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“Look, I get it, you and Margo aren’t together anymore. But why do I have to cut her out of my life, too? I like Margo. I mean, you don’t hate her, do you?”
“Of course not.” Quite the opposite.
“Can I invite her to the graduation party?”
They were having a party Sunday afternoon here at the house.
“You can invite anyone you want. It’s your party.”
She gave him the look—her head tilted, her eyes slightly narrowed, her lips in a tight line.
“You want me to ask her.”
“She’s not going to come if she thinks you don’t want her here.”
It was a complicated situation and Rick didn’t want to discuss it with his daughter. Margo had crossed a line and Rick was still angry about it. Yet... Sam didn’t have a mom around. Mickey Otter was a good role model, but she had four boys under ten that kept her very busy, and a part-time job at the hospital. Margo had given Sam time—something no other woman had given his daughter since Caroline left when she was six.
“Alright. I’ll invite her.”
“Thanks, Dad.” She smiled, revealing faint dimples.
He loved his kid more than anything in the world.
“Ten minutes.”
She gave him a thumbs-up and turned back to her book.
Otto arrived just before midnight. He was a large black man who loved being a cop as much as he loved being a dad. Otto loved everything about life and Rick was grateful for his friendship.
“Have a beer for your best friend?” Otto grinned widely.
“Sure, and one for you, too.” Rick pulled out a light beer and handed it to Otto, then grabbed one for himself, though he probably wouldn’t finish it.
They went outside. The evening was perfect, no wind, a comfortable seventy-five degrees. Rick enjoyed his yard. It was shaped like a slice of pie—no front yard to speak of since he was on the curve of the cul-de-sac—but the backyard was wide and relaxing. Open space behind them, a large outdoor kitchen which he used often, covered patio, small pool with hot tub, established trees—desert willows along the back interspersed with paloverde, and lemon trees along the side that produced some of the biggest lemons Rick had ever seen. And grass. Grass in the desert was a luxury, but he had an L-shaped patch, part of which went under the dog run.
Max and Lucy came out with them and sat at Rick’s feet.
“What’s wrong?” Otto asked as he leaned back in the cushioned Adirondack chair and looked out at the garden lights.
He told Otto what Margo had said about Peter Carillo. “Do you know him? He’s thirty-one, been with DPS for eight years.”
“Carillo—Yeah, I think I do. Margo helped his wife disappear?”
“He’s abusive. He raped her.”
“Allegedly.”
“Don’t.”
“Just saying, anyone can make accusations about anyone.”
“Margo investigated her allegations, she believes her. Margo isn’t knee-jerk—she’s not going to help someone who’s making shit up.”
“No, no she wouldn’t.” Otto sipped his beer, his long broad body stretched out, his face unreadable in the dim lighting.
A few years older than Rick, Otto was a thoughtful man, wise, disciplined. They’d met on the job more than a decade ago and had been friends ever since.
“Carillo patrols mostly the north end of the valley. I’ve worked a couple scenes with him. Meticulous. Not chatty, but friendly.”
