Beyond the Blue, page 9
Normally Morgan relished the opportunity to interview witnesses because the human element of her investigations meant the most to her. But, after spending the last several weeks since the museum frequently in Mei’s company, she loathed to leave. She risked losing the spellbinding magic of early courtship, or perhaps losing Mei’s interest altogether. The latter would devastate her, but taking a look around at the hundreds of other unsolved cases, Morgan knew somewhere in those files was someone just like her, waiting for their chance at a resolution.
“Do people want to talk about it? Typically? I can’t imagine the emotional trauma of dredging up a murder like that again.”
The buoyancy of her mood dipping considerably, Morgan stared down into her rice. “I can relate. But, um, people don’t have a hard time talking to me. I’m open and always myself, instead of like a Super Cop Here To Solve The Crimes. I try to make them understand that I want to bring them closure. Justice, if I can, but closure at the least.”
Mei paused. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a cop when you offered to change my tire? I’ve thought about it since and, I imagine, if I were a police officer, I would introduce myself as such, if I were trying to help. Gain trust, so the person doesn’t think I’m a murderer.”
Morgan let out something between a snort and a scoff. “Telling people I’m a cop doesn’t always make them feel safe. I only announce myself as police if I’m doing something I can only do as an officer. Otherwise, a good deed’s a good deed. Don’t want to complicate it unnecessarily.”
As a wealthy person, Mei probably interacted with cops less than the average citizen, so Morgan didn’t begrudge her this relatively naïve position on law enforcement. It took Morgan a long time to realize her own naïveté as well.
“Will you be taking backup?”
“Not for the interviews. Most of the family members involved are well into their sixties and seventies, and I don’t think they pose much of a threat. The uncle has a couple of priors but the family is clean.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Mei asked, an adorable amount of concern in her tone.
“I don’t know. Probably not.”
“That’s not comforting, Morgan.”
Light, rhythmic knocking interrupted them. “Come in.”
Officer Lopez approached, taking in the relative disorder with a grimace. Despite the strides Morgan had made in the past few weeks to organize the chaos, towers of case boxes took up every available surface of carpet. “Hi, Lieutenant. Uh, Sergeant Ruiz sent me down here to get you. She said to tell you there was cake.”
“Ooh, cake.” Morgan cheered, hopping off the edge of the desk. She looked at Mei. “You want to come up for cake?”
A store-bought sheet cake served buffet-style probably sounded as appealing to Mei as a bat to the face, as Morgan knew her distaste for highly processed foods, especially sugar-laden confections. However, contrary to Morgan’s assumption, she nodded. “Sure.”
Morgan fist-pumped in victory, at which Mei fondly rolled her eyes. “Lead the way, Officer Lopez.”
After chugging upstairs in the silent elevator, they emerged into a bullpen buzzing with energy. Concrete walls and floors made it seem more like a jail than an office, but the sheriff’s birthday party was in full swing and quite lively. Streamers, signs, balloons, even a scant amount of officers in party hats. Before Morgan could make a beeline for the cake, a very smug Sergeant Ruiz intercepted her and Mei. “Dr. Sharpe, your very first office birthday party.” Leaning in conspiratorially but not lowering her voice, she asked, “Kelly made you come, didn’t she?”
“Morgan did not make me attend.” Ruiz shot the doctor her patented you’re-full-of-shit look and Morgan stifled her laughter. Mei relented. “She asked, and it took little convincing. Happy?”
“Soft,” Ruiz teased. “I told you she has that effect.”
Slinging her arm over Ruiz’s shoulder, Morgan jostled her. “And Ruiz is glad for it, as my overwhelmingly positive influence helped her woo her smoking hot fiancée, so…”
Blushing, Ruiz shoved Morgan away. “Shoo, Kelly, go get your cake.”
“I can and I will,” Morgan announced, turning on her heel toward the serving table. After chatting briefly with Officer Lopez, she found Ruiz and Mei near the punch bowl. Holding a plate with a softball-sized square slice of cake piled high with frosting, Morgan grinned around her fork with unapologetic glee. Mei and Ruiz shared a look and the detective shook her head. “That’s all you, Doctor.”
