The Keepsake: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

about it.”
             
     
    The annual neighborhood cookout at the Rizzoli house was a tradition going back nearly twenty years, and neither black clouds nor approaching thunderstorms could derail the event. Every summer, Jane’s father, Frank, would proudly fire up his outdoor grill, slap on steaks and chicken, and assume the role of chef for a day—the only day all year that he wielded a cooking utensil of any kind.
    Today, though, it wasn’t Frank but retired detective Vince Korsak who’d assumed the role of barbecue chef, in carnivore nirvana as he flipped steaks, splashing grease on the extra-large apron draped over his generous belly. This was the first time Jane had seen any man but her father in charge of the backyard grill, a reminder that nothing lasted forever, not even her parents’ marriage. A month after Frank Rizzoli had walked out on his wife, Vince Korsak had waltzed in. By the way he assumed control of the grill, he was making it clear to the neighborhood that he was the new man in Angela Rizzoli’s life.
    And the new master of the barbecue tongs was not about to abandon his post.
    As thunder rumbled and clouds darkened overhead, guests scrambled to bring all the dishes inside before an imminent lightning strike. But Korsak stayed by the grill.
    “No way am I gonna let nice little filets like these get ruined,” he said.
    Jane looked up as the first raindrops began to fall. “Everyone’s going inside. We could finish those steaks under the broiler.”
    “Are you kidding? When you go to all the trouble of buying aged beef and wrapping it in bacon, you gotta cook it right.”
    “Even if it means getting hit by lightning?”
    “Like I’m scared of lightning?” He laughed. “Hey, I already died once. Another jolt to the chest can’t hurt the ol’ ticker.”
    “But that bacon sure will,” she said, watching the grease drip onto the flames. Two years ago, a heart attack had forced Korsak into retirement, but it hadn’t scared him off his butter and beef. And Mom hasn’t helped matters any, thought Jane, glancing at the patio picnic table, where Angela was retrieving the mayonnaise-cloaked potato salad.
    Korsak waved as Angela headed inside through the screen door. “Your ma changed my life, you know,” he said. “I was starving to death on that stupid fish-and-salad diet. Then she taught me just to go for the gusto in life.”
    “Isn’t that a beer commercial?”
    “She’s a real firecracker. Man, ever since we started going out, I can’t believe the things she talks me into! Last night, she got me to try octopus for the first time. Then there was that night we went skinny-dipping—”
    “Hold on. I don’t need to hear this.”
    “It’s like I’ve been born again. I never thought I’d meet a woman like your ma.” He picked up a steak and flipped it over. Fragrant smoke sizzled up from the grill, and she remembered all the earlier summer meals her father had cooked on that same barbecue. But now it was Korsak who’d proudly carry in the platter of steaks, who’d be uncorking the wine bottles.
This is what you gave up, Dad. Is the new girlfriend worth it? Or do you wake up every morning and wonder why the hell you left Mom?
    “I tell ya,” said Korsak, “your dad was a moron, letting her go. But it was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He suddenly stopped. “Oh. That was not a sensitive thing to say, was it? I just can’t help myself. I’m so friggin’
happy.
”
    Angela came out of the house with a clean platter for the meat. “What are you so happy about, Vince?” she asked.
    “Steak,” said Jane.
    Her mother laughed. “Oh, does this one have an appetite!” She gave him a provocative bump with her hip. “In more ways than one.”
    Jane resisted the urge to clap her hands over her ears. “I think I’ll go inside. Gabriel’s probably ready to hand over Regina.”
    “Wait,” said Korsak, and he dropped his voice. “While we’re out here, why don’t you tell us the latest about your weirdo case. I hear you know the name of this Archaeology Killer. Son of some rich Texas guy, right?”
    “How did you hear that? We haven’t released that detail.”
    “I got my sources.” He winked at Angela. “Once a cop, always a cop.”
    And Korsak had indeed been a canny investigator whose skills Jane had once relied on.
    “I hear this guy’s a real loony tune,” Korsak said. “Whacks ladies and then preserves ’em as souvenirs. Is