CHAPTER ONE, PART TWO
FROM COLLISION OF LIES
BY TOM THREADGILL
Yeah, and she mostly loved the job. But her Saturday plans didn’t include arbitrating personal conflicts. Armed robbery, home break-in, even a shoplifter couldn’t ruin her day off. But this was asking too much for too little. She shrugged and bit into a thick piece of bacon. “A little overcooked today. Tell Ruby there’s a difference between crispy and charcoal.”
He slapped his hands together into a praying position. “Please? I’ll bring out some fresh pancakes for you. And the meal’s on the house this morning.”
She leaned to the side and studied the couple. The woman wept while the man held her hand across the table.
“You know the rules,” Amara said. “Can’t take anything free. I’ll leave the usual and you can do what you want with it. Give it to Ruby for bacon-cooking lessons.”
“Deal,” he said. “Just go now, before we lose more business.”
“Next time, call the cops.” She tapped her elbow on the weapon in her belt holster and walked to the couple’s table. “Everything okay here?”
The man glared at her before turning his attention back to woman across from him. “Sorry. My wife’s a little emotional this morning.”
Yeah? Well, me too. She focused on his spouse. Her dark shoulder length hair had faint traces of blonde highlights, and bright red lipstick expanded her full lips. Swollen bags under her eyes added to the pudginess of her face. “Ma’am, everything okay?”
“No, it’s not.” Tears trickled down her face and she pulled her hand from her partner’s, then dabbed her cheeks with a napkin.
The man straightened. “Now, honey, let’s not—”
Amara held up her hand. “Let her talk.” The corners of his mouth dropped, and he shifted his body to face the newcomer. “Who do you—”
“Detective Amara Alvarez. San Antonio PD.” She showed her ID. “I don’t know what’s going on here and, honestly, don’t need to know. As long as I’m certain your wife’s not in any danger, I’ll let you get back to your breakfast. But you have to keep the noise down.”
“In danger?” the woman said. “From who?”
Amara tilted her head toward the husband. “From him.”
The woman’s mouth hung open and she blinked several times. “What? No. I mean . . . no. Why would you think that?”
“Police, remember?”
The woman cleared her throat and sipped her water to compose herself, then slid over and patted the seat. “Would you mind sitting for a moment, Officer? I’m Marisa Reyes and he’s my husband, Enzo.”
“Detective. And I really don’t want to get involved unless this is a police matter.”
Mr. Reyes crumpled his napkin and deep wrinkles lined his forehead. “It’s not.”
His wife’s shoulders spasmed as another wave of hysterics neared.
“How can you say that? Of course it is.” “Honey, you have to let it go.”
“Do I?” The woman’s voice shook. “You sure let it go in a hurry, didn’t you?”
Amara’s shoulders sagged, and she sat and angled herself toward Mrs. Reyes. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“She got a text this morning,” the husband said, “and it has her all stressed out. I told her to ignore it. Either a prank or wrong number. Not worth getting all worked up over.”
His wife brushed her hand under her eyes. “How can you be so sure? You can’t know it wasn’t him.”
Amara turned to face the woman beside her. “Tell me about the text.”
“A message came about two hours ago from a number I didn’t recognize. ‘Help me, Mom.’ That’s all it said. When I tried to respond, my phone said the number was no good.” She flattened her palms on the table and took a deep breath. “I know it’s from Benjamin, our son. I can’t explain it, but the text is from him.”
Amara dangled her arm across the back of the seat. “Have you called your son to see if he’s okay?”
“Detective”—Mr. Reyes grabbed his wife’s hand and squeezed— “there’s no point. Benjamin’s been dead for three years.”
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