1st to Die (Women's Murder Club 1)

Cindy nodded, but I wanted to make sure she understood.

“Your boss asks you where any of this comes from, you just shrug. Some big shot in the department — I don’t care if it’s Chief Mercer himself — parks his limo outside your door and calls you in about some leak, you say, Thanks for the ride. The district attorney’s office calls you down to a grand jury, asks you to give up your sources, and a judge slaps you into a cell — you just make sure you bring enough reading material to fill the time.”

“I understand,” Cindy said. I could see in her eyes that she did.

The rest of the trip we talked about ourselves, our jobs and hobbies, and an unexpected development began to take shape. I started to like Cindy.

She asked me how long I’d been a cop, and I took her through more of the story than I had planned to. How my father was one, and how he’d left when I was thirteen. How I was sociology at SF State. How I wanted to prove I could make a difference in a man’s world. How a lot of who I was and what I did was simply trying to prove I belonged.

She came back that she was sociology, too, at Michigan. And before we even hit Marin, we had discovered a few other startling things we had in common.

Her younger brother was born on my birthday, October 5. She was also into yoga, and the woman who had first taught me, years before in South San Francisco, was now instructing her in Corte Madera. We both liked to read travel books and mysteries — Sue Grafton, Patricia Cornwell, Elizabeth George. We loved Gordon’s House of Fine Eats.

Cindy’s father had died early — some seventeen years ago — eerily, when she was only thirteen, too.

But the most chilling coincidence — the one that gave me an eerie feeling — was that he died of leukemia, cousin of the same degenerative disease that was coursing through me.

I thought of telling her my secret, but I stopped short. That was Claire’s to hear. But as we drew close to the Golden Gate, I had a premonition that I was riding with someone I was meant to be with, and definitely someone I liked to be with.

Approaching the city, I called Claire. It was hours after we were supposed to meet, but she still seemed eager to get together — and I had a lot to share.

We arranged to keep our date at Susie’s, this time for an early dinner instead of a brunch. She pressed me for what I had found during the day. “I’ll fill you in when I get there,” I told her.

Then I did the second thing that surprised me that day.

I asked, “Do you mind if I bring a friend?”

Chapter 33

CINDY AND I were already into our second margarita by the time Claire walked in. From ten feet away, her smile seemed to brighten the entire room. I stood up and gave her a big hug.

“Couldn’t wait for the old mom?” she said, eyeing the array of empty glasses.

“It’s been a long day,” I explained. “Say hey to Cindy.”

“Pleasure,” said Claire brightly, grasping Cindy’s hand. Though the date had been planned for just her and me, Claire was one of those people who rolled easily with whatever came up.

“Lindsay’s been telling me all about you,” Cindy said over the din.

“Most of it’s true, unless she’s been saying I’m some kind of crackerjack forensic pathologist,” Claire said, grinning.

“Actually, all she’s been saying is that you’re a real good friend.”

Susie’s was a bright, festive café with faux-painted walls and pretty good Caribbean food. They played a little reggae, a little jazz. It was a place where you could kick back, talk, shout, even shoot a rack of pool.

Our regular waitress, Loretta, came up, and we swayed Claire into a margarita for herself and ordered another round of spicy jerked wings.

“Tell me about Reggie’s graduation,” I said.

Claire stole a wing from our bowl and wistfully shook her head. “It’s nice to know after all those years of school, they can actually say a few words that aren’t ‘phat’ or ‘it’s the bomb.’ They looked like a bunch of street-struttin’ kids auditioning for the Grammys, but the principal swears they’ll come out of it eventually.”

“If they don’t, there’s always the Academy.” I grinned, feeling light-headed.

Claire smiled. “I’m glad to see you looking up. When we spoke the other day, it sounded like Cheery was pressing those big, ugly shoes of his all over your toes.”

“Cheery?” asked Cindy.

“My boss. We call him Cheery ’cause he inspires us with his humanistic concern for those entrusted to his command.”