3rd Degree (Women's Murder Club 3)

It was about four-thirty when the girls came to get me. I was doing reports. Although Jacobi and Cappy were bragging they had the best LT on the force, I’d actually felt depressed. Lonely and empty. Until the girls showed up, anyway.

“Hey,” Cindy said, twirling a little Mexican cocktail flag in my face, “margaritas await.”

They took me to Susie’s, the last place we had been with Jil

l. Actually, two years before, it was where we had welcomed her into our budding group. We took our places in our corner booth and ordered a round of margaritas. I ran them through the terrifying struggle at the Palace the night before, the president’s call, then today, Brokaw and the evening news.

It was sad, though, just the three of us. The conspicuous empty space next to Claire.

Our drinks came. “On the house, of course,” the waitress, Joanie, said.

We raised our glasses, each of us trying to smile, but fighting back tears. “Here’s to our girl,” Claire said. “Maybe now she can start to rest in peace.”

“She’ll never rest in peace,” Cindy said, laughing through tears. “Out of character.”

“I’m sure she’s up there now,” I said, “sizing up the pecking order, looking down at us. ‘Hey, guys, I got it all figured out….’”

“Then she’s smiling,” Claire said.

“To Jill,” we all said. We clinked glasses. It was hard to think that this was the way it was going to be from now on. I missed her so much, and never more than that moment at our table, without her.

“So,” Claire said, clearing her throat, her gaze landing on me. “What happens now?”

“We’re gonna order some ribs,” I said, “and I’m gonna have another one of these. Maybe more than one.”

“I think she was actually saying, what’s with you and Deputy Dawg.” Cindy winked.

“He’s heading back to Washington,” I said. “Tonight.”

“For good?” Claire asked, surprised.

“That’s where the listening devices and sleek black helicopters are.” I stirred my drink. “Bell helicopter, I believe.”

“Oh.” Claire nodded. She glanced toward Cindy. “You like this guy, don’t you, Lindsay?”

“I like him,” I said. I flagged Joanie, ordered another round of drinks.

“I don’t mean like him, honey. I mean you really like him.”

“Whad’ya want me to do, Claire? Break out in a chorus of ‘Don’t he make my brown eyes blue’?”

“No,” Claire said, glancing at Cindy, then back to me, “what we want you to do, Lindsay, is put aside whatever it is that’s getting in the way of you doing the right thing for yourself, before you let that guy get on his plane.”

I arched my back against the booth. I swallowed uneasily. “It’s Jill….”

“Jill?”

I took a breath, a sharp rush of tears biting at my eyes. “I wasn’t there for her, Claire. The night she threw Steve out.”

“What’re you talking about?” Claire said. “You were up in Portland.”

“I was with Molinari,” I said. “When I got back it was after one. Jill sounded mixed up. I said I’d come over, but I didn’t press it. You know why? Because I was all dreamy-eyed over Joe. She had just thrown Steve out.”

“She said she was okay,” Cindy said. “You told us.”

“And that was Jill, right? You ever heard her ask for help? Bottom line, I wasn’t there for her. And whether it’s right or wrong, I can’t look at Joe now without seeing her, hearing her needing me, thinking if I had, maybe she’d still be here.”

Neither of them said anything. Not a word. I sat there, my jaw tight, pressing back tears.