“I never thought there was a killer out there who could scare me more than Kiss-Me-Not,” Lindsay murmured.  She sat on the old faded sofa, her shoulders slumped and her brown eyes rimmed with red and deep, dark circles.  She looked like she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in days… maybe weeks. 

The psychiatrist tilted his head.  “Does he?”

“Scare me?”  Lindsay asked.  “Yes,” she whispered.  Hell yes, her thoughts added.

“He’s made it personal.”

“So did Harris.  He killed my father.”

“But this is different,” the shrink pointed out gently.

“Yeah.”  Lindsay’s voice was a faint imitation of itself.  “This one is different.”

Six months earlier…

Lindsay moved through the Saturday morning drizzle, her uniform already so soaked an umbrella made little sense.  She passed trees, flowers, and headstones, the wet scent of them invading her senses as she made her way toward the limo, her brown eyes focused on the passing blades of grass under foot.  An American flag was folded just so and tucked fiercely under her right arm, shielded from the weather as much as possible.

As she reached the car, the door opened and Jill stepped out with an umbrella in hand.  She ushered Lindsay inside and the inspector dipped her head and complied, sliding in next to Cindy and diagonal to Claire.  Jill slipped back inside and closed the door.  They sat in silence for several moments as the rain drummed on the roof before the limo eased forward and seemed to glide from the cemetery.

Lindsay kept her eyes on the floor, hoping the others wouldn’t try to get her to talk.  She just wanted to go home.  She just wanted to be alone with a bottle of scotch and memories of her father.

A warm hand slid into Lindsay’s cold one.  Cindy said nothing, just offered Lindsay wordless comfort.  It took a few moments but Lindsay finally squeezed back. 

Cindy felt Lindsay relax marginally beside her and she shifted closer, trying to share some of her body heat with her now shivering friend.  Taking a breath, she reached over and eased the flag from Lindsay’s arm before laying it reverently across her own lap.  She worried her presumptuousness would anger the inspector but Lindsay only looked at her, a tiny sliver of gratitude visible in her tired and tear-filled eyes.

Heedless of the rain-soaked clothes, Cindy put her head down on Lindsay’s shoulder.  No one said a word as the limo carried them back to the church and their waiting cars.  The hardest part of the day was almost over.

****

 There was nothing left for Claire, Jill and Cindy to do but watch from under the shelter of the church entrance as Lindsay drove away.

“Someone should be with her,” Cindy protested.

Claire shook her head.  “Honey, I know you want to help, but…”

“She lost her father.  I know what that feels like.  She may say she wants to be alone but she doesn’t.”

“Cindy,” Jill said, her voice sounding raspy and raw.  “She won’t appreciate it.  When Lindsay says she wants to be alone she means it.  I know first hand, kiddo.  Give her some time to grieve.  When she’s ready for us to be there she’ll let us know.”

Every fiber of Cindy’s being was telling her to go to Lindsay.  She understood that Jill and Claire knew Lindsay better than anyone, but her instincts were rarely wrong… and they were rarely this strong.  “You do what you feel is right.”

“Cindy,” Claire warned.

“Give me your keys to her place,” Cindy told Jill

“I am not going to be an accessory to this act of stupidity,” Jill huffed.  She crossed her arms and looked at Cindy defiantly.

“Jill,” Cindy pleaded.  “She’s going to go home and drink.  You know it and I know it.  I don’t care if I have to sit out on the street in my car and keep watch.  Someone needs to be there for her right now, and I know what she’s feeling better than anyone.”

Claire gently nudged Jill in the side with her elbow.  “Give the girl the keys.”

Cindy watched them both with a hopeful expression as the rain picked up in intensity behind them.

“Fine.”  Jill fished the set of keys out of her purse and slapped them into Cindy’s palm.  She pretended to be annoyed even though she was secretly relieved.   “If she kicks you out of the club for this, don’t come crying to me.”

“It’s not a club,” Cindy replied cheekily.  She grinned when Jill shook her head but smiled.  “If she doesn’t want me there she can throw me out.”  Cindy stepped forward and gave them both a quick hug.  “I’ll call you later and you can tell me you told me so.”

