“So anyway, here I am, six years later. Been back in Las Piernas four months. I’ve learned that my son has grown into a fine young man, much better than his dad.” His voice grew quiet. “And I made peace with my mother before she died. I guess that should be enough for anyone who’s been as irresponsible as I have.”

He didn’t look as though it was enough. He seemed tired.

“What brought you back?”

He looked at me and grinned. “Well, well. So you are a little curious about me, even after I’ve told you my life’s story. Good sign.

“Let me see. What brought me back to Las Piernas? I suppose if I tell you it’s the only place I ever come back to, you’ll say I’m hedging. So what’s the answer? Hmm…”

He dried his hands on a towel.

“Well, in a roundabout way, a knife fight brought me back. I don’t kid myself that you haven’t noticed the scar. But like they say, you should see the other guy. Only he’s dead. Mom’s lawyers got me off and Mom’s doctors patched me up. And without boring you with a lot of details, I’ll just say I realized then that I wasn’t going to live forever. Ironic, isn’t it? Her doctors said she’d live to be a hundred, and they didn’t give me a snowflake’s chance in hell. But here I am, and she’s gone.”

We had finished the dishes. He looked completely worn down, and his weariness changed him in some way I couldn’t quite name. There was something charming about this maverick. I was thinking that just as the guy with the corner on the market came walking into the kitchen.

Frank gave me that look of his that says he’s just taken something in, some observation that he wants to chew on for a while. But all he said was, “Pete and Rachel want to leave. Are you ready to go?”

“Sure.” I turned to Jack and shook his hand. “Thanks for talking to me.”

“My pleasure,” he said with a grin.

Frank was looking between us when the door opened again. It was Paul Fremont.

“Frank,” he said, “you can’t leave yet. Grandmother’s lawyer wants to know if we can have the reading of the will now. Would that be okay?”

Frank was openly puzzled.

“I’ll take you and Irene back to the church to get your car,” Jack offered. But seeing Frank’s look, he added, “Didn’t you know? My mother named you in her will. You’re a beneficiary.”

“No, I didn’t know,” he said. It was clear that he was totally surprised. He looked uncomfortable in the extreme. As if to find an out, he turned to me and said, “I guess you need to get to work, don’t you?”

I nodded, and seeing his lost look, wished I could stay longer.

“Let me just walk Irene out to Pete’s car,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Paul said, then added, “By the way, Irene, I meant to ask earlier – how’s Sammy doing?”

I had no choice but to keep weaving my tangled web. “She never showed up. I’m quite worried about her.”

Frank steered me out of the room before I had to dig myself in any deeper. We decided to exchange car keys – I’d take his car from the church, which was not far from work. He’d get a ride home from Jack and use my car if he needed to go anywhere.

We went outside, where the rain had become a fine drizzle. He put an arm around my shoulder and walked me toward the car.

“Frank, if you need me to stay-”

“I’ll be okay. Really. I just wasn’t expecting this. Don’t worry about me. You’ve got an election to write about.”

“Want to meet me for dinner?”

“Okay. Where will you be?”

“Let’s see. At first, probably at the Montgomery campaign gathering. At the Cliffside Hotel. Can you meet me there around seven? Not much will be going on until after the polls have been closed for an hour or so.”

“Okay. I’ll call the dining room at the Cliffside and make reservations for us. And I’ll feed Cody.”

“What more could a woman ask for?”

“You could probably think of something if you tried.” He gave me a quick kiss when we reached the car, and I left with Pete and Rachel.

In the car, I reached into my purse and pulled out Sammy’s journal. I handed it over the seat to Pete.

“This the missing kid’s diary? I told Frank that Bredloe would never believe that story about the cat hiding it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the truth. Remind him that this is the cat that once landed a set of scratches on the face of his fist-fighting detective. Even if he’s mad at Frank, he’ll believe you.”

“You got him all wrong, Irene. Bredloe likes Frank. He’s going along with the suspension for Frank’s benefit – give him a chance to cool off a little. By the way, I don’t know what you said to him, but I think he’s doing better today.”

I smiled, thinking of what Frank and I had said to one another.

Rachel saw me and grinned, thinking something else entirely, I’m sure; but after all, she was close. Pete looked over at her. “What? What did I miss out on?”

“Who knows? It’s just nice to see Irene smile, so I smile.”

He wasn’t satisfied, but said, “Well, Miss Cheshire Cat, I suppose you want me to call you about the plate number Frank gave me.”

“Right,” I said.

He shook his head.

“Oh, so what’s the big problem?” Rachel chided. “It’s not like she couldn’t track it down – it would just take her a little longer.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it,” he growled.

“Via, non t’arrabbiare.”

“If you’re going to start speaking Italian to one another, please provide a translation.”

“I told him not to get mad. I think Pete feels like we gang up on him when Frank’s not around to even things out.”

“Damn right I do. I feel outnumbered when I’m around either one of you – even one at a time.”

“Caro, you can’t mean it,” she said in a honeyed tone.

He turned bright red. I wondered when he would take Rachel home to meet his Italian mother.

We reached St. James and pulled up next to Frank’s old Volvo.

“You be careful, Irene,” Rachel said as I got out of the car. “Frank told me about last night. Call if you need us – don’t go wandering around on your own, okay?”

I thanked them and said good-bye. As they drove off, I could see them through the car’s rear window, having one of their typical conversations – both talking at once, gesturing to one another. It’s a wonder they didn’t wreck the car.

WHEN PETE CALLED ME that afternoon, I was working on two different versions of the election story. In one, Montgomery won; in the other, Henderson. I left a couple of open paragraphs at the beginning for victory or concession speeches, vote tallies, and quotes. But the rest of each article would capsulize what had been written about the race in the last few months: background on the candidates, highlights of the campaigns, analysis of their areas of support.

“Got the registration on that limo,” Pete said. “Our boys were interested in this too. It belongs to Malcolm Gannet Enterprises. Carlson will not be thrilled if he finds out I told you that.”

“Malcolm Gannet. Well, what do you know.” Gannet was a real estate developer. His group had changed the skyline along Shoreline Boulevard, and he had made a mint doing it. Mrs. Fremont had been actively antidevelopment, fighting a largely hopeless battle to preserve some of the examples of the 1920s and 1930s architecture of downtown Las Piernas.

“Something else, Irene.”

“What?”

“I talked to Hernandez about the little door prize you got last night.”

I braced myself. Dr. Carlos Hernandez was the coroner. “And?”

“And it’s definitely a human heart. Human blood, too.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I knew it would be.”

“Sure. But the logical conclusion is, whoever it belongs to ain’t doing so hot right now. So until we figure out who put it on your doorstep, you better watch out. Are you listening to me, Irene?”

“I’ve heard every word.”