Page 67 of Second Chance

“Or this?” Tony slams the second baggie, the one with the knife, on the table next to it. “This was on our door last Thursday.”

“Why didn’t you call methen?”

“Daniel refused. He thought you would arrest him or Colette for it.”

“I wouldn’t—”

Tony crosses his arms.

“Well, at least he’d have been safe in custody.” Detective Taylor has the good grace to at least look sheepish. “It’s not uncommon for people to get a taste of adrenaline chasing criminals, and then start creating their own crimes.”

“It’s not uncommon for innocent people to end up in jail in this country because the police won’t do their fucking jobs.” Tony slams the junk drawer shut with more force than necessary.

Choosing this as her moment for some reason, Colette leans forward. “What about the husband? He and Amelia were having difficulties, and he made a scene at her memorial. He yelled at Daniel.”

“You didn’t tell me he yelled at Daniel.” Tony turns to her, frowning.

“He didn’t want to worry you.” Colette’s mouth twists. “Clearly, that worked well.”

The detective throws her hands up. “Are all of you incapable of following basic instructions?”

Tony opens his mouth to deny it; he wants more than anything to tell her she’s the one who’s incapable. It’s her fault for alienating Daniel so thoroughly he put himself in danger again. Tony stops short, clinging to the belief that at least now she knows, she can do something to save Daniel.

“Right,” Taylor says, voice grim. Despite her disheveled appearance, she’s all professionalism. “Well, this has been illuminating. Call me if you hear from him.”

“Wait.” Tony follows her to the door. “Do you think it’s connected? Do you think Daniel’s in danger?”

“Mr. d’Angelo,” the detective says firmly, not unkindly, but unbending. “There’s no way I can give you an answer right now. I’ll let you know when I have more information.”

“But what do wedo?” It comes out plaintive, desperate, which Tony hates. “I have to do something.” This isn’t anything like when Mario Lombardi died. At the time, there was nothing moretodo. The event passed, and Tony had no reason to expect anything else to happen. His role was clear: Support Gianna and do what was best for her.

“The best thing you can do is stay where he can find you. If he can, I’m sure he’ll come home. Are you in touch with his family?”

Tony nods.

“You could let them know. If we haven’t found him by the end of the day, you could make flyers.”

Tony wants to scream.

With a tight smile, Taylor leaves, the evidence held between her pinched thumb and forefinger.

It’s still only five in the morning. Daniel’s family on the West Coast won’t be awake for hours. Tony and Colette drift into the kitchen for more coffee. Neither of them can think of anything to say. Eventually, Tony gets too jittery to sit, so he takes a shower. He uses Daniel’s shampoo, letting the smell of it fill the small bathroom. It’s generic—of course it is, it’s three in one—in the way bottom-of-the-shelf men’s hygiene products always are. They made no effort to make it smell like something that would occur naturally. The label says it’s “fresh and clean,” and it does smell like both of those things.

Mostly, it smells like Daniel.

Tony keeps his bag of toiletries in the mirrored cabinet above the sink. Daniel mostly uses it to store his huge bottle of Advil for tension headaches. Tony brought his kit over sometime inJanuary, and it’s stayed here ever since. He needs it for beard care every other day, and he’s been here at least that often. Since it’s still early, and he can’t think of anything else to do, Tony gets out the circular beard brush and starts methodically brushing out his beard. He hasn’t had time or energy to trim it in at least a week or two, and it’s starting to get a little wild. He usually goes for a sleeker look. By now, he’s edging closer and closer to hipster territory.

Daniel never had a beard. He says he tried in his teens, and it was such a patchy disaster he never wanted to repeat it. Tony thinks it would be worth a shot now. If Daniel doesn’t come back, they’ll never know.

The thought takes Tony out at the knees, and he has to sit on the closed toilet lid for a long moment, just breathing.

Today isn’t the day for a trim. He doesn’t trust himself with the scissors right now. Best to leave it at a thorough brush. Halfway through, he pats in some beard oil. It’s neutral, so it won’t mask the scent of Daniel’s shampoo.

Colette knocks while he’s trying to brush out the stubborn swirl of hair on the left, under his jawline.

He has a towel wrapped around his waist, so he opens the door. “What’s up?”

“Do you want breakfast? I can get something from Bread and Basket.”

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