Hendricks put a hand on her arm reassuringly. “I understand,” he said. “But you have my word, we’ll be discreet. I’d owe you one. It would get the boss off my back. Truth be told, he can be kind of difficult.”

This seemed to strike a chord with Patricia, and she grudgingly agreed but only after extracting several redundant promises from them. She led them back upstairs to make a copy of the file. She handed it over with a request.

“You need something else, you just call me direct. All right?” She handed Hendricks her card. “You’re right about your boss. That Mr. Abe put Frank in a funny sort of mood.”

They promised they would and said their good-byes.

“Going to call her?” Jenn asked once they were outside. “She took a shine to you.”

“Sure I am. Right after you call Vaughn.”

That stopped her dead in her tracks.

“What?”

“You heard me.” He winked at her.

“Hey, do me a favor and stand right there. I need to get my gun out of the car.”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that, Annie Oakley.” He waved the Musgrove file at her. “So, wanna eat and read?”

Anywhere but a diner was Jenn’s only caveat. A week of Vaughn’s obsession with diner food had made her internal organs feel like they’d been sautéed in grease. She needed something fresh and green.

As they walked to a restaurant down the block, she imagined Vaughn sitting at that diner of his, the Nighthawk. Cash in his pocket and free and clear of this mess. It made her smile. He wouldn’t have sat still for what she’d done. Big a screwup as he was, he had a stubborn morality that she admired. Especially when he saw someone was getting the short end of the stick, as maybe, just maybe, Kirby Tate was getting now. There was a time it would have bothered her too. But now she just saw Tate as the debris that inevitably surrounded this type of operation. It didn’t even bother her that it didn’t bother her.

At the restaurant, they spread the file out on the table and sifted through it while they ate. The story of Terrance Musgrove was a sad one. By all accounts Musgrove was a beloved member of the community—a local boy who put himself through college and then veterinary school. Jenn scanned a stack of written accounts that all told variations on Musgrove’s willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty for a sick animal. His dedication had enabled him to expand his practice over the years to include four locations. There had been talk of franchising nationwide, but it hadn’t gotten beyond the planning stages. Nonetheless, he’d done well for himself, and he and his wife, Paula, had lived on Orange Road for eighteen years with their daughter, April.