray must have made her think better of it. “I know this sounds feeble, but I didn’t know what to say. It’s taken me this long to figure it out. I knew I was depressed, and it didn’t seem right to inflict myself on anyone until I felt better about life.”

“I can understand the depression,” I said.