The room was silent for several moments. Rogers took a deep breath, then he turned and looked at the DEA bosses before turning back to me. “Only one problem with your theory, Mr. Logan. We already had Mishkin. He was working for us. We nailed him months ago. He was working on a deal so we could wrap up his suppliers—in this case, whoever was behind Blue Molly. We knew it wasn’t Laskin, but we had no idea who it was.” He shook his head.

  I looked at him. “So you’re saying that the money …”

  He gave me a hard look, the look of a bureaucrat who’d just made a mistake that was about to put him under the spotlight, a place where he definitely didn’t want to be. “It wasn’t Mishkin’s. It was ours.”

  I nodded my head slowly. “Oh.” I paused for a second, then said, “If it was your money, why didn’t you just cancel the deal when Libby changed the time?”

  “May I step in?” One of the other DEA officials suddenly stood up. “My name is Brian Sullivan and I’m the assistant chief of operations out of Washington, DC. Mr. Logan, I want to thank you for your help in this case.” He gave a hard look at Rogers, then turned back to me. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to answer any questions until we complete our investigation and I’d appreciate it if you’d not divulge anything we may have disclosed here today. If we have any further questions for you, we’d like to be able to contact you.”

  I glanced over at Miguel. He gave a little shrug. Apparently, the events had taken him by surprise as well. But I recognized the makings of a serious FUBAR op when I saw one. Unless I was greatly mistaken, DEA heads were going to roll, most likely starting with Collin Rogers.

  As for us, though, we were done. I smiled and nodded. “By all means.”

  * * * *

  There’s an Army-Navy Surplus store downtown on First Avenue, halfway between Lenora and Blanchard. I stopped and picked out a brand-new M65 field jacket in the army’s desert digital camo scheme—the same type I wore ten years ago and had hoped never to have to see again. But here I was. Ten minutes later, I parked near Pioneer Square. I owed a friend a favor.

  The sun was peeking out between the clouds, and Occidental Park was more crowded than it had been. Most of the seats were full, but still, I found him in his usual spot. I walked across the parking lot.

  “Abraham!”

  He turned at the sound of my voice, then smiled. “Sergeant Logan.” He pulled himself up off the concrete bench. “You’re back again.”

  I nodded. “I am. How’re things?”

  “Things are good, Sarge. They real good.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it.”

  “Say, Sarge, rumor has it that the little girl who give me the twenty dollars was behind the whole drug deal. That right?”

  I nodded. “She was sneaky about it, but that’s the way it looks, Abraham. She fooled everyone, me included. She bailed out, and now she’s on the run.”

  He shook his head. “Who’d have ever believed that? So little, so young and cute. Seemed like a schoolgirl. Guess it was kind of like one of them beauty-and-the-beast things, her and the Ghost.”

  “Beauty and the beast. You got that right. Say, Abraham, speaking of her, that’s partly why I’m here. I believe you mentioned something about getting shortchanged on your deal.”

  A puzzled look appeared on his face. “Shortchanged?”

  “Yeah. Remember? When I asked you about the 9-1-1 call? You said she put you up to it?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, she did.”

  “As I recall, you said you were supposed to get a coat, too, as part of the deal. But you never got it?”

  He laughed. “Yep, that’s right. She said she’d buy me a new coat.” He laughed again. “Easy come, easy go—right, Sarge? Least I got something up front.”

  “Well …” I reached into the bag. “Today’s your lucky day, man.” I pulled out the field jacket and handed it to him. “I’m finishing off the second half of the deal for her.”

  He held it up in astonishment, his eyes wide. “Hoooeeee! Would you look at this.” He turned it one way, then the other.

  Then he lowered it and turned to me. His face grew serious. “You didn’t have to do that, Sarge. And you know I got nothing to repay you with but to say thanks.”

  I smiled and held out my hand. “That’s perfect.”

  He nodded.

  “Take this, too, Abraham.” I handed him a brochure I’d picked up.

  He looked at it for a second, then back up at me.

  “I’m not putting any pressure on you or anything like that. This is one friend giving some information to another friend, and he may or may not find it useful.”

  He nodded.

  “You heard of them?” I asked.

  “Celebrate Recovery? Yeah, I heard of them.” He smiled. “I appreciate the thought, Sarge. I can’t make no promises, but I appreciate the thought.”

  I nodded. “Good. Remember—even when it seems dark, you got people who care about you, man.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Thank you. That means a lot, Sarge.”

  I handed him a business card. “You need anything, you call me.”

  “I’ll surely do that.”

  “Good. I’m going to check in on you from time to time. You behave.” I patted him on the shoulder and said good-bye.

  Chapter 28

  “I’ve got something for you,” Toni said, her eyes twinkling. It was Friday, February 21, exactly one week after Valentine’s Day, and I finally had Toni out on our special dinner date.

