Page 41 of Truth, Lies, and Second Dates
“Oh. It’s against your, uh, coroner’s oath? That’s okay,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t want you to do something against your—”
“No, I mean I cannot lie. I’m awful at it. Watch.” He looked her straight in the face and announced, “Your hair looks foolish and unattractive.”
Her hand rose instinctively to her curls. “Huh. Is it the catfish grease? Or the texture?”
“Neither. See? I was unable to pull that off. Ilikeyour hair.”
What are you DOING? Making a bigger idiot of myself than usual,he thought glumly.
“Okay, so you’re a bad liar, and on an unrelated note, I need a shampoo. But come with me tonight; one way or the other, I’ll get you in.”
Which sounded downright dire, depending on where you were on the “Is Ava the killer?” debate.
“It might work,” he said. “There weren’t many family members at the scene this morning. Only Mrs. Monahan and Dennis, I believe. If they even remember me—”
“They’ll remember you,” Ava said quickly. “Believe it.”
“—it would have only been a glimpse.” He cleared his throat.Was that a compliment? Did she think I was memorable in a positive context? Or because I’m a freak, even by coroner standards? And why do I care?
“See? Easy. Your niece is awesome, by the way,” she added out of nowhere.
Careful.He tightened up, then forced himself to relax. He was still furious with himself that he had (possibly) exposed his family to a (possible) murderess. “Thank you. We think so as well.”
“It’s none of my business, but—”
“Automobile accident when Hannah was two.” Smashed at a red light by a distracted driver with a BAC of .117. The driver never so much as tapped his brakes. A careless wave, a quick trip to Target to buy Hannah some baby food, and then… gone.
Ava nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, my folks, too. Happens all the time—everyone knows someone who was hurt or killed in their car. But sure: let’s put the focus on keeping marijuana illegal.”
He couldn’t follow the non sequitur and didn’t try. “We did not… Hannah’s father made himself unavailable roughly twenty minutes after conception. Even now, no one knows where he is. And Abe’s wife had died of cancer just after Hannah was born. We were…” Distraught. Dismayed. Clueless and afraid and overwhelmed. “It was Abe’s idea to raise her together.”
Abraham Simon, who spoke nine languages and told everyone he had been an accountant before retirement, a lie going by the calluses on his palms alone. Abraham Simon, who had been kindness personified to his sister and her family and never qualified that affection but showed over time that it was unconditional.
Tom had not planned on making a best friend out of the tragedy, never mind one in his fifties. And darn it to heck, he still didn’t know how to introduce the man to people.
But as the cat was out of the bag, so to speak, he deduced further discussion wouldn’t put his family in any more danger than they already were from his dog-park blunder. “Hannah’s IQ is immeasurable,” hebraggedannounced.
“Well, yeah. Listen, when she’s ruling the world, try to put in a good word for me, will ya?”
“No promises.” He brightened, thinking about Hannah’smilestones. First word: “Unacceptable.” First full sentence: “Broccoli is unacceptable.” And she refused to crawl. Went from sitting to walking, which had been amazing to see. One day she had simply gotten up and done it. His sister had been simultaneously proud and amused to see her daughter and her brother had so many traits in common.
He thought about mentioning Hannah’s upcoming trip to the MAGE conference in Boston—Hannah was the youngest invitee in years—but had been careless with too many personal details already. “Hannah and Abe thought you were very nice,” he summed up, which was true. Though he’d made sure to take Abe aside to warn him Ava could well be considered a person of interest in the near future.Well, sure,Abe had said, amused.It’s always the quiet ones. Except when it isn’t.
“Well, I thought they were nice, too. As well as your giant dog with a wrecking ball for a tail. And now that I’ve said my piece… and you’ve said yours”—Ava looked up at the waitress, who had appeared to whisk away their dishes—“I’d like to close this meeting-meal by ordering bread pudding.”
He shrugged. “If you wish to consume wet bread, I have no objections.”
She rolled her eyes, which was as irritating as it was charming. “Oh, you’re one of those guys. And it’s adorable that you thought I was asking permission to eat dessert.”
“Did you know bread pudding was invented as a way to use up inedible stale bread and was often combined with suet?” he asked pleasantly.
“Yes, Tom, I knew that. Well. Most of that.” She wrinkled her nose. “Suet?”
“Bread pudding, stuffing,french toast,casse-croûte, panzanella, ribollita… you are essentially consuming garbage. You are paying restaurant prices to consume garbage.”
“And an extra order to go!” she called after the waitress while glaring in his direction. “In case I want to consume stale bread at midnight. Because there is nothing more delicious at midnight than stale bread. So there.”
There was nothing for it; he laughed and hoped, again, that she wasn’t a killer.
