Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [97]
“That’s where we get to the part about my dad being old-fashioned. There are naked men in this store, so he doesn’t want my mom going there without a husband or son at her side.”
“Naked men?” I repeated. “In a store?”
“They’re not naked naked,” Lopez said. “Watch your step.” He helped me over a rocky patch. “The men are wearing—I don’t know—thongs or loincloths or something.”
“What sort of store is this?”
“Would you believe it’s a gourmet grocery store? And it’s all the rage.”
“Well, with naked employees, I guess it would be.”
“I doubt my dad ever even removed his shirt in front of my mom before their wedding night,” Lopez said. “So the idea of her nibbling samples of gourmet delicacies served by mostly naked men at some Upper West Side food emporium is way outside his comfort zone.”
“Maybe she just shouldn’t have told him she was going.”
“Oh, are you kidding?” he said in disgust. “That would take all the fun out of it for her.”
“Ah. I get it”
Now I understood why steam was practically coming out of Lopez’s ears. His mother enjoyed this little game with his father, which was perhaps the sort of thing that helped keep the sparks alive in their (I gathered) contented long-term marriage. But tomorrow, their game was going to cost their youngest son at least a couple of hours of valuable work time. And so—especially since he was overloaded this week—he felt like throttling them both for it.
When we reached the bottom of the steps and were once again back in the busy, bustling park, I said, “And now I really do have to leave for my shift at Bella Stella.”
“I’ll walk you partway to the subway,” he said. “I’ve got a few more questions for Dr. Livingston if she’s still at work, and then I want to stop in at the Twenty- Fifth Precinct, where I’m getting more and more popular every day, of course.”
His mentioning the precinct reminded me that Lopez had resources that Max and I didn’t.
“I just thought of another favor I need to ask,” I said.
“If it involves another steep climb, the answer is no.”
“A man who was teaching workshops at the foundation is missing. His name is Frank Johnson, and no one has seen or heard from him since Monday night.” Since Lopez was already concerned about my presence at the foundation, I didn’t mention that Frank was my direct predecessor. “He’s not answering his phone or returning messages. Can you find out where he lives? Or find out if he’s . . . all right?”
“Missing since Monday night?”
I nodded. “He might be going about his daily life and just ignoring calls from the foundation. I mean, I hope he is. But just in case . . .” Seeing Lopez’s intent expression, I asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No reason.”
“No, tell me,” I insisted.
“I’m thinking,” he said with some reluctance, “that the hand we found lying in the street could belong to someone who was last seen alive on Monday night.”
“Oh.” I feigned distress, which wasn’t hard to do at this point, and nodded.
As we exited the park, Lopez told me that as long as I was working at the foundation, and until we really knew what was going on, he wanted me to keep his cell phone number on speed dial.
I agreed, and I accepted my daypack from him as he returned it to me. We stood together awkwardly for a moment, and then I said good-bye and turned to go.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered.
Lopez reached for me, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me. He was a little rough, and then very gentle.
And I could swear I tasted Spanish words on his lips.
Then he rested his forehead against mine. “You’d better go.”
“Right,” I murmured. “After all, you know what time my shift starts.”
“I do.” He kissed me softly again, then let me go.
I practically floated all the way to the subway station. When I got there, luck was with me. I caught a downtown train immediately. Only as I was standing in the crowded moving train, aware of the silly expression that was probably still on my face, did reality start to set in again.
I was sure the severed hand belonged to Darius Phelps. However, unless I