Jill and Claire watched her dart out into the rain.  Jill seemed to reconsider and took a step after her but Claire grabbed her wrist.  “Let her go,” she said in a resigned voice.  “Some things you have to learn on your own.”

Jill paused as she watched Cindy clamber into Maggie, her little red Saab.  “What if she’s right?”

Claire smiled.  “Then I guess it’s a good thing she’s more stubborn than we are.”

*****

 Act 1:   

“What’s the best approach here, Thomas?”  Two hours later Cindy sat in her car outside Lindsay’s apartment.  She’d run home and packed a bag before swinging by Mike’s Pizza and getting Lindsay her favorite deep dish.  She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, breathing in the scent of rain and mozzarella as she watched Lindsay’s windows for signs of life.

She knew Lindsay was in there hurting and it was driving Cindy nearly out of her mind.  It was a ground rule of the club.  Make Lindsay laugh when the chips were down.  Well the damn chips were all over the floor right now.  Pete was half a world away, Lindsay’s father was dead and the case that had ruined Lindsay’s marriage and damn near destroyed her life had come to a violent end.

Cindy knew if she’d been in Lindsay’s shoes she would have come completely unhinged by now.  It was too much too fast, even for someone as strong as Lindsay Boxer.  A meltdown had to be coming and the reporter was terrified at the thought of Lindsay being alone when it happened.  Lindsay would put on a brave front but underneath it Cindy knew the flavor of the pain Lindsay was in.  She’d tasted it herself.

She decided against knocking.  Lindsay would either ignore her or slam the door in her face.  That meant the direct approach was her only option.  Hopefully Lindsay wouldn’t shoot her.

Or arrest her for breaking and entering.

Taking a deep breath, Cindy shoved her door open, grabbed her bag and the pizza, and then made a mad dash for Lindsay’s front porch.  She fumbled with the unfamiliar locks but finally got them open before stepping inside.  Trotting quickly up the steps she came to Lindsay’s apartment door on the second floor and began sorting through keys once more.  She found the right one this time on the first try and shouldered the door open, turning to call out and announce her presence.  Her teeth snapped together when she found herself face to muzzle with Lindsay’s gun.  “Hi.”

Lindsay rolled her eyes and re-holstered her weapon.  “If I had been one more drink into that bottle I might have shot you,” she slurred.  She noted Cindy’s bag and the pizza but was slow to connect the dots.  “You going somewhere?”

“Already there.”  Cindy kicked the door closed then thrust the pizza box into Lindsay’s hands.  She could smell the scotch on Lindsay’s breath and her nose wrinkled a little in reaction as she brushed past her and headed for the living room.  It didn’t escape her attention that Lindsay was now barefoot in worn and torn jeans and a t-shirt.  She tried not to let it worry her that her friend was wearing her service weapon under the circumstances.

Lindsay stared fuzzily at the box in her hands before turning her head to watch Cindy’s small frame for a moment.  The redhead was soaked and dripping water all over her floor.  Dazedly, Lindsay followed her into the living room and watched as Cindy seated herself on the sofa and hefted the bottle of scotch to read the label.  “What are you doing?”

Cindy shrugged.  “Hanging out.”

“Cindy,” Lindsay was pleased with herself for sounding so patient.  “I really want to be alone right now.”

The reporter patted the space next to her.  “I’ll make you a deal.”

“You are in no position to bargain,” Lindsay replied with a dry laugh, but she found her steps taking her to Cindy’s side anyway.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Cindy said again, unperturbed as Lindsay settled next to her.  “You eat this pizza with me, and I’ll go.”  She tapped the top of the box in Lindsay’s hands.

Lindsay glanced down at the warm box.  She could smell the cheese, and her stomach was surprisingly open to the notion of having a bite of it.  She looked up at Cindy again.  “Why don’t you just leave it?”

“I’m hungry.”  Cindy stared at her innocently.

Lindsay shook her head.  She was too drunk to deal diplomatically with Cindy Thomas on a mission, especially when she was the mission.  “There is a reason I didn’t want to go be with people, eat food and talk about my dad,” she said crossly.

“I know.  I did the same thing you’re doing when my dad died.”

