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right along behind you.”
    My mother hopped into the backseat of the black car. “We’ll make room for you, Cal. The Clure can sit up front. See you at the hotel!” She waved as Callin squeezed in next to her and closed the door.
    With a thin smile, my father lifted his head. “Got all that?” he asked.
    I chuckled as he walked around to the other side of the car. “Got it.”
    The car pulled away. I turned to smile at Murdock. The bags still dangled from his shoulders. With a flick of the wrist, he flung one at me, and I caught it with a laugh. “I wasn’t planning on chauffeuring you to a hotel,” he said.
    I picked up the lone bag on the curb and walked to where Murdockhad parked his car in the fire lane. “Oh, come on, Leo. It’s not like you don’t want to see more of this.”
    He popped the trunk, and we pushed the bags in among his extra police gear, the spare tire, a milk crate filled with cleaning bottles, a pile of books, balled-up blankets, and a closed trash bag I was not going to ask about. It was cleaner than his backseat. “Oh, I think I’ve seen enough to get the picture,” he said.
    “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” I said.
    We got in the car, and he pulled into the exit lane. “Connie and Callie, huh?”
    I glowered at him. “Oh, shut up.”
    He giggled.

4
     
    Despite mild pleading and promises of embarrassing family dynamics, Murdock resisted coming into the hotel. He helped unload his car onto a luggage trolley, then slammed the trunk and waved. “I have an appointment.”
    “But you can eat all the olives in the minibar,” I said.
    He smirked. “Bribing a police officer will get you a jail cell.”
    I held out my hands, loosely together at the wrist. “Please?”
    “Let me know if you get any leads on the dead elf,” he said, and pulled away. I didn’t mind. I loved my family, but having an independent ally around when we were all together would have been comforting. I pushed the trolley into the lobby, where a bellhop rushed to take it away from me.
    The hotel suite had the hushed eloquence of money crossed with the generic style of hotel glamour. My parents weren’t rich, but they were comfortable. My mother appeared from the bedroom. She had removed most of the jewelryfrom the plane. “Why were you wearing everything you own?” I asked.
    She hugged me with a chuckle, then settled onto the couch while the Clure rummaged in the bar. “People run up to you in airports and cut the strap off your carry-on.”
    “Mother….” I said.
    “They do! I read about it. I didn’t want to take any chances. Your father”—she eyed him dramatically—“thinks I’m alarmist, but here I sit with all my belongings.”
    My father checked the view out the window. “Except for the diplomatic pouch with fifty thousand dollars you left in the coffee shop.”
    Callin choked on his drink. “What the hell are you doing with fifty thousand dollars in cash?”
    “Your mother was afraid the banks would fail while we were in flight,” my father said.
    Callin stared at me, another one of our comrade moments, united in the baffling things our parents did. “Please tell me you have the pouch,” he said.
    My mother tilted her head in thought. “Grey, you had the pouch last. Remember, I told you to tip the porter?” She used a pet name for my father in conversation, but when she used a name, it was Grey.
    “You said give him the pouch,” he said.
    My mother gasped in horror. “I said pound! Give him the pound! You had that change in your hand,” she said. When Callin groaned, my mother shot me an impish smile. She was not above playing on her son’s perception of her as crazy. She slapped Callin’s knee and laughed. Chagrined, he dropped his head back as he realized he had fallen for her act.
    My mother and Cal worked like that, joking, chastising, teasing. They connected on a comfort level I never had with her. My parents were always my parents, loved and loving. I knew I could rely