Page 93 of My Beautiful Sin

“The guy? Walt?” We hardly ever use his name when we talk about him, but this moment calls for clarity.

She nods, her arms wrapped tight around herself. “I know I’m probably projecting. It’s got to be fear, right? You know, that I’m worrying about having a flashback or shutting down or something if Christopher and I … you know.”

“Do you think you should see someone? Not about thinking you saw Walt,” I hurry to explain. “But someone who can help you work through the sex part. You want it to be good. Special. And if you freeze up or get scared or—”

“No. No therapist.”

“Brandy…”

She tilts her head, and I hold my hands up in surrender to the unspoken message—even with all my shit, I’m not seeing a counselor, so I’m hardly one to talk.

“Fine,” I say. “Just make sure Christopher understands. And that he’s patient. And I’m sure he will be. Billy didn’t know your history. Christopher does. It’ll all be good.”

“I know.” She looks around, as if scoping out the crowd. “And it couldn’t have really been him, right?”

“It’s your mind playing tricks. You were thinking about him, and so there he was. Totally natural. Don’t worry about it.”

“Right. Okay.” She draws a breath. “Come on. Lots more browsing to do.”

An hour later, we’ve shopped our way down another block when my phone vibrates. I pull it out of my pocket and see a picture of the sign from two streets over. The note from Devlin reads - Plan is to meet here in ten minutes. OK?

I text him back a thumbs-up, then tell Brandy, who immediately texts Christopher to make sure he knows the plan. Turns out he’s still with Devlin, so all is good.

We start making our way through the throng to get to the slightly less crowded area one street over. The bar is easy enough to find, not only from the sign, but because Lamar is standing outside waving to us.

“Where are the others?”

“Devlin and Christopher went in with Anna to hold a table, but Tracy bailed,” he says. “She’d already planned a video chat with her mom tonight.”

“So you’re out here being the greeter?” Brandy asks.

Lamar shakes his head. “I did some poking around.” He turns his attention to me. “I have some news on the blonde. The one Ortega saw with Peter.”

Brandy lifts a finger to pause the conversation. “I’ll go on in so they know we’re here, and you two can talk.”

We give her our drink orders, then Lamar and I step further from the door. “So what have you learned?”

“Those archives you wanted from the original investigation into Peter’s death came in this morning, so I did a quick flip through the files.”

My stomach twists with anticipation. “You looked at the witness interviews?”

He nods. “The investigation closed pretty quickly. I mean, once Mercado confessed…”

He trails off as I twirl my hand impatiently. “Yeah. But you found something. About the blonde. What?”

“Might be nothing,” he says. “But they talked with a guy named Cyrus Mulroy. Apparently, he and Peter were acquainted.”

“Drugs?”

He shakes his head, then rubs his hand over his head, the way he does when he’s stalling.

“Lamar, what?”

“I’ve busted Cyrus myself a time or two. He’s pushing sixty now, served time. He’s moved inland. Mission Viejo, I think. I never saw evidence of drugs.”

“Then what—”

“Porn,” Lamar says, flatly. “And he swore in interview that he’d done business with Peter.”