“Frank?” Sara asked, surprised. “Why don’t you get Lena? She’s in a better position to—”
He cut her off. “She’s not a cop.”
Sara kept her mouth shut the last few steps, nearly collapsing with relief when he opened the door at the top of the stairs. Even this late in the day, the upper deck was packed with cars of all makes and models. Overhead, a storm was brewing, the sky turning an ominous black. Security lights flickered on as they walked toward Jeffrey’s unmarked police car.
A group of young men was hanging around a large black Mercedes, their heavily muscled arms crossed over their chests. As Jeffrey walked by, the men exchanged looks, pegging him for a cop. Sara felt her heartbeat accelerate as she waited for Jeffrey to unlock the door, inexplicably scared that something horrible would happen.
Once inside the car, she felt safe cocooned in the plush blue interior. She watched Jeffrey walk around the front to get in, his eyes locked on the group of thugs by the Mercedes. All this posturing had a point, Sara knew. If the boys thought Jeffrey was scared, they would do something to harass him. If Jeffrey thought they were vulnerable, he would probably feel compelled to force something.
“Seat belt,” Jeffrey reminded Sara, closing his door. She did as she was told, clicking the belt across her lap.
Sara was quiet as they drove out of the parking deck. On the street she leaned her head on her hand, watching downtown go by, thinking how different everything was since she had last been here. The buildings were taller, and the cars in the next lane seemed to be driving too close. Sara was no longer a city person. She wanted to be back in her small town where everyone knew one another—or at least thought they did.
Jeffrey said, “I’m sorry I was late.”
“It’s okay,” she said.
“Ellen Schaffer,” he began. “The witness from yesterday.”
“Did she say something?”
“No,” Jeffrey said, then paused before finishing, “She killed herself this morning.”
“What?” Sara demanded. Then, before he could answer, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“You should have called me.”
“What could you have done?”
“Come back to Grant.”
“You’re doing that now.”
Sara tried to quell her irritation. She did not like being protected like this. “Who pronounced the death?”
“Hare.”
“Hare?” Sara said, some of her irritation rubbing off on her cousin for not telling her this on the phone. “Did he find anything? What did he say?”
Jeffrey put his finger to his chin and affected Hare’s voice, which was a few octaves higher than Jeffrey’s. “ ‘Don’t tell me, something’s missing.’ ”