Jamie
Normally Jamie didn’t mind Ricky—he was one of his best friends—but today it was especially annoying that Ricky didn’t just come out back to pick up the pork. No, Ricky always had to pop into the house and say hi to Mom, and butter her up, and basically make Jamie’s life worse because he didn’t hang on her every word.
Ricky didn’t, either, but he could fake it for twenty minutes or so.
The sliding door opened and Ricky came out laughing, holding two cans of Ore Dock Reclamation from Jamie’s own fridge. “You got it, Helen,” he called before sliding it shut.
Jamie didn’t reach out for the offered beer. “Your order’s ready.”
“Yeah, sure, and I’m supposed to pump you for all possible information about your girlfriend.” Ricky grinned, and even this early in the year he was tanned. He tossed his head to get his too-long hair out of his face, except that was on purpose, because he never grew it out or got it cut shorter. Ricky waggled the can. “Little cutie, probably too young for you, awkward as hell because your mom walked in on … what, exactly?”
His smile was as tight as his crossed arms. “You, of all people—”
“Should be curious as fuck?” he cut in, again with the grin. “Come on, you won’t break my heart. That ship sailed.”
Jamie reluctantly freed his hand to take the can. “She’s not my girlfriend. I just met her today. She’s one of the researchers for that Not Forgotten podcast and she had some questions about Milwaukee.”
“Oh, come on.” He popped the top but at least didn’t sit down like he wanted to stay and gossip about it. “Helen’s got me all hyped. You can’t downplay it like this.”
“There’s nothing to downplay,” Jamie protested. It came out wearily, like he already knew this was a losing battle. “Jo showed up. I told her I wasn’t selling today, and she gave me her card and asked about Milwaukee.”
Ricky laughed. “What, did you know Davis?”
Davis was unhoused and an addict. Except no, you weren’t supposed to reduce people to an adjective like that: a man living with addiction. “No.”
“So then …” Ah, here it was: Ricky hooked his ankle around the leg of the chair and pulled it closer so he could sit down.
Jamie didn’t join him.
“Man, look.” He tilted his head and squinted up at Jamie. “The fact that I have to drag every single little detail out of you tells me she’s not nothing.”
Wait, was that true? “There aren’t any details.”
Okay maybe that wasn’t true.
Ricky leaned over to pat the seat of the other chair. “Jamie. Sit. Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” He sat anyway, and the protest was weak. There was plenty inside him, but he didn’t know how to put it into words.
His best friend, the guy he’d known since he moved back and stumbled into the restaurant scene, raised an eyebrow and, for a change, seemed to mull something over before he said it. “Identity crisis?” he finally ventured.
Jamie sighed and set his beer down as he sank into the chair and dropped his face into his hands.
“All right, so.” Ricky’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “You want to talk about it, we’ll talk about it.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, because I think I acted like an idiot.” He sat up and reached for the beer because that was just the first sentence bursting through the dam. “She says the podcast got it wrong and he only killed a couple of them, so she’s looking for the other person, and I’m pretty sure it’s not me, but she’s also that best friend who lost her husband to Tess, so it’s all a mess of personal whatever.”
Ricky just nodded.
“And then …” Jamie gestured back to the house. “Yeah, Mom showed up and called her my girlfriend.”
Ricky’s mouth twitched toward a smile. “Maybe you’re not your type, man, but I know a lot of people who would be happy to date you.”
He waved that away. After all, Jo just met him, so she wouldn’t have a clue about whether or not she wanted to date him. Right?
Okay Ricky’s raised eyebrow told him that maybe this was another thing he didn’t fully grasp about most people.
“She feels guilty about getting Davis caught.” And now who sounded defensive about it? “And she’s got one of those maps that says the killer lived on my block, but I’m the only one who was there the whole time.”
“Wait, so she thinks you’re a serial killer?” Both of Ricky’s eyebrows were up. “Dude, that’s …”
But Jamie shook his head. “She said she couldn’t trace any more murders to Chicago or here, so I’m off the hook. She just wanted to know if I could remember anyone who was also there the whole time, but who didn’t have their name on public records or something.” He remembered the beer and finally opened it, although chugging probably wasn’t the best idea.
Whatever. He drained it.
Ricky clucked his tongue. “Okay. Strange chick maybe doesn’t think you’re a serial killer. Is she hot?”
Jamie gave him his best Look.
“So.” The grin was back. “Yes.”
Intriguing, sure, but hot? True, his thoughts immediately went to her brown eyes and the twitch of her lips, but that wasn’t hot. Was it?
“Okay, and you’re going to see her again …?” he prompted.
Jamie shook his head a little. “I said I’d look over her evidence. She’ll bring copies by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” Ricky offered his fist to be bumped and laughed it off when Jamie left him hanging. “Tell her to come to game night.”
That made him wince. Game night was safe in that Mom had bridge Fridays, so it was just friends coming over, but it was basically the guys. Plus it was the guys who’d known each other for ages and could just be weird together, so adding in a complete stranger … even one with those quick eyes and that charming smile …
When he focused on the here and now, he didn’t like all the facets of Ricky’s grin. “Okay. Let’s get what I’m here for.”
Chapter Seven – coming October 7