  We were seated in a booth by the window at Daniel’s Broiler on Lake Union. Dinner was finished, the table cleared. Toni was working on a cup of coffee. If it had been a little lighter outside, I could have made out our office across the water. As it was, the lights from the offices and the apartments on Westlake and Queen Anne Hill beyond twinkled across the bay. “Do you want to see it?” Toni beckoned to me with her eyes.

  “What is it?”

  She reached down into her purse and pulled out an envelope. “This is for you.”

  I was a little alarmed. “Is it a card? I didn’t …”

  She smiled. “Relax. It’s not a card.”

  I took the envelope and opened it and was immediately relieved. It was a check made out to Logan Private Investigations from our insurance company—the payout for my Jeep.

  “Excellent!”

  “They were starting to get a little testy about the claim, so I had your dad call ’em and straighten them out. They hand-delivered the check this afternoon while you were in your DEA meeting.”

  I nodded. “Good. Good thinking.” I handed the check back to her. “I’m going shopping tomorrow.”

  She smiled. She was more beautiful than ever tonight. She wore a long dark-blue evening dress, with no sleeves to get in the way of her ink. I’d learned that her hair length tended to run in cycles—short to long to short again. Now, it was on the longer side, gleaming black, touching the tops of her shoulders. Her bangs were long and accented her beautiful blue eyes. The only piercings she wore were in her ears—three in each. She was magnificent. I was smitten.

  “What are you staring at?” she said, knowing the answer already.

  I smiled. “You.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re beautiful, and I’m lucky.”

  She smiled. “You don’t have to say that.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s true.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  I looked over at our waiter and gave him what I hoped was a barely perceptible nod. A minute later, “I Choose You” by Sara Bareilles started playing.

  “Oh!” Toni said, recognizing it immediately. “Here’s that song.”

  I nodded. I let it play for a few seconds, then said, “Can I ask you something?”

  She nodded, tapping her fingers on the table to the beat of the music. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Serious.”

  She looked at me, paying more attention now. The song continued. The tapping stopped.

  “When you went down in that areaway, I almost died. I mean, I know how important you are to me, no question. But nothing drives it home like the prospect of losing the one you love.”

  She smiled. “Well you don’t have to—”

  I lifted my hand. “Let me finish, here. I’ve been thinking—for some time actually, when it comes to me and you, I haven’t even thought of any questions about us for a long time—I can’t remember when.” I shook my head. “I realize that with you, I don’t have any questions. I mean, you still surprise me from time to time and I love that. But question marks?” I shook my head. “None. All the big ones are answered.”

  She smiled. “That’s what happens after knowing someone for seven years.”

  “Exactly. Toni, I love you with every fiber of my being. Whenever I see you or even think about you, it’s like it suddenly becomes really clear what my mission in life is: to be by you, to live by you, to make you completely, totally, utterly happy. What I mean to say is, I have a proposal for you.”

  Her smile vanished. “A proposal?”

  I nodded. I reached into my pocket and slipped out of the booth. I took a knee and pulled out the box with the ring I’d picked up two weeks ago. Toni looked at it, and her eyes widened. Then she stared at me.

  “Toni—Antoinette Michelle Blair—I propose that we make our union official. Permanent. I propose that we stay by each other’s side, that we always love each other and take care of each other. Forever. I’d like you to become my wife—I choose you. Will you marry me?”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. She looked into my eyes, her eyes filling with tears. For an instant, in those deep blue eyes, I saw a reflection of the beauty of the years we’ve spent together along with the promise of the years to come. Then she dropped her hand from her mouth and she nodded. “Yes.”

  Epilogue

  March 16, 2014

  2:30 p.m.

  The speaker, an elderly woman, tapped on the microphone. “Is it on? Can you hear me?”

  The man beside her nodded. His voice came across the PA system. “It’s working, Aunt Lucy.” He leaned toward the microphone. “Listen up, everyone!” he called in a loud voice. The audience slowly came to order. I gripped Toni’s hand.

  “Good,” the woman began, her voice frail. She smiled. “I think I’ve met just about everyone here, but in case I missed anyone, my name is Lucille Tanner. My father was George Tanner the second, son of the man we’re here to honor. I want to start by saying, this is by far the happiest funeral I’ve ever attended.”

  The crowd laughed and clapped. Someone cried, “Go, Aunt Lucy!” and the laughing and clapping started again.

  Lucille held up her hand, and the room quieted. “But then again, I suppose that that’s because this isn’t so much a funeral as a reunion, isn’t it?”

  More clapping.

  “I never met my grandfather George—I know you all may find it hard to believe, but he was gone long before I came on the scene. But what a legacy he left. Today, the Tanners are doctors, lawyers, teachers, nurses, soldiers—from all walks of life, all over the country. The Tanners have made a contribution, and it’s all because of Grandpa George. Without him, none of us would be here.”

  The audience responded with applause.

  “And Grandmother Felicity. I was close to Grandmother Felicity for many years until she passed right after World War II. She missed George dearly, and she never stopped looking for him. In her heart, though, she always knew he’d be found one day. And now, he has.”

