Last to Die: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

windows where the words ARABIAN NIGHTS were stenciled in flaking gold letters over the painted figure of a buxom woman in harem pants. The door suddenly opened and a man stumbled out. He wobbled for a moment, squinting in the daylight, and headed unsteadily down the street, trailing the sour scent of booze.
    As Jane stepped into the establishment, an even stronger whiff of alcohol hit her full in the face. Inside, it was so dim that she could barely make out the silhouettes of two men hunched at the bar, nursing their drinks. Gaudy cushions and camel bells decorated the velvet-upholstered booths, and she half expected a belly dancer to come tinkling by with a tray of cocktails.
    “Get ya something, miss?” the bartender called out, and the two patrons swiveled around to stare at her.
    “I’m here to meet someone,” she said.
    “I’m guessing you want that guy in the back booth.”
    A voice called out: “I’m here, Jane.”
    She nodded to the bartender and headed to the back booth where her father was sitting, almost swallowed up among poufy velvet cushions. A glass of what looked like whiskey sat on the table in front of him. It wasn’t even five P.M. and he was already drinking, something she’d never seen him do before. Then again, Frank Rizzoli had recently done a lot of things she’d never thought he’d do.
    Like walk out on his wife.
    She slid onto the bench across from him and sneezed as she settled on dusty velvet. “Why the hell are we meeting here, Dad?” she asked.
    “It’s quiet. Good place to talk.”
    “
This
is where you hang out?”
    “Lately. You want a drink?”
    “No.” She looked at the glass in front of him. “What’s that all about?”
    “Whiskey.”
    “No, I mean what’s with drinking before five?”
    “Who the hell made up that rule, anyway? What’s so magic about five o’clock? Anyway, you know how the song goes. It’s always five o’clock somewhere. Smart man, Jimmy Buffett.”
    “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
    “I called in sick. So sue me.” He took a sip of whiskey but didn’t seem to enjoy it, and set the glass back down. “You don’t talk to me much these days, Jane. It hurts.”
    “I don’t know who you are anymore.”
    “I’m your father. That hasn’t changed.”
    “Yeah, but you’re like a pod person. You do things that my dad—my old dad—wouldn’t do.”
    He sighed. “Insanity.”
    “That sounds about right.”
    “No, I mean it. The insanity of lust. Fucking hormones.”
    “My old dad wouldn’t have used that word.”
    “Your old dad’s a lot wiser now.”
    “Is he?” She leaned back, and her throat itched from the dust puffing up from the velvet upholstery. “Is that why you’re trying to reconnect with me?”
    “I never cut you off.
You
did.”
    “It’s hard to keep connected when you’re shacked up with another woman. There were weeks when you never bothered to call, even once. To check on
any
of us.”
    “I didn’t dare. You were too pissed at me. And you took your mom’s side.”
    “Can you blame me?”
    “You have two parents, Jane.”
    “And one of them walked out. Broke Mom’s heart and ran off with a bimbo.”
    “Your mom doesn’t look too heartbroken to me.”
    “You know how many months it took for her to get to this point? How many nights she spent crying her eyes out? While you were out partying with what’s-her-face, Mom was trying to figure out how to survive on her own. And she did it. I’ve got to hand it to her, she’s landed on her feet and is doing fine. Great, in fact.”
    Those words seemed to hit him as hard as if she’d actually thrown a punch. Even in the gloom of that cocktail lounge she could see his face crumple, his shoulders fold forward. His head dropped into his hands, and she heard what sounded like a sob.
    “Dad? Dad.”
    “You gotta stop her. She can’t marry that man, she can’t.”
    “Dad, I—” Jane glanced down at the cell phone vibrating on her belt. A quick glance told her it was a Maine area code, a number she didn’t recognize. She let it go to voice mail and refocused on her father. “Dad, what’s going on?”
    “It was a mistake. If I could just turn back the clock …”
    “I thought you were engaged to what’s-her-name.”
    He took a deep breath. “Sandie called it off. And she kicked me out.”
    Jane didn’t say a word. For a moment, the only sounds were the clink of ice cubes and the rattle of the cocktail shaker at the bar.
    Head