That brought Lindsay up short.  She and Cindy had never really shared much of their family history.  She suddenly felt guilty about that.  “In the hospital…” Her voice faltered at the memory of her friend lying in that bed looking so frighteningly pale.  “You were waiting on your parents…”

“My mom and step dad.”

“Oh,” Lindsay breathed, aching for her instead of herself for a moment.  “Sorry.”

Cindy moved aside the bottle and set the pizza box on the coffee table.  Lindsay watched her, half irked and half touched.  Truthfully she was soaking in Cindy’s presence.  She was just so vibrant.  So alive.  Her energy filled the room and brightened some of the darkness Lindsay felt pressing in on her.  The reporter wasn’t demanding that she talk about her dad.  She wasn’t encouraging her to cry and let it all out.  She wasn’t scolding her for drinking her sorrows away.  Cindy was just there.  A part of her really needed that.

Cindy handed her a slice of pizza as Lindsay watched her quietly.  “You get started,” she said.  “I’ll go get plates and napkins.”

Lindsay watched her go, her eyes drawn to the sway of the girl’s hips.  She rubbed a hand over her bleary eyes and tried to focus on what she was doing.  Finally she took a bite of her pizza.  It was the first thing she’d really tasted in days, and she found herself growing more enthusiastic about the idea of sharing it with Cindy.

It could have been so much worse, Lindsay realized, and the thought managed to sober her momentarily.  She could have buried her dad today and visited Cindy’s grave.  The reporter’s shooting was still fresh on her mind and as the week had progressed she’d seen the occasional flashes of pain dart across the girl’s features.  There was something to be thankful for today.  Cindy was still there.  She was still breathing.  Still talking in that incessantly adorable way of hers.  Still looking after Lindsay like she had a right to.

Maybe she did.

Lindsay only knew she liked it when Cindy fussed over her, but that was something she would never share with another soul.  Especially not with Cindy.  Jill and Claire had tried in their years as friends to be there when Lindsay needed them.  Then Kiss-Me-Not had happened and things hadn’t been the same since.  Her old friends were more cautious with her now.  They took her at her word when she said she wanted to be alone.  Lindsay didn’t blame them.  She’d given them every reason to believe her.

She cursed herself, not for the first time, for that.  

The reporter returned with plates and napkins, interrupting Lindsay’s bitter musings.  Cindy plopped playfully down on the couch and handed Lindsay a soda before popping her own open. She was relieved when Lindsay did the same and didn’t reach for the bottle of scotch again.

“What… what happened to your dad?”  Lindsay asked after a few moments of silence and chewing.

Cindy had known the conversation would turn to this at some point this evening but her guts still churned in reaction.  “He was shot and killed about three months after I graduated college.”

Lindsay didn’t know what to say.  This was not something she expected them to have in common.

“You remind me of him a little,” Cindy confessed.

Lindsay looked at her questioningly. 

“He was a cop.  Lived and breathed the job until…”  Cindy set her soda down and took a breath.

“Until it killed him,” Lindsay guessed.  She watched as Cindy nodded.  She could see the tears brimming in the reporter’s eyes, but they didn’t fall.

“Domestic dispute,” Cindy said quietly as she picked off a piece of pepperoni and popped it into her mouth with little enthusiasm.  “He’d been to that house five times in two months, but the woman wouldn’t press charges.  Maybe if she had she, her two kids and my dad would still be here.”

Lindsay swallowed around the lump in her throat.  Her gaze dropped, and she felt her heart do the same.  All those times she’d made fun of Cindy, teasing her about her age, she realized now how off the mark she’d been.  Cindy was apparently wiser than her years… wiser than any of them had given her credit for.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”  Cindy looked at her then and smiled sadly.  “He died doing what he loved.  He wouldn’t have had it any other way.”  She leaned back against the sofa and took a bite of her pizza signaling an end to the conversation.

Lindsay didn’t want to let this window into Cindy’s past close just yet.  She scooted closer and propped her feet up on the coffee table.  “So I bet you were a precocious brat as a kid,” she teased.

“Hey!”  Cindy laughed, charmed that Lindsay was showing interest.  She playfully slapped Lindsay’s shoulder. 

