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“She is. She and the McKittricks met with the social worker this morning. She said that Kit was there and to thank you for suggesting she include her. Kit helped.” Vivian lifted her eyebrows. “She also said to tell you that she’s ‘working on Kit.’ ”
Sam’s cheeks heated a second time. “She oughtn’t do that.” It wasn’t fair to Kit. Besides, Sam wanted Kit to want him on her own, not because she’d been worn down to accept him.
“Well, Rita’s fourteen and thinks both you and Kit walk on water. Have a good evening, Sam.”
“You too.” He closed the door behind her, then sat at his desk and forced his mind back to his session with Mrs. Gibson long enough to complete his notes. Then he stared at his phone, wishing he could call Kit and ask what she’d learned about Frankie’s killer.
Wishing he could call Kit, period. But he couldn’t. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t pursue her. That when she came to him—if she came to him—it would be her decision alone.
But he wanted to know why she’d seemed startled at Frankie running an antique store. And he wanted to know about Frankie’s son.
Had Frankie been married before Ryan? To a woman perhaps? Or was the son adopted? Adoption would have been unlikely given Frankie’s current age, as single men hadn’t been allowed to adopt back then. But it wasn’t impossible.
He did a quick Google search on Frankie Flynn, but only the articles about his murder came up. He searched a free person-finding database, only to come up with an address in San Francisco. Which couldn’t be right. Shady Oaks had been Frankie’s permanent address.
When he googled the address itself, he was doubly sure it couldn’t be right. It was a super-ritzy house in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the Bay Area.
His glance fell to his phone once again. He really wanted to know about Frankie’s life before Shady Oaks, but he couldn’t ask Benny. It would upset him too much. Plus, he was probably still asleep.
So he dialed the main number and asked for Georgia Shearer. Georgia might know, but he couldn’t come right out and ask. She was a crusty old lady and was sometimes tight-lipped if she thought you wanted to gossip.
But this wasn’t gossip. Was it?
He winced at the thought. Maybe. He was reaching for the end button to hang up when Georgia’s voice came on the line. She sounded so tired and Sam felt guilty anew.
“Hello?”
“Miss Georgia, this is Sam Reeves.”
She blew out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad it’s you. I’ve had dozens of calls from reporters today, asking about Frankie. I asked the front desk to screen incoming calls.”
“They must have recognized my caller ID. How are you, Miss Georgia?”
“I’m okay. Rattled and tired. It’ll sink in about Frankie later. It always does.”
“It always does?”
“This isn’t my first rodeo, Sam. I’m eighty-two years old. I’ve seen just about everyone I know die. Some have been harder than others. Some hit fast and some take a while to sink in. I think Frankie will take a while, just because of the circumstances.”
The circumstances. Frankie getting stabbed to death with a butcher knife. “You saw him.”
A hard swallow, audible over the phone. “Yes. I did. Everyone keeps telling me to go to sleep, but I can’t. I’m afraid I’ll see it again.”
He wished he had a good suggestion, but it was a fair worry. “I’m sorry, Georgia.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “You loved him, too.”
“I did. Miss Evans asked me to play at his service. She said you might do the eulogy.”
“I’m sitting here right now, trying to write it. I may ask for your help.”
“You know you’ve got it. Anything you need. If you need to talk about what you saw or even just talk about Frankie.” He hesitated, then decided to ask. “Miss Georgia, Miss Evans also said that Frankie had a son who wasn’t coming to his funeral.”
Georgia sniffed. “Brat.”
Sam blinked. “Me?”
“Of course not. I’m talking about Gerald. Frankie loved him so much, but they were estranged. I think Frankie had all but given up on healing whatever rift was between them. Now it’s too late.”