  Still more applause and cheering.

  “I remember in 1936, I was just eight years old. Grandmother took my mother and me to a cemetery—the very one where we held the burial earlier today. I asked her why there were two spaces. She told me then that one was for her, and one was for Grandfather George.” Lucille paused and wiped a tear away. “I remember thinking that was a little silly since Grandfather wasn’t even there.” She gave a little shrug. “Over the years, though, I came to understand why she did what she did.” She smiled. “And in the end, she was right. And we finally get to use that second space today. So here’s all I have to say.” She looked upward. “Grandmother Felicity, I know you’re still watching over our family. On this very day 117 years ago, Grandfather George left for the Yukon and, sadly, you never got to see him again.” She smiled. “Today, Grandfather has finally come home, and the two of you are reunited at last. May the two of you never ever—ever—be separated again.”

  THE END

  (… for now)

  Author’s Notes

  If you ever make it to Seattle, I’d advise you to take a tour of the Seattle Underground in Pioneer Square. It’s very interesting. Pick up a copy of Bill Speidel’s great book, Sons of the Profits. It’s a fantastic history lesson presented in a fun manner regarding people who were literally involved at the ground level in building this emerald city. (Maybe even below ground, for that matter.)

  There’s so much history in the Pioneer Square area, the Great Seattle Fire of 1889 and the Klondike gold rush of 1897 just to name a couple, that I was only able to bring a small part of it into Blue Molly—Pioneer Square, after all, was the setting for Blue Molly, not the story itself. Still, the area is fascinating and well worth learning about, and I tried to keep my presentation of the history as faithful as possible. For example, even though George Tanner is a fictional character, the history of the areaways presented in Blue Molly is accurate (at least I believe it to be so) and George Tanner’s fate wasn’t actually all that uncommon: somewhere between seventeen and twenty people died from falling into the areaways in the early 1890s before the second-level sidewalks got built and covered them up. Not wanting to alarm visitors, the city took to calling them “voluntary suicides.” Of course, probably none of these unfortunate people got covered up by sidewalks only to be rediscovered 120 years later like George Tanner was, but then again, who knows? There are literally miles of areaways and they’re almost all sealed off today. I get an eerie feeling every time I walk over a prism skylight in a Pioneer Square sidewalk.

  All of the descriptions about Seattle in general, and the Pioneer Square area in particular, are accurate except, of course, for the businesses owned by the characters involved in the story. The restaurants are real: the Grand Central Bakery (excellent muffins), Sushi Land, Duke’s (best chowder in Seattle) and, of course, Daniel’s Broiler—the wonderful restaurant where Danny finally makes his proposal to Toni (excellent Delmonico steaks!).

  But there’s no Carta Rarus, no Pioneer Square Office Supply, no Freeman Fine Arts and, especially, no Lyon Gallery. (Although I highly recommend that you have a look at hyperrealist artists such as Diego Fazio. His drawing Sensazioni is the inspiration for Sylvia Lyon’s Splash. It’s mind-blowing.)

  And, finally, there’s no ecstasy named Blue Molly. Thank goodness.

  Acknowledgments

  Blue Molly required a great deal of research and specialized information, which I was fortunate to obtain through the efforts of many dedicated and talented people.

  First, thanks to the staff at Bill Speidel’s Underground Tour for answering my questions.

  Thanks to my developmental editor, Beth Jusino, for helping to identify and shape the real story hidden in the usual jumble of words that made up the early drafts of the book. I very much appreciate your good work, sense, advice, and conversation.

  Thanks to my copy editors, Brynn Warriner and Carrie Wicks, for helping me take what I (mistakenly) hoped was a finished manuscript to a manuscript that really is finished now—a humbling but necessary experience.

  Thanks to my dedicated group of beta readers: Ellen Johnson, Casey Jacobs, Jennifer Norton, Liz Spiller, and Dennis Doppe. They’ve read every word of each novel—they know Danny and Toni almost as well as I do. When I “stray,” they’re always there to straighten me out.

  Thanks to all the fans of Danny and Toni who’ve written and told me how much they enjoy reading about these two. I like hearing from you! If you enjoyed this book, send me an e-mail or a Facebook post and leave me a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Also, I have a mailing list that I'm getting fired up. You can sign up on the website.

  Finally, as always, a special thanks to my wife, Michelle, for her constant support in this and all my other endeavors.

  Contents

  Welcome

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Part One

  Chapter 1 Looking back, I should never …

  Chapter 2 Ever watch a Super Bowl …

  Chapter 3 The next morning, we parked …

  Chapter 4 Nine thirty the next morning …

  Chapter 5 “Boy, it’s good to be …

  Part Two

  Chapter 6 There’s a small conference room …

  Chapter 7 Saturday morning, eleven o’clock, …

  Chapter 8 Dwayne’s office is on the …

  Chapter 9 Toni said she wanted to …

  Chapter 10 Two days later was “building…

  Chapter 11 Little by little, things that …

 

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