“Call it a hunch.”  Lindsay took another bite of her pizza as she watched Cindy’s smiling features with her first sense of peace in a week.

****  

Something was buzzing.

Cindy cracked open one eye and looked around.  Disoriented by familiar furniture that wasn’t her own, the reporter took a moment to place her surroundings.  She got some unexpected help when a pair of warm brown eyes suddenly popped up in her line of sight.

Ah.  Lindsay’s living room.

“Hi, Martha,” Cindy murmured quietly.  She reached out and scratched the dog behind an ear.  She slowly became aware that she wasn’t actually lying flush on the couch.  That meant she had to be lying on…

Cindy bolted upright, spooking the dog who ran for the kitchen. Her sudden movement stirred the sleeping woman whom she’d been inadvertently using as a pillow.  They’d fallen asleep practically sitting up.  Lindsay’s head slowly lifted from the arm rest and one of her feet squeaked on the hardwood floor as she moved.  After a moment, Lindsay rolled over and blinked her eyes open, staring at Cindy in obvious confusion

“Hi,” Cindy said with a little wave, hoping her face wasn’t as red as her hair.

 Lindsay’s brow furrowed as she tried to put the pieces together.

 The buzzing that had drawn Cindy out of her dreams filled the air again and they both looked toward the coffee table.  Lindsay’s cell phone vibrated across the surface, coming dangerously close to the edge before Cindy grabbed it and handed it to her friend.

 Lindsay cleared her throat.  With one last confused glance at the reporter who was now scrambling to her feet she flipped the phone open.  “Boxer.”  She listened with growing dread as the voice on the other line spoke.  Cindy watched from her safer position at the end of the couch. 

 “I’ll be there in half an hour.”  Lindsay closed the phone before looking up at the redhead. 

 “Problem?” Cindy asked casually.

 “Were you here all night?”  Lindsay asked her voice still thick with sleep.

 “Apparently.  We must have conked out on the couch.  The phone woke me up.”  Cindy straightened her clothes self-consciously.

 Lindsay frowned.  She could vaguely remember Cindy’s warm weight on her back but decided she had to be imagining things.  Sighing, she rolled over and got to her feet.  “I have to go.”

 “You caught a case?”  Cindy asked unhappily.  “I thought you took some time off.”

 “I did.  Looks like my time is over.”   Lindsay looked at the reporter.  “Chris Blake is dead.”  She waited for Cindy’s eyes to widen and wasn’t disappointed.  “He was found in his kitchen about forty five minutes ago by the maid.”

 Cindy rubbed her face with her hands.  Chris Blake was one of the city’s most wealthy and well-known restaurateurs.  His death was going to make the front page for days.  “Why are you telling me this?”

 “Because as soon as I leave you’re going to call the crime desk, find out about it and wind up meeting me there anyway.”  Lindsay didn’t seem bothered by the knowledge, Cindy realized; she seemed to just accept it as fact.  She watched as the inspector wandered down the hall toward the bathroom.  With a grin, Cindy grabbed her bag and headed toward the kitchen to change.

 ****

 Chris Blake’s kitchen was the size of Lindsay’s entire apartment, she decided.  His refrigerator alone, a large, stainless steel, commercial-grade monster, wouldn’t fit in both her bathrooms combined.  The room would have seemed airy and pretty with its white and gold tones on the cabinets and floor, but the stench and sight that greeted her in the middle of it eclipsed the expensive décor.

 “Oh that’s just nasty,” Jill gasped then turned her head away from Blake’s corpse.

 Lindsay’s lips were pursed in distaste.  “I would have to agree with you on this one.”

 They watched as Claire clucked her tongue as she made a circuit around the body.  “That is not something even I see every day,” the medical examiner murmured.

 “God, I would hope not,” Jill said from her position in the doorway.  She still had her back to the scene and was trying mightily not to puke.  Her shallow breaths seemed to have little effect at blocking out the hideous smell that permeated the air.  She started fiddling in her purse for the bottle of vapor rub she kept there.  “What is all that…”

 “Looks like vomit,” Lindsay confessed with a little swallow.  Blake was tied to a kitchen chair, his light blue shirt soaked through with the stuff.  What was far more disturbing was the half-chewed food that was crammed in his mouth and down his throat.

