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“She hogs the bed,” Rita muttered, but a tiny smile curved her lips.
“The famous Snickerdoodle,” Sam said, then dug in his pocket for a treat. “My dog, Siggy, got one of her treats, so maybe she’d like one of Siggy’s.”
Rita’s eyes widened as she took the treat. “You know about Snickerdoodle?”
“We’ve never met, but yes. I know of her.” He held his hand under the table for the poodle to sniff and was rewarded with a delicate lick. “She’s a real lady.”
“She is,” Rita said fondly, then snuck a bite of her dinner to the dog.
Betsy just shook her head as she put a plate of something wonderful in front of Sam. “Eat this first, Dr.Reeves. Then you can have some apple pie.”
His stomach growled. “Chicken pot pie? One of my favorites.”
“Mine too,” Rita said.
Betsy sat with them, hiding a smile behind her coffee mug. “No more of the people food to Snick, Rita. Or you’ll be cleaning up the aftereffects.”
Rita made a face. “Okay, Mrs.McK.” She eyed Sam again, less warily this time. “Do you have a picture of Siggy?”
Sam scoffed. “Only a million. Most of them are on my other phone, though. But you can look at the ones I’ve taken in the past few days.” He offered Rita his phone, opened his photo app, and dug into his own dinner as she smiled at Siggy’s antics.
“He’s got a stick in his mouth in every picture,” she said.
“That’s why he’s named Siggy. Short for Sigmund, like the famous psychologist. He smoked cigars.”
Rita chuckled softly. “It does look like your dog’s got a cigar. That’s so cute.” She pulled out her own phone to the pictures she’d taken of Snickerdoodle and Sam oohed and aahed over them while Betsy looked on approvingly.
Joel put his plate in the sink. “I’ll go talk to Harlan and leave you guys to talk dogs. Sam can talk about Siggy for hours.”
When he was gone, Rita gave Betsy an anxious look. “Is he a good lawyer?”
Betsy nodded. “He is.”
“Definitely,” Sam agreed, giving the girl her phone. “He’s my best friend so I’m probably biased, but your mom’s case is in good hands, Rita.”
“Won’t bring her back,” she muttered.
Sam swallowed hard, his eyes stinging. “No, but he can get her justice.”
She met his eyes, hers grim and far older than they should have been. Ripples, he thought. Ripples that had become rogue waves. This child had been swamped by them, her life overturned.
“I want him to pay.”
“So do I,” Sam said and had never meant anything more.
SDPD, San Diego, California
Tuesday, April 19, 8:00 p.m.
“Detective, please have a seat.” Dr.John Scott waved Kit to a chair in the office he kept in the SDPD headquarters. He was about Baz’s age, so midfifties, even though he looked a lot younger, his hair still dark and the skin around his eyes devoid of wrinkles. He was a handsome man, his face now recognizable by millions thanks to his appearances on the legal TV shows. He made a very credible expert witness and audiences loved him. Cops, not so much. Mostly because they were forced to bare their souls to him. It was humiliating.
She sat, forcing a smile to her face. “Thank you for seeing me so late.”
He sat behind his desk, his smile calm, putting her instantly on high alert.
No, she’d been on high alert ever since she’d driven away from Sam Reeves. It had been all she could do not to blurt the whole thing to Baz when she’d visited him in the hospital before this appointment. He’d known something was up, but he hadn’t pressed her on it, for which she was grateful.
He had pushed when she’d gotten up to leave, pouting because she couldn’t stay longer. She hadn’t wanted to tell him that she was coming to see Scott, because Baz would have worried. Or been annoyed on her behalf, because Baz didn’t like coming to see him, either. So she’d lied for the first time ever to her partner, saying that she was going home to McKittrick House.
