BooksBarbecue
Back The Night Bird
Chapters (60)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. CONTENTS
  5. Start Reading
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. FROM THE AUTHOR
  59. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  60. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pam’s eyes had the sharpness of knives. “I asked you that once myself. Remember? I OD’d and nearly died. I was in rehab for the second time. Dad wouldn’t even come to see me. I was crying because I needed a father, and I didn’t have one. I asked you if I was a bad person.”

Frankie closed her eyes. “I do remember.”

“You told me there was no such thing as bad people,” Pam went on. “Only bad memories.”

19

19

Frost played the song for Lucy.

She sat across from him on a bench in the SoMa market on Sunday morning. Shack licked crepe syrup from her finger through the door of his carrier. The market was loud with the roar of cars on the elevated ramp of Highway 101 behind them. The stone wall of a parking lot across the street looked like a prison. The appeal of the market was its food, not its ambience.

He increased the volume and put his phone between them. Carole King began singing. The song was “Nightingale.”

“Do you recognize it?” he asked her.

“Sure, I know the song.” Lucy nodded along with the music, but then her face clouded with unease as a memory came back. Her lips pressed tightly together. She closed her eyes. He could hear the raggedness of her breathing.

“Wait, that was the song on the radio that night,” she said. “It was playing when Brynn . . . ”

Frost nodded. “I’m sorry. I figured it was, but I needed to be sure.”

“Why does that matter?” Lucy asked.

He took his phone back and found the video of the wedding where Monica Farr shot herself. He played the video for Lucy—not as far as the chaos and the shooting, but far enough to hear the screaming begin in the background.

The DJ at the wedding was playing the same song.

“Oh my God,” Lucy said.

“The same thing happened in a bar in the Tenderloin last night,” Frost continued. “The same song was playing. Another woman had a mental breakdown. She ran into the street and was killed.”

Lucy pushed away his phone as if it had become hot to the touch. “This is creepy as hell.”

“I know.”

They were silent for a while, eating Duane’s crepes. He could see his brother at the window of his food truck. A line of two dozen people backed up at the truck, waiting for Duane’s famous Sunday morning banana-granola crepes with sweet hoisin-maple syrup. Lucy spotted Duane, too, and she held up the crepe and shouted, “This is amazing!”

Frost’s brother took a little bow with his hands folded across the chest of his white chef’s uniform. The customers around him applauded.

“You and your brother don’t look much alike,” Lucy said to Frost.