Using the napkin, Mei reached up and removed frosting from Morgan’s nose with a gentle wipe. A fierce blush spread across Morgan’s cheeks, but Mei smiled at her. “I take it the cake is good?”
“No, it’s terrible, I’m just not picky. Especially not picky about cake. Do you want me to get you a piece?”
“After that rave review? Somehow, I think I’ll pass.” Next to them, an officer blew into a noisemaker and startled Ruiz.
“Knock it off, Chen, I swear to god. I’ll shove that noisemaker up—” Ruiz glanced at Mei and clamped up. “You know where I’ll shove it. Vamos.”
Blowing out a much softer, incredibly pathetic whir from the noisemaker, Officer Chen bowed his head and scurried away. Morgan briefly glanced to check in with Ruiz, who gave her a short nod in return.
Scraping the frosting from the paper plate, Morgan looked up to see the flummoxed look on Mei’s face. “What? Do I have more frosting on my nose?”
“No, you—you finished your cake.”
“Dr. Sharpe doesn’t know whether to be disgusted or impressed,” Ruiz remarked. “Fortunately, she’s never seen you eat a slice of pizza.”
“Oh, but I have. The odd way she takes a bite of the end, then eats the crust, and then eats the rest of the pizza? Truly fascinating.”
“Are you sure it’s fascinating and not disturbing?”
“I choose fascinating.”
Ruiz rolled her eyes, tipping back her drink and tossing the cup in a nearby bin. “Right. I guess when you spend your time with dead people this freak seems perfectly normal.”
“My bar for normal is rather low.”
Morgan’s eyes shifted between them at their teasing. “This is tantamount to bullying! And here I am, inviting you up here for cake.”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Mei cooed. “You’re not odd or freakish. Perhaps, quirky?”
Aghast, Morgan placed her hand over her heart. “How could you? Quirky is worse than odd and freakish.”
“I don’t see how that’s even remotely true.”
“Well it is. I don’t have to stand here and take this,” Morgan said, straightening her back. “I am getting more cake. The cake doesn’t call me names. The cake is my friend.”
As Morgan walked away, Ruiz followed close behind. “Do you always eat your friends, Kelly? Seen you make that mistake once or twice.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Exhausted from a week of interviews on her cold case, Morgan flopped back on her hotel bed and reached for her beer. Unwinding was necessary after cases like this—dredging the waters of other people’s trauma, hers often got caught in the net as well. Morgan’s empathy made her good at extracting information that might otherwise be withheld, but it also left her feeling fraught and open, like an exposed nerve.
Her phone buzzed from the nightstand, vibrating the bottle of beer next to it. Grabbing both, Morgan tapped her phone. “Hey, Ruiz.”
“Kelly,” Ruiz greeted. “How’re the interviews going? Getting anywhere?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Morgan tipped back her beer. “The focus is tunneling on the uncle, but I got other POIs to dig into when I get back.”
Morgan could hear Ruiz humming in acknowledgment on the other side. “Bueno. And how you holding up?”
Smiling fondly, Morgan leaned back and sighed. “I’m okay, thanks for asking. It gets a little hairy sometimes, but I want to help them. I have to help them.”
“Yeah, well, as much as I hate to say it, if anyone can help them, you can. Don’t forget to take care of yourself, too, comprende? And not just with the sauce.”
Morgan looked at the beer in her hand. “It’s not like that.”
“It’s not, but it could be.” As if she could sense the walls coming down inside Morgan, Ruiz asked, “And how’s it going with Sharpe?”
“Ah, you know. Slow.” Slow was generous. While their dates increased in frequency, Morgan took great care not to attempt anything too intimate. Their messages, once short and professional, now included inside jokes and teases, late-night confessions, and the occasional photo of a cute dog. Nothing Morgan couldn’t walk back on if Mei didn’t want a relationship. “Casual. I don’t…I don’t want to spook her.”
Ruiz chuckled. “I can’t picture Dr. Sharpe being afraid of anything, least of all you, Kelly.”
