Page 118 of Bourbon Bliss
“It’s an equation that doesn’t add up.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice excited. “Exactly.”
I shook my head. Sometimes this woman was infuriating. Her need to understand the intricacies of every problem, math or otherwise, was maddening.
I fucking loved it.
“You’re determined to get me into trouble, aren’t you?” I asked.
“You talked to her. Did she seem crazy?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean sheisn’tcrazy. Especially if you’re going to confront her with DNA evidence that she’s not who she says she is.”
“I understand the implications of what I’m proposing,” she said. “But I need this. If I turn in the DNA results, yes, they’ll reopen Callie’s investigation and maybe someday we’ll have the truth. But it won’t be the same. I need to look this woman in the eyes and ask her why she did this.”
“What if she won’t explain?”
“At least I will have tried.”
I had a feeling that wasn’t precisely what June meant. She could acknowledge there was a possibility that this woman wouldn’t talk to her—wouldn’t tell her what she wanted to know. But June was confident she would. I could see it in her eyes. In the determination she wore like some women wore jewelry.
My sweet June Bug wasn’t asking me for expensive things. She didn’t want a flashy car, designer shoes, or a fancy condo. She wanted me to help her right a wrong.
I reached across the table and enveloped her hand in mine. “Okay, June Bug. We’ll track her down one last time.”
* * *
Since we knewwhere Impostor Callie lived, we simply drove out to Philly and camped in front of her building until she came out. We followed, parked two blocks away when she stopped, and watched her go into a nail salon. That wasn’t exactly ideal for a confrontation of this nature, so we waited.
After coming out of the nail salon, she did us an unintentional favor, heading into the coffee shop next door. We got out of my car and followed her in.
The rich scent of coffee beans filled the air. Impostor Callie stood to the side, her attention on her phone. She appeared to have ordered and was waiting for her coffee.
June walked in as if she owned the place, back straight, all confidence. She went right up to the woman, never breaking stride.
“Callie Kendall?” June asked.
The woman looked up. “Oh. Um, yes. Do I know you?”
“You should, but no, you don’t.”
She glanced around, seeming to notice me. Her eyes widened slightly—did she recognize me?—but moved back to June.
“Do you need something? I’m not doing any more interviews.”
“I’m not here for an interview,” June said. “But I do need to speak to you.”
The barista called Callie’s name and she took her coffee from the counter. “What’s this about?”
June gestured toward a table in the back. Wordlessly, I followed the two women and the three of us sat down.
“I’m June. This is George.”
“We’ve met before,” she said to me. “At the restaurant.”
“You did,” June said. “We’re here because we know you aren’t Callie Kendall.”
I held back a wince. Holy shit, she’d just come right out and said it. No games with this one. God, I loved her.
