There’s a lot of pressure on them to find somebody and get him charged. Makes everyone look bad if a killer goes uncaught, even if the city is a better place with the murdered guy dead and gone.”
I nodded my head. There was another fear eating away at me, one I’d voiced to no one. Lacey was the safest person to share with, I knew that, and I needed to talk. “I’m starting to wonder if he still is in rehab at all. Wouldn’t he be calling home more? Wouldn’t they even want us to come down there for some family therapy? What if after a few days he decided it was too hard and has gone back to his old life?”
“He said he’d already made it through the detox process, right? That has to be the hardest part of it all, at least I’d think so. If he were back in Santa Barbara and back in his old habits, the police would have found him by now and your detective friend wouldn’t be following you around. No, he’s still in treatment.”
“Why haven’t I heard from him?”
“I’m sure every center has their own protocol about calls home and family therapy. My guess is, you won’t hear from him again until he is ready to come home. He’ll want to be sure that everything is just perfect before he comes to see you.”
“I hope you’re right.” And I did hope. I was finding it harder by the day to actually believe.
Nine
I passed through the aisles of Vons the next day, pushing my cart with all the determination of a speed walker. I didn’t want to be here shopping if this was the moment that Kurt called home. As I rounded the corner of the bread aisle, another cart clanked into the side of mine, forcing my attention back to the here and now. “Oh, sorry. I should have looked first. …” When I saw who was driving the other cart, all apologies froze in my throat.
“Well, hello. Fancy meeting you here.” From the expression on his face, and the jeans, T-shirt, and Angels baseball cap he was wearing, no one would assume that Detective Thompson was anything other than surprised to be running into an old friend at the grocery store. I, of course, knew better.
“Are you following me?”
He leaned both elbows on the rails of the cart and whispered. “Just doing a little shopping.” He gestured toward the chips and salsa in his cart, then smiled up at me. “Why? Should I be following you?”
I remembered what Lacey had said about their not having much evidence to work with. In my head I knew that the guy was just trying to do his job. He wanted to find a killer and silence the public outcry. That all sounded well and good— until my son became part of his doing his job. “You know what? I wish I could tell you something. I wish I knew where my son is. I wish I could tell you the name of the rehab where he’s been for the last couple of months and help lighten your load. But I can’t. Why don’t you go follow some other lead and quit harassing the innocent citizens of Santa Barbara?”
“Hmm, didn’t realize that grocery shopping constituted harassment. I do apologize.” He tipped the cap and offered a lazy smile. “You know what, though? My gut tells me that someone with nothing to hide shouldn’t be so upset about this chance encounter. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”
I gripped my cart so tight my fingers went numb. “I don’t know anything . How long is it going to take for you to get that through your head?”
“My head accepts it already; it’s just that my gut hasn’t quite caught up yet.”
“Well, tell your gut to get over it and leave me alone.”
“All righty, then. I’ll just make my way up the fruit aisle and harass some other citizens for a while. How about that?” He turned his cart the other way and sauntered off, whistling “Yankee Doodle” as he went.
I looked at the couple dozen items still unmarked on my list and decided we could live another week without most of these things. I hurried to grab the necessary gallon of milk, Caroline’s
I nodded my head. There was another fear eating away at me, one I’d voiced to no one. Lacey was the safest person to share with, I knew that, and I needed to talk. “I’m starting to wonder if he still is in rehab at all. Wouldn’t he be calling home more? Wouldn’t they even want us to come down there for some family therapy? What if after a few days he decided it was too hard and has gone back to his old life?”
“He said he’d already made it through the detox process, right? That has to be the hardest part of it all, at least I’d think so. If he were back in Santa Barbara and back in his old habits, the police would have found him by now and your detective friend wouldn’t be following you around. No, he’s still in treatment.”
“Why haven’t I heard from him?”
“I’m sure every center has their own protocol about calls home and family therapy. My guess is, you won’t hear from him again until he is ready to come home. He’ll want to be sure that everything is just perfect before he comes to see you.”
“I hope you’re right.” And I did hope. I was finding it harder by the day to actually believe.
Nine
I passed through the aisles of Vons the next day, pushing my cart with all the determination of a speed walker. I didn’t want to be here shopping if this was the moment that Kurt called home. As I rounded the corner of the bread aisle, another cart clanked into the side of mine, forcing my attention back to the here and now. “Oh, sorry. I should have looked first. …” When I saw who was driving the other cart, all apologies froze in my throat.
“Well, hello. Fancy meeting you here.” From the expression on his face, and the jeans, T-shirt, and Angels baseball cap he was wearing, no one would assume that Detective Thompson was anything other than surprised to be running into an old friend at the grocery store. I, of course, knew better.
“Are you following me?”
He leaned both elbows on the rails of the cart and whispered. “Just doing a little shopping.” He gestured toward the chips and salsa in his cart, then smiled up at me. “Why? Should I be following you?”
I remembered what Lacey had said about their not having much evidence to work with. In my head I knew that the guy was just trying to do his job. He wanted to find a killer and silence the public outcry. That all sounded well and good— until my son became part of his doing his job. “You know what? I wish I could tell you something. I wish I knew where my son is. I wish I could tell you the name of the rehab where he’s been for the last couple of months and help lighten your load. But I can’t. Why don’t you go follow some other lead and quit harassing the innocent citizens of Santa Barbara?”
“Hmm, didn’t realize that grocery shopping constituted harassment. I do apologize.” He tipped the cap and offered a lazy smile. “You know what, though? My gut tells me that someone with nothing to hide shouldn’t be so upset about this chance encounter. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”
I gripped my cart so tight my fingers went numb. “I don’t know anything . How long is it going to take for you to get that through your head?”
“My head accepts it already; it’s just that my gut hasn’t quite caught up yet.”
“Well, tell your gut to get over it and leave me alone.”
“All righty, then. I’ll just make my way up the fruit aisle and harass some other citizens for a while. How about that?” He turned his cart the other way and sauntered off, whistling “Yankee Doodle” as he went.
I looked at the couple dozen items still unmarked on my list and decided we could live another week without most of these things. I hurried to grab the necessary gallon of milk, Caroline’s
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