“Maybe.” Though Morgan wouldn’t admit it to Ruiz, she did sometimes catch a bit of fear in Mei’s eyes when the tension between them veered into the non-platonic. Hard as she tried to keep it light and casual, their relationship remained delicate. In spite of the agonizing speed, Morgan persevered. Beautiful things required time to build. “I’m letting her set the boundaries. I’m here waiting on the other side whenever she decides to cross them.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
“I’ll let you handle the negativity. You’re better at it.” Morgan snickered. “The real question is: what if she does?”
“All right, Romeo. Get back to it.” Ruiz shuffled on the other end, speaking Spanish in low tones. “Reyna says hi and she loves you. And she wants me to remind you that even though I’m being a ‘party pooper,’ we’re rooting for you.”
“Tell my cuñada I love her very much. I’ll see you guys when I get back. Adiós.”
Ending the call, Morgan tossed her empty beer bottle into the little blue bin and exchanged it for a piece of chocolate cake she’d ordered from room service. Swiping through her scene photos, Morgan came across a smiling, muscly blue pitbull she encountered on a walk, and giddily sent the photo over to Mei. Her last message was another of Mei’s “check-ins” making sure a clan of geriatrics hadn’t murdered Morgan.
Look how cute he is!
Despite the late hour, the response was immediate.
That is indeed a cute dog.
His name is BUMBLEBEE!!!
If I could get a dog, I’d name him Eddie. What would you name your dog?
Eddie is a fine name. How are your interviews going? Will you be back soon?
I’m making good progress here, she wrote. Should be back in the office by Monday. Might have enough for a warrant.
Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the emotional heft of the past few days. Maybe it was thinking about Mei on the other end of the line staring at her phone, smiling at the messages from Morgan. Dressed in silk pajamas—rich ladies always wore silk pajamas—curled up on her couch with a glass of wine. Or maybe, Morgan thought, in her bed, communicating with Morgan from her place of comfort. Whatever the reason, she hurriedly sent the text and braced for the worst.
Why, miss me?
Two minutes later, the response came through and Morgan excitedly, and carelessly, dropped her cake on her blanket.
Very much so.
Chapter Eight
Slowly, the way water erodes rock, Morgan wore away any objections or hesitations Mei possessed about their friendship. Before she knew it their routine became normal: constant contact through text, Mei’s homemade lunches either shared in the office or at the nearby park, occasional evening meals at restaurants or bars, and seeing a movie or a play after work. Mei’s weekends evolved from solitary gardening to day trips to local attractions, talks at the museum, or indie movies at the cineplex in the city. The new ritual of getting out had her calling up Shanvi and visiting Lara more often, sharing more meals with Grace, Mateo, and her grandchildren. Her days vibrated with life.
As they walked out of a talk on the real-life physics of Star Trek, Mei watched as Morgan took a deep breath of the warm outside air. “Smells like summer is coming. Oh, that reminds me. I’ll have to take you to the river I kayaked in last year. It was super calming, I think you’d like it.”
“Sounds good,” Mei agreed, though she’d never once in her life sat inside a kayak. Before she got in the car, she leveled a look at Morgan over the top. “How did you do this?”
Morgan leaned her elbows on the roof. “How did I do what?”
“Get me to do all this. The talks, the movies, the nights at the bar. I was never like this.”
Squinting into the sunset, Morgan tilted her head. “Would you like me to stop?”
“No, I don’t think I do.” Mei slid into her driver’s side seat and waited for Morgan to get in as well. She did, looking at Mei as she buckled her seat belt. “I’m sorry, that probably sounded odd.”
“It did, but I get it.” Over the rumble of the road and a lite radio station playing in the background, Morgan added, “I’m a good climber.”
Glancing sidelong, Mei raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”
“You asked how I did it. Well, like I told you, people build high fences. But once you find the right ladder, you can climb any fence if you put in the effort.” Morgan shrugged. “I’m a good climber, and you’re worth the effort.”
Touched, Mei turned away and kept her attention on the road as they neared Morgan’s home in a charming residential neighborhood just outside the city limits, composed of brownstone-styled apartments, with short front lawns and close neighbors. The city-block-party aesthetic fit Morgan and her extroverted nature, as evidenced by how many of her neighbors waved and spoke to her as she came and went from her building with Mei.
