Blue Smoke

  evening.

  She grabbed her keys again and went back out.

  She caught the tail of Hugh’s car turning left at the corner, and absently noted the car that turned behind him. She kissed her fingers in his direction, then set off the opposite way to walk to Sirico’s.

  It