 “I meant in his mouth,” Jill replied smartly.

 “Looks like chicken.  Dark meat I’d say.”  Claire bit her lip as Jill staggered from the room with a strangled sound.

 “That was cold,” Lindsay muttered but she was smiling.

 “It was the truth.”  Claire shrugged but there was a tiny grin on her lips.  She shook her head and grew serious again.  “This took some patience.”

 “You think someone force fed the guy until he died?”

 “Looks like it at first blush.  I’ll know more when I have a look inside.”

 Lindsay’s mouth twisted at the thought.  Blake was a big man.  A really big man.  He was as well-known for owning his six restaurants as he was for eating at them.  Lindsay had never met him personally, however, she had heard good things about him.  He made considerable donations to various police and children’s charities.  Tom had mentioned him once in passing, saying the only thing bigger than Blake’s stomach was his heart.

 Given the amount of food in his mouth and the remains of it on his shirt and the floor, Lindsay was struck with the perverse thought that Blake might pop like a bubble as soon as Claire’s scalpel touched his skin.  “Jill is right.  This is gross.”

 Claire shook her head.  “The man did a lot of good.  He did not deserve to die like this.”

 “We’ll make it as right as we can,” Lindsay told her with conviction.  She started to leave Claire to her work but stopped when Claire said her name.

 “You know I have to ask if you’re alright, right?”

 Lindsay smiled at her friend’s concern.  “I’m fine.”

 “You don’t seem hung over,” Claire replied with a touch of pride.

 “Cindy,” was all Lindsay had to say before she turned and headed toward the back door. 

 Claire pursed her lips.  “Well, well, Thomas.  Who knew you had it in you to tame the bull-headed beast.”  She looked back at the body and took a tiny swallow of her own.  She was not looking at a pretty way to die.

 ****

 Lindsay found the reporter in question inside the greenhouse.  She stepped inside, feeling the warm, humid air stir against her skin as the scent of soil and watered plants reached her.  Cindy was rubbing soothing circles on Jill’s back as the attorney leaned over some potted begonias, her hands on her knees.

 “Tell me you did not throw up in here.”

 “Not yet,” Cindy answered for the blonde who was taking slow, measured breaths.  “Was it that bad in there?”

 “It was pretty bad,” Lindsay said with a wince.  “I’ll certainly be sticking to steak and fish for awhile.”

 Jill groaned and extended a particular finger back toward the detective. 

 Lindsay’s eyebrows elevated but she didn’t comment on Jill’s colorful rebuke.  “Did she fill you in?” she asked Cindy.

 “Kinda.  She was more focused on the ‘not puking’ part.”

 “Still am,” Jill tossed over her shoulder.

 Lindsay took Cindy’s elbow and led her away from the attorney. 

 “So he was found with chicken stuffed down his throat?”  Cindy had a look on her face like she was dying to say something she really shouldn’t.

 “Just spit it out, Thomas.”

 “Murder most fowl?”  Cindy said in a rush.  “Oh, God, I am so going to hell for that.”  She quickly crossed herself.

 Lindsay wanted to laugh, but she managed to rein in her amusement.  It wasn’t appropriate.  “Someone appears to have made Blake eat until he died.  I didn’t even know that was truly possible to do.  Drink yourself to death, yes, but eat until it killed you?”

 Cindy grew serious.  “He was a really nice guy.  Had this really contagious laugh.  I met him a few times when I was first starting out at the Register.  I’m just having a hard time believing that he’s dead. I really shouldn’t have said that murder most fowl thing…”

 “It’s fine,” Lindsay promised.  “It’s a coping mechanism to joke at something like this.”

 “I know,” Cindy confessed.  “It just feels especially disrespectful when you know the deceased.”

 “So what can you tell me about Blake?”

 Cindy took a breath.  “Like I said, he’s a good guy.  His only enemies would be other restaurant owners.  Blake’s places are popular.  They’re packed almost every night.”  She gestured at the expansive greenhouse and the towering mansion beyond.  “He obviously does well, but he gives a lot of cash to charity.”

 “Married?  Kids?”

 “Two kids from a previous marriage.  I think they’d be college age about now, maybe a little older.”

