12th of Never

glass of Merlot on the lamp table.
    “So,” Cindy said, sitting so close to me on the sofa she was almost in my lap. “How was your first day back at work?”
    My reporter girlfriend was interviewing
me
. We all just cracked up, Cindy saying, “What?
What?
”
    I said, “It was a long twelve hours.”
    “We brought presents,” said Yuki.
    Gifts were on the coffee table and Joe took Julie so that I could open the sixteen-flavor margarita kit from Yuki, a stack of Monster Proof pajamas from Cindy, and a pair of Giants tickets from Claire. Front-row seats!
    My postpartum party was great, but after I slugged down my wine, I began to fade.
    Claire clapped her hands and said, “Time to go, girlfriends. Lindsay, we’re making Morales an honorary member of the club, summer pass only. Come with us to Susie’s?”
    “Me? Thanks, but I’m a dead mom walking.”
    Everyone laughed and I hugged them good-bye at the door, shouting after them, “Claire, let Cindy drive.” I took Julie back from Joe, and what do you know? As soon as the girls were gone, Party Girl started to cry.
    “Aww, sweetie.”
    I sank into Joe’s armchair and patted Julie’s back as Joe cooked dinner and then put the baby to bed.
    He kissed me, sweaty as I was, and he said, “Why don’t you hit the rain box?”
    When I returned from my shower smelling like lavender, wearing blue pj’s, barefoot, and with my hair up in a ponytail, linguine marinara was on the table and Louie Armstrong was on the Bose.
    “Tell me about your day,” said my wonderful Joe.

Chapter 42
    AFTER THE MEETING at Fenn & Tarbox, Rich Conklin had stood on Battery Street with Brady and Lindsay, their collars up against a misty rain.
    Brady had said what they’d all been thinking—that if Kennedy had motive and a gun, he could have gotten into the car with Faye Farmer, shot her, then walked home. He would never have been missed at his free-floating party.
    If
he had a motive.
If
he had a gun.
    They still had no idea how Faye Farmer’s body had left the morgue and if the theft had anything to do with her murder.
    The three had parted, driving away in separate cars.
    There was almost no traffic downtown, and Rich drove from the Embarcadero Center through North Beach and Pacific Heights without catching a single light. From the Richmond he crossed the Panhandle on his way to the apartment he shared with Cindy on Kirkham.
    As he drove, he thought about Jeff Kennedy’s story about his last fight with Faye Farmer, and understood how frustrated the man had been with the woman he loved.
    He and Cindy had also been fighting. He said she was inconsiderate. She said that
he
was. He thought she’d changed. She shrugged, said, “Maybe I have.”
    He wanted comfort and affection when he came home. And maybe some good sex once in a while.
    She said, “I’m busy,” and “I’m tired.”
    Rich grabbed his cell from the passenger seat, speed-dialed Cindy, and when she didn’t answer their home phone, he called her cell.
    “It’s me,” he said when she answered. “Where are you?”
    He could hear background noise, dishes clattering, and the muffled roar of shouted conversation.
    “Susie’s,” she said.
    Susie’s. Where the “girls” meet to eat. Also blow off steam, commiserate, and do some problem solving, too. Maybe they could solve his problem.
    He said to Cindy, “We’ve got a bad connection,” then clicked off.
    He reversed his direction, headed east on Oak to Van Ness, and then turned onto Broadway. He was steaming the entire time. Cindy hadn’t told him she was going out. He’d had a day he would’ve liked to have told her about. He would have enjoyed seeing her face across the dinner table.
    Ten minutes after he hung up with Cindy, Rich parked the car on Sansome and walked a couple of blocks to the corner of Jackson. The light coming through the windows of Susie’s brightened the sidewalk and made him think of food.
    He pushed open the front door and walked into the Caribbean-style café and its welcoming ambience—steel drums, the pungent smell of spicy food, and the good feel of conversation bouncing off the walls.
    The hostess had her back to him and he didn’t wait for her to turn around. He broke through the bar crowd in the front room, made his way along the narrow passageway, and walked past the pickup window, where he sidestepped a waitress with a loaded tray.
    When he got to the back room, he saw Cindy, Claire, and Yuki at their favorite booth.