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“I won’t. I promise.”
“Thank you.” She sighed. “So... I was walking through the Quarter, minding my own business, and came upon a sidewalk café where a couple was going at it, hot and heavy.”
“Your brother and Sandra Springfield.”
“Yes. I was like, ‘Van?’ and they jumped apart like they were teenagers caught necking on the front porch. I remember that Van seemed... hesitant.”
“Hesitant about what?”
“About introducing me. At least that’s how it seemed. So I introduced myself. ‘I’m Val, Van’s twin.’ She said her name was Cassie. No last name. She seemed amused. Van turned bright red. I asked if she would be joining us for Thanksgiving and Van said no, that she had a family function of her own. She looked disappointed at that and it got awkward. I left, but Van followed me. Told me that he hadn’t yet introduced her to the folks, that he wasn’t sure how serious it was and didn’t want the parental attention. I got that and told him that his secret was safe with me.” She sighed quietly. “And then he died.”
“Did you ever tell your parents about the woman?”
“I didn’t have to. Van ended up bringing her home for dinner about a week before he died. I didn’t know that until Mom and I were going through some of Van’s things and we found a photo. Mom said, ‘Oh, Van’s girlfriend. She was so nice.’ But then she started crying and I didn’t want to push her.”
Kaj wondered about the circumstances of Ivan Kristiansen’s death. That Ivan had followed the youngest Kristiansen sister to where she was buying drugs from dealers who just happened to be connected with his own girlfriend? Seemed way too coincidental.
He wondered if Sylvi Kristiansen had been buying from Sandra. He wondered if Ivan had suspected. He wondered if Sandra had been involved in Ivan’s death. But he didn’t voice any of those questions. It wasn’t the time. Plus, he had no doubt that Val had already thought of all of that.
“So your mother framed the photo and put it on the mantel after only meeting her once?”
“Yes. She was Van’s girl and Mom said how happy he looked in the photo. That was how she wanted to remember him. But I never really looked at it. It was hard to look at photos of Van after he was gone. It still is.”
“I get that,” he said softly.
“I know you do. But I don’t want to tell my mom that I’m here about the photo.”
“If you’re not planning on telling her, what’s your excuse for bringing me?”
Val’s smile was dry. “That you’re my new... friend?”
Kaj lifted a brow. “Won’t she ask questions about what kind of friend?”
“She most definitely will.” Her smile faltered. “I figured I’d let her wonder.”
“And if she’s wondering about me, then she won’t notice that you’re checking out the photo of your brother.”
“If that’s okay with you.”
Kaj brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her fingers. “It’s fine.”
“Thank you.” She gave his hand a final squeeze before pulling away. “Let’s go. Mom’s spotted us.”
“Let me get your door. I like to be polite in front of mothers.” She was wearing a tight smile when he opened her door. If he hadn’t gotten to know her over the past few days, he might have believed the smile was real. He hoped it fooled her mother. Gripping her hand, he followed Val into her childhood home, where a tiny blond woman stood just inside the door, waiting.
“Hi, Mom.” Val bent down to kiss her mother’s cheek. Val had to be a foot taller than her mother, but the resemblance otherwise was unmistakable.
Her mother kissed both of Val’s cheeks. “We missed you, Ingrid.” Hearing Val called Ingrid was a bit jarring. But it suited her. “Your father will be so sorry he wasn’t here,” she went on. “He’s in a faculty meeting at the university right now.” The older woman aimed a sly look Kaj’s way. “And who is this?”
“Mom, I want to introduce you to my friend. This is Jean-Pierre Cardozo. And this is my mother, Britta Kristiansen.”
Surprised that Val had used his more formal name, Kaj let go of her hand and extended his to her mother. “But my friends call me Kaj. Spelled K-a-j but pronounced like ‘pie.’ ” Because if things did go well with Val, he wanted to start as he meant to go on.
Britta took his hand. “And how else would you pronounce it? It’s a good Scandinavian name. Welcome, Kaj.” She hadn’t let go of his hand yet. “Would you like some tea?”
“It’s sweet tea,” Val warned, and Kaj laughed.
“I think I’ll pass. I’m from New York. I’m still getting used to sweet tea.”