 “No wife in the picture, then?”  

 “Only an ex one,” Jill said as she joined them. She was still as green as some of the leaves around them, but at least she didn’t appear to be hyperventilating anymore.

 “Any of them have motive?” Lindsay asked.

 Jill shrugged.  “I’ll look into his will and financials.”  She turned and looked at Cindy.  “Although I’m betting you can get them faster.”

 Cindy just smiled.  “I’ll let you know where to look.”

 “Thank you.”

 “Alright.  We start with the family and any business partners.  We look at his staff and any competition he’s crossed swords with lately.” 

 Jill nodded.  “I’ll work the family and partners angle… see if I can come up with any legal reason someone would want this guy dead.”

 “It’s not just about someone wanting this guy dead,” Lindsay said.  “What was done to Blake took a long time.  The killer was patient, taking as long as it took.  This goes beyond a disagreement.  This is loathing on the most disturbing of levels.”

 The three women regarded each other for a moment as the knowledge sank in.  Suddenly there was nothing funny about the case at all.

 “Inspector?” a uniformed officer called from the entrance.

 Cindy eased out of his line of sight as Jill and Lindsay stepped casually in front of her.

 “What is it?” Lindsay called back.

 “The M.E. found something you should see.”

 ****

 “What have you got?”  Lindsay asked as she and Jill returned to the kitchen.

 Claire glanced away from where two techs were wrangling Blake’s body onto a gurney.  She shook her head as she moved around them to the counter, picking up some sort of book in a clear plastic bag.  “We found this in the fridge.”

 Lindsay accepted the evidence bag and smoothed a gloved finger over the words she saw printed in gold leaf on the black cover.

 “A Bible?”  Jill asked as she leaned over Lindsay’s shoulder for a look.  “In the fridge?”

 “Mmhmm.”  Claire crossed her arms.  “It was open with a particular passage circled in red.”

 Lindsay and Jill looked at her expectantly.

 “Philippians, chapter four, verse five.  Let moderation be known unto all men.  The Lord is at hand.”

 “That doesn’t sound like a coincidence,” Jill murmured, her gaze darting uneasily to the body then away again.

 “The Bible in the fridge didn’t clue you in first?” Claire drawled.

 Jill gave her a cross look then glanced at Lindsay who was staring at the leather-bound volume in her hands with a worried expression.  “What?”

 “Have you ever just…”  Lindsay paused, trying to articulate her thoughts. 

 “Just what?” Claire prompted, concerned by the look on Lindsay’s face.

 Lindsay shrugged, trying to play off the uncomfortable feeling that had washed over her as she held the book in her hands.  “Nothing,” she said as she handed the evidence to a passing CSI to bag and tag.  How did she tell them she felt like she’d just had a brush with something evil and not sound like an idiot?

 Shaken and trying not to show it, Lindsay gave both her friends a slight nod and left the room, hoping like hell it didn’t look like she was running.

 ****

 “Lindsay? Lindsay!”  Cindy hustled after her tall friend as she watched Lindsay moving across the grounds in longer strides than normal.  Lindsay looked almost like she was fleeing the scene as she snapped off her latex gloves and headed for her white SUV at the curb.

 Cindy abandoned the story and ducked under the police tape, earning a startled glance from the uniformed officers who wondered how she’d gotten past it in the first place.  She ignored their shouts as she chased Lindsay down, catching up with her just as the inspector swung herself inside the vehicle.  Cindy grabbed the door and kept Lindsay from closing it.  “Where’s the fire?” she asked out of breath.

 Lindsay scratched self-consciously behind an ear.  “Nowhere.  I just need to make a few calls.”

 Cindy looked skeptical.  “Really?  I thought you were bailing.”  She mentally kicked herself for ditching the story until she realized Lindsay wasn’t making eye contact.  “Hey.  You okay?”

 Lindsay looked at her then.  She started to say something to brush the reporter off when her gaze landed on the cross nestled in the hollow of Cindy’s throat.  “You were raised Catholic.”

 Cindy blinked, startled by the change in conversation.  “Yeah,” she answered slowly.

 “Philippians, chapter four, verse five.”