Lost in her thoughts, Mei almost didn’t hear Morgan softly ask, “Do you want to come over for dinner?”
While she’d picked Morgan up many times, or left her car to take Morgan’s on their way to an adventure, she’d only ventured inside once or twice, and never for longer than a few minutes. “At—at your place?”
“Yeah. Not tonight, I wouldn’t—such short notice. But tomorrow? If you’re free?” Tugging on the hem of her shirt, Morgan avoided Mei’s glances by staring directly out the windshield. “I know tomorrow’s Saturday and I’m sure you already have plans. You can say no, don’t feel pressured.”
“No, no, I’d love to,” Mei replied. “I’m free.”
“Cool.” Morgan smiled her trademark grin. “I’ve got a new puzzle that’s absolutely killing me. I also saw a new documentary on HBO I thought you’d like. So, you know, eating and hanging out.”
Pulling up to the curb outside Morgan’s home, she parked the car and turned to her with an impish grin. “Are you going to cook?”
Morgan frowned and crossed her arms. “I feel like you’re patronizing me, Dr. Sharpe.”
She touched Morgan’s shoulder in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. What time?”
“Around five?“
“Perfect.” Morgan hesitated, stuck in suspended animation debating whether to say or do something—Mei wasn’t sure which. But a feeling she felt often in Morgan’s presence, especially over the past few weeks, resurfaced. The feeling of standing on a precipice. Without saying anything, Morgan smiled and unlocked her door. Relief and possibly disappointment slowed Mei’s heartbeat. “See you tomorrow.”
Peeking back in, Morgan gave her a thumbs-up. “Yep! Don’t worry about bringing anything. Just, um, yourself.”
Once Morgan retreated into her home, Mei U-turned and drove toward her own. Something prickled the back of her neck. Anxiousness? Anticipation? She couldn’t decipher it, so she employed her preferred method of burying it deep inside.
Upon arriving at Morgan’s apartment the following afternoon, Mei’s nerves shook with fraught energy. Not since college, or perhaps even high school, had she experienced this level of naked anticipation and surge of nerves. Turning the bottle of wine over in her hands, she debated knocking again when, through the door, she heard a flurry of PG-13 curses, followed by the shrill beep of a fire alarm.
Feet scuffled behind the door until it finally swung open and revealed a slightly disheveled Morgan in the foreground, and a haze of gray behind her. Morgan pushed back her hair and smiled. “Everything’s fine.”
“Okay.” Morgan allowed her in, running on socked feet back to the kitchen. Climbing a nearby kitchen chair, she tore the batteries out of the alarm. Mei wasn’t but a few steps in before she could hear a voice calling from outside.
“Morgan, is that you?”
Head hung in defeat, Morgan craned over the sink, shouting out the window above it. “Yes, Mrs. Vern.”
“Are you cooking again?”
Mei snickered into her palm and Morgan looked back at her helplessly, then turned to the window. “Yes,” she called up solemnly. “It was a little oil smoke.”
“All right, dear. Let me know if you need anything,” the woman yelled down. “You know I always have a lasagna in the freezer for you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Vern. Have a good night.” Morgan turned around, back against the sink. Frazzled was an exceptionally adorable look on her. “There has been a bit of an incident.”
“I see.” Mei held on to the wine, attempting to school her features neutrally. “What happened?”
“I was supposed to be ‘sweating the onions’ but instead I burned the onions and nearly set the place on fire.” Taking a pan from the stove, Morgan glared down at it in disdain. “‘It’s so easy,’ Ruiz said. ‘There’s no way you could fuck up a burrito,’ Ruiz said.”
Ingredients strewn haphazardly on the available counter surfaces, many half-opened, made it clear Morgan had not gotten very far in her cooking adventure. Setting the wine down on the table, Mei drew closer to Morgan, close enough to spot the white bandage wrapped around Morgan’s left index finger. She took Morgan’s hand from the counter and held it in her own. “Another incident?”
