Deserves to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“Fine.”

Pescoli took a detour to the lower level of town located on the banks of the river, then drove to Joltz, her favorite coffee shop, wit

h not only a walk-up but a drive-up window. A blond barista took their orders. Decaf coffee and a raspberry scone for her and just a cup of jasmine tea for Alvarez.

“I got this,” Pescoli offered before her partner could dig into her wallet. As the Jeep idled beneath a wide awning covering the order pick-up area, she dug into a space meant for sunglasses where she’d wedged a change purse along with a spare set of shades. She pulled out a couple bills, then rolled the window down as the barista appeared again. Despite the shelter of the roof, a blast of cold wind managed to sneak into the car as Pescoli handed the blonde some cash in exchange for the drinks and a white paper bag presumably holding her scone. “Keep the change,” she told the barista, then rolled the window up quickly and handed Alvarez her cup. “God, it’s cold.”

“Montana. In winter.” Alvarez pulled the tab from the top of her cup and tested a sip as Pescoli took a long swallow.

She dropped her cup into its holder and eased the Jeep onto the street. “Yeah, but you know we could still do this same job in Phoenix or San Diego or El Paso or somewhere warmer.”

“You’d hate Phoenix.”

“Why?’

“Too dry. Too many people. Not your style. San Diego’s crowded, too close to the border. El Paso?” Alvarez’s eyebrows raised a fraction. “Really?”

“Maybe.”

“For sure.”

Pescoli rolled to a stop at the light and took another drink, the warm coffee taking off a bit of the chill as the police band crackled.

“So,” Alvarez said as Pescoli turned onto the road that wound along the face of Boxer Bluff, the Jeep’s wheels bouncing a little over the railroad tracks. “You’re wearing your ring again.”

“I’m getting married.” Pescoli had put the ring on again, but she wished she hadn’t.

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, I don’t know. . . .” Pescoli sighed. “I was talking to my kids and they’re less than enthusiastic, but I’m going to marry Santana, crazy as that may be. My third time, and all. I just didn’t want to talk about it, so I took the ring off.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t mean with you,” Pescoli assured her. “Just everybody else. And with Grayson’s death, I just . . .”

“I know. I do,” Alvarez said solemnly. “It’s so damn hard.”

“You got that right. Jeremy’s okay with it. He’s planning to move out, anyway.” As they reached the station, Pescoli waited for a flatbed heading in the opposite direction to pass, then pulled into the parking lot and nosed into an empty slot, her tires slipping into the ruts from an earlier vehicle. “Bianca isn’t a fan of the idea. She’s made that abundantly clear.”

“She’ll come around.”

“Hope you’re right.” Cutting the engine and pocketing her keys, Pescoli thought of her daughter’s issues. Bianca’s preoccupation with her looks, how she was trying to “diet” to fit into the bikini good old Michelle had given her for Christmas, that she was obsessive about her weight. Not good signs.

Luke and Michelle planned to take Jeremy and Bianca on a trip to Arizona or California or somewhere warm enough to sunbathe for spring break. Hence, all of Bianca’s concerns about being “bikini ready.” There was even talk of a spa treatment before the trip that included manicures, pedicures, facials, and waxing.

“Have you set the date yet?”

“No.” Pescoli found the bag with her scone in it, dropped it into her purse, grabbed her coffee cup, and opened the door. Again, the winter weather billowed inside. San Diego can’t be that crowded, she thought. As she slammed the door shut and headed into the building, she said, “It’ll be a small thing, though. The wedding. Maybe just the two of us, maybe my kids. We haven’t even discussed it. But I’ve already been to this rodeo a couple times, so it’ll be low key.”

“Got it.” Once they were inside, Alvarez added, “I’ll start with the victim’s family and associates, friends, enemies—”

“She didn’t have any. Remember?”

“Right.”

They exchanged a look.

“I’ll take the ring,” Pescoli said. “It’s pretty distinctive, so maybe we’ll get lucky and find it in a pawn shop.”