pointed towards the kitchen. “He’s in there, cooking.”
“On his birthday?”
Samantha got up and walked over. “We tried to stop him, but you know how he is.”
“Stubbornness runs strong in us Greysons,” said Sam.
I nodded and smiled at Samantha, trying to be pleasant. She didn’t return the gesture. Right then, I knew it was going to be one of those nights.
“Hey, old man,” I said upon entering the kitchen.
Richard was standing by the stove, stirring spaghetti sauce. He turned, and when he saw me his face lit up. That moment alone would make enduring the ice queen, who once was Sam’s wife, worth it.
“Riley! Glad you could make it.” Richard wiped his hands off on his jeans. He looked like an older version of Sam, only with more grey and wrinkles. When he hugged me I could smell liquor.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I handed him the present I had been holding since getting out of my car. “For you.” I handed it to him. It was some new hair clippers. He mentioned to me how his old ones broke the previous time I was over.
“Why don’t you tell everyone it’s time to eat?”
I did just that. The six of us took our places around the dining room table. Richard was at the head. I was to the right of him, along with the two kids. Sam and Samantha sat next to each other on the left.
“So, how are things down at the station?” asked Richard as he took some salad.
“Oh, you know. Slow,” answered Sam.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Slow means uneventful. Uneventful means people aren’t committing crimes. No crimes mean people aren’t getting hurt out there. Thank you, buddy.” Rich passed his dad the plate of garlic bread. Or at least he tried to. His little arms couldn’t reach cross the table. “You know how it is, Dad.”
“How about you, Riley? How’s the … what is it you do again?” asked Samantha. There was mischief in her eyes.
“Private investigation.” I wanted to just punch her straight in those high cheekbones.
“How’s the private investigation thing going?”
I was pretty sure that Samantha was baiting me into a trap. She’d find some way to make me look stupid. Trouble was, I was smarter than her. So I’d answer and trample over anything she tried to add. Snide remarks and little disguised verbal jabs from her wouldn’t even be heard. It’d drive her nuts.
“It’s going okay.”
“Really just o—”
“I just took a case yesterday.” I talked right over Samantha. I could feel her eyes. “This kid, Dennis Clark, was found dead a couple of weeks back. You remember, the one they found outside of Saint Mercy?”
I heard the clink of the ice in Richard’s cup. He finished a sip of his bourbon. “I remember. It was all over the news. Rich kid. He overdosed, right?”
“Yeah, on heroin.”
“Horrible stuff,” added Sam.
“What’s hero in?” asked little Rich in his androgynous kid voice. It was adorable.
“Nothing, baby. Eat your spaghetti.” Samantha was cold, even to her own son.
“Anyway, his parents hired me. They felt like the police weren’t doing enough.”
“That’s because there was nothing else to do,” said Sam defensively. “It was an accident. The kid shot up a little too much and his ‘friends’ dumped him at the ER.”
“I don’t know about that. They seemed pretty convinced that he didn’t do it to himself.” After finishing those sentences, I stuffed my mouth with spaghetti. It was delicious.
“Of course they are. He was their son. No one wants to believe that their son killed himself; whether it was an accident or not.” I knew that tone in Sam’s voice. He wasn’t going to let it go.
“You may be right. But, then again, you may not be. And if the Clarks are correct, then don’t they have the right to find out what really happened to their son?”
Sam spun up a fork full of noodles. He kind just held it halfway between his plate and his mouth as he talked. “And what if