 The reporter frowned.  “Let your moderation be known unto all men.  The Lord is at hand?”

 Lindsay’s eyebrows elevated in surprise.

 “What?”  Cindy asked defensively.  “I can quote Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood and Shakespeare, too.”

 Lindsay pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head.

 “Why are you asking me about scripture?”  Cindy leaned on the door.

 “A Bible was found in Blake’s refrigerator… open to that passage.”

 The reporter processed that.  “You’re holding that back for now, I’m assuming.”

 Lindsay gave her a tame version of the laser vision.  Cindy held up her hands.

 “Fine.  Just checking.  So the Bible was in Blake’s fridge opened to a passage that doesn’t exactly describe him very well… Except the whole ‘Lord at hand’ bit.”  Cindy tilted her head.  Something still seemed off about her friend.  “You never answered my question.  Are you okay?”

 Lindsay licked her lips, reluctant to share but feeling the need to.  “There was just something… when I held that Bible…”

 “Something that made you feel like someone walked over your grave?”

 The inspector looked startled at having the feeling so accurately pegged.  Cindy shrugged.

 “You look spooked, Linz,” the reporter confessed.  “And you rarely look spooked.  What happened?”

 Lindsay shook her dark head.  “I don’t know.  I just got… a chill when I held that thing.  We’re all making light of this to keep our minds off how nauseating it is, but think about it.  Think about how long the killer took with Blake.  Blake loved food.  He loved to eat.  The killer took that from him and murdered Blake with his own greatest passion.”

 Cindy put her head against the door as she watched Lindsay’s eyes focus on some spot beyond the windshield, but she suspected the inspector’s gaze was actually turned inward, sifting and sorting through what she’d seen and heard inside the house.  “It was torture,” she murmured.  “I bet if Blake had survived he never would have wanted food again.”

 “Like he was being cured of it,” Lindsay agreed softly.

 “Talk about the cure being worse than the disease.”

 “What are you doing out here?”

 Both women turned to see Jacobi sauntering closer.  Lindsay’s partner looked less than amused to find her at the crime scene.  Cindy opened her mouth to respond then shut it when Jacobi pointed a finger at her.

 “You’re working,” he said simply to the reporter before shifting his gaze back to Lindsay.  “You, however, are supposed to be doing the opposite.”

 Lindsay wilted a little under his displeasure.  “I got called in.”  She fidgeted.

 “And did you tell them that you were unavailable?”

 Cindy looked away in case Lindsay decided to lie.  Not that she would blame her, but if Lindsay needed her as backup then her friend was screwed. 

 “It was Tom,” Lindsay replied.  “He was at the funeral.  He knows my dad died.  Go yell at him.”

 Jacobi rocked back on his heels.  “Really?”

 Lindsay gave him an exaggerated shrug.  “I’m just doing what my boss told me.”

 “And since when do you willingly do that?”

 Lindsay looked offended even though she privately knew he was right.

 “Go home,” Jacobi instructed.  “The SFPD can manage one high profile case without you.”

 “But I…”  Lindsay looked to Cindy who winced and just shook her head.  “You’re going to side with him?” Lindsay asked her voice incredulous.

 Cindy shrugged.  “It’s just… you buried your dad yesterday.  Being around murder, death and partially digested chicken may not be the best thing for you right now.”

 Lindsay closed her eyes before rubbing them in irritation.  “I can do without the partially digested chicken,” she admitted dryly, “but solving a murder is just what I need right now.”

 “Linz…” Jacobi started.

 “Look.”  Lindsay opened her eyes.  “I appreciate your concern.  Both of you.  But I’m fine.  Working is the best thing I can do for myself right now.”

 “Taking the time to grieve is the best thing you can do for yourself,” Jacobi growled.

 “Warren,” Cindy interjected herself carefully into their argument.  “If she wants to work let her work.  She’s a big girl.  Literally and figuratively.”

 “There you go.”  Lindsay gestured at Cindy.  “One of my best friends just weighed in on the matter.  Take her word for it.”

 Jacobi hesitated, clearly torn.  He sighed wearily.  “I’m going to have my eye on you, Linz.”

 “You mean you don’t usually?”

