Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tara leans back in one of the chairs on the other side of my desk as she casually tosses a stress ball up in the air.
She isn’t one to sit still for long and is always moving.
I am more than ten years younger than her but she’s never made me feel like there’s a decade between us.
Given the opportunity, though, she will point out that she’s still the fastest member on our team.
Every six months or so, Kelly challenges her to a foot race, fully convinced he is going to beat her.
She hasn’t lost yet—and I’d put my money on her every single time.
“You know, I think the stress ball is meant to be squeezed, not tossed.” Kelly’s observation is met with an eye roll and smirk from Tara.
His natural competitive nature mirrors Tara’s, but it’s never malicious between them.
The reality of our job means that sometimes it is a chaotic storm that we are navigating blind, and other times, it’s a game of hurry up and wait.
“This is more fun. Plus, you never know if I might just pivot, and—” She stops mid-sentence to turn and throw the ball at Kelly, who snatches it midair with a smirk of his own.
“Thanks. I wanted a turn.” Kelly starts tossing the stolen stress ball while Tara just shrugs and pulls out another one from her pocket.
I laugh and she smiles in response. “What? I like pockets.”
“Legend has it that if a woman had a pocket during the sixteenth or seventeenth century then she was a witch,” Kelly states to the room.
I put my pen down at that, tilting my head. “And how does a pocket equal witchcraft?”
Kelly shrugs. “I don’t know. But I think it had something to do with a woman hiding a potion or wand.”
“Great. Now I have another reason to love dresses and pants with pockets—finally, a place for my wand!” Tara’s laughter echoes off the conference room’s walls.
“When we get the lab results, I’m going to walk through them with Mason to see if anything else was missed in the toxicology reports between the cases.
He said the results should be in by lunchtime,” Kelly adds.
“Unless he keeps them hidden in his pocket, of course.” He grins and I shake my head at him.
It’s a moment of levity, but we need these lighter team moments to counterbalance the dark reality we face together on a regular basis.
“I’m going to stretch my legs and grab some lunch. Does anyone want anything?” Tara asks after one final toss of her stress ball.
Kelly shrugs and mirrors her movement, standing and tossing the ball back to her. “I could eat.”
“Harlow, would you like to join us?” Tara asks as they gather their things.
“No. That’s okay. You guys go ahead. I’ll get food in a bit, but first, I need to find something in my notes from the other week,” I absently tell them as I collect my own things and slowly walk to my office, still flipping through the pages of my blue notebook.
I reread the extensive notes I’ve made so far on The Carnation Killer.
Of the seven victims so far, the demographics are really all over the place, and I’m not sure where the commonality is.
It could very well be that he looked more for ease of access than a particular type.
I add a note to look at the crime scene photos again; maybe there’s something I’m still missing.
In fact, I know I’m missing something—I just don’t see it yet.
“Knock, knock!” Christine’s cheerful greeting startles me, pulling me from my thoughts. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I wave away her apology. “No, it’s my fault. I was chasing a theory, or at least the thread of one, anyway.” I shrug, getting up to meet her on the other side of my desk. “What’s that?”
My stomach growls at the exact moment the delicious aroma of Spoon and Smash's chicken wild rice soup reaches me. I check my watch and see I’ve been in my office reviewing notes for over an hour.
It didn’t feel like it was that long, but that’s what happens when I get lost in my thoughts. “Did I miss the lunch order again?”
Christine shakes her head. “No, in fact, I was just about to make my rounds to ensure everyone ate, but this was already delivered and waiting in security.” She hands me the familiar brown bag with the large spoon logo on the side, and I peek at the delivery receipt.
My name and information are listed, and under additional comments it says, “Enjoy your lunch - Ryan.”
The last communication we had was a text a few hours ago, and I mentioned my frustration with a current case but didn’t go into detail. Somehow, the man knew I needed lunch today.
“That man is a keeper, Harlow. He is taking even better care of you than I am!” Christine winks as heat floods my face, and I feel like a schoolgirl with a crush.
But maybe that’s exactly what I am.