Cherry Bomb

CHAPTER 57

“I’M READY TO SAY GOODBYE.”

The day was gorgeous, sun blazing, birds singing, a warm breeze whistling through the tombstones. I wasn’t wearing black this time. I had on a floral print dress, one I’d bought de cades ago, something casual and flirty and created for a much younger, happier woman. Someone optimistic.

The grass over Latham’s grave was green and lush, like it had been growing there for years rather than just four days. I crouched down, placed a single red rose on the ground. Six feet above his heart. I stayed like that for a moment, the two dozen sporadic stitches in my legs protesting.

“I’m sorry for everything. Mostly that I didn’t reach this conclusion earlier. You never pushed me into quitting, never made any demands. Thank you for that. But I’m retired now, and if there’s anything beyond this world and you’re listening, I hope you can forgive me. I also hope I gave you even a tenth of the happiness that you gave me. I love you, Latham.”

I stood, wiped the tears off my cheeks. My purse rang, and I fished out my cell.

“Thank you for the gift,” Herb said.

“Did the Turduckinlux come?”

“Did you send me that too? How about steaks?”

“Assorted steaks, Herb. I got you the Meat Lover’s Package. It also comes with an angioplasty.”

“I appreciate it, Jack.” He cleared his throat. “Bernice also gave me the other thing. Your badge. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I think it’s a good thing.”

“Because now I can’t boss you around anymore?”

“Because you deserve to be happy. Now you have a chance to.”

I stared at Latham’s headstone and pursed my lips.

“When are you getting out?” I asked.

“You know hospitals. They want to milk every last cent out of you. I could actually use some milk right now. Or ice cream. Do you like ice cream? I like bacon. They should make bacon-flavored ice cream.”

“Hi, Jack,” Bernice was talking now. “The latest morphine dose is kicking in, he’s babbling.”

“He’ll be okay?”

“Everything looks good.” A pause. “Will you be okay?”

I glanced at the grave again, then looked up at the sun.

“I think so.”

“Good. Stop in later, that will cheer him up. But don’t bring any food.”

“Bring food!” Herb thundered in the background. “It’s horrible here!”

“Don’t bring food,” Bernice repeated. “Doctors have him on a liquid diet.”

“It’s horrible!” he wailed.

“I’ll be by later.”

I hung up, popped the phone back into my purse, and it rang again. I put it to my face.

“Hello?”

Another ring. But it wasn’t my phone. It was coming from my purse. I hunted around, found the cell Harry had had in his pocket, the one I’d used to call 911. I checked the caller ID. Four-one-four. A Wisconsin area code. I answered.

“Hello?”

“Is this Gracie?” A woman’s voice.

“I’m sorry, no it’s not.”

“Do you know anyone named Gracie?”

“I don’t. This is Harry McGlade’s phone.”

“Do you know Samantha Porter? I’m her neighbor. I’m watching her daughter, Melinda.” The voice was frantic, and picking up speed. “Sam’s been gone for two days, and I finally got the landlord to let me into her apartment. I found this number with the name Gracie written on it. She was supposed to go shopping with Gracie, but I haven’t heard back from her in two days.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know any of those people.”

“I don’t know what else to do. I’ve called the police, but they haven’t been able to find her. Sam didn’t tell me much about Gracie, only that she was a dancer too before the car accident scarred her face.”

My core temperature dropped ten degrees.

“Gracie had a scarred face?”

“Just one side, Sam said.”

“Can you describe Samantha for me?”

“Tall. Athletic. Blond hair.”

“Did she have a pair of red boots?”

“She was a dancer. She had a lot of boots.”

“I’ve got your number. I’ll call you back.”

I hung up, feeling numb. This wasn’t Harry’s phone. It was Alex’s phone. The last phone in the daisy chain.

It all came to me in a rush. What Alex had done. How she’d pulled it off.

Alex was still alive. And she was getting away.

And I knew what I had to do to stop her.