 He swatted her on the shoulder then walked away muttering.  Lindsay shook her head then turned it to look at Cindy.  The reporter was staring at her, an expression on her face that made a warm spot bloom in Lindsay’s chest.  “What?”

 Cindy slowly smiled.  “I’m one of your best friends?”

 Lindsay blinked when she realized what she’d said to Jacobi.  She shrugged, feeling mildly exposed.  “Yeah.  I thought that kind of went without saying.” 

 Cindy leaned on the open door again.  “That goes both ways, you know.”

 That warm spot got a little larger.  Lindsay cleared her throat.  “All the exclusives I give you, it better.”

 Cindy reached out and laid her hand on Lindsay’s arm.  “Don’t get mad at Warren for caring.  We’re all gonna have our eyes on you the next few days.  Accept it.  That’s what friends do.”

 Lindsay sighed resignedly.  “It’s been a hell of a few weeks.”

 “You’re telling me.”  Cindy’s hand left Lindsay’s arm to rub distractedly at her chest.

 “Are you hurting?”  Lindsay’s voice was suddenly sharp when she realized Cindy was touching the area where she’d been shot.  She glanced up and found twinkling brown eyes waiting for her.

 “See,” Cindy said as her hand dropped, and Lindsay realized she’d just been faked out.  “Friends look out for each other.”

 ****

 “What in the hell was that?”  Jill asked when Lindsay had departed.  Her gaze lingered on the back door that Lindsay had just walked through.

 “She did look a little…” Claire cocked her head as she recalled the disturbing expression that had been on Lindsay’s face when she left.

 “Freaked?”  Jill supplied as she glanced back at Claire. 

 “As good a word as any,” Claire agreed.  She shook her head as the gurney carrying Blake’s body was eased out of the room.  “What is she doing here anyway?  I thought she actually took some time.”

 “That’s my fault,” Tom said as he entered the room.

 “You called her in?”  Jill’s tone was accusing.  “Christ, Tom, she buried her dad yesterday.”

 He looked uncomfortable but unapologetic.  “This is a big case.  I need my best detective on it.  Besides, you know how Linz is.  She prefers to work through stuff like this.”

 “Even though, as her friends, we should really make sure she doesn’t?”  Claire crossed her arms.  “Have you been paying attention to your ex-wife these last few months, Tom?” 

 His gaze darted between the two women worriedly.  He took comfort in the feel of his sidearm and the knowledge that he was surrounded by a half dozen other officers.  All armed. 

 “First Kiss-Me-Not resurfaces,” Jill said.

 “Then you get remarried,” Claire added.  “Then Lindsay winds up in protective custody because Kiss-Me-Not starts playing games with her.”

 “Then Cindy gets shot,” Jill continued, ignoring that painful memory of the redhead’s close call.

 “Then Lindsay’s dad gets shot helping her take down Billy Harris.” Claire held up her hand to indicate the five things they’d rattled off so far.

 “And on the same night that the biggest case of Lindsay’s career ends, Pete leaves and Lindsay’s father starts having complications only to die two days later.”

 Tom licked his lips.  “So she’s been through a lot…”

 “She’s been through hell,” Claire cut him off, her voice steely and edged with anger.  “You’re the lieutenant of Lindsay’s squad.  What are you thinking dragging her into a case the day after she buries her father?  For crying out loud, Tom.”

 He put his hands in his pockets and opened his mouth to answer.

 “He’s thinking the press will be all over this one.  So his bosses will be all over him.”  Jill shook her head.

 “Like Denise won’t be all over you,” Tom fired back.

 “She can crawl up my ass all she wants.  If Lindsay needs me, I’ll drop this case like a hot stone.”

 Tom sighed.  “I need my best on this one.  She’s my best.”  He held up a hand when they started to protest.  “Let’s just work together on this.  We get this case wrapped quickly, and I’ll give Linz two weeks.  I’ll pay for the damn plane ticket, anywhere she wants to go.”

 Slightly mollified but still largely pissed, Claire just shook her head and brushed past him.  She heard the click of Jill’s high heels following behind.  “I have an autopsy to perform.”

 “And I have some place better to be than in a room with you.”  Jill was far less diplomatic.

 Tom said nothing as they left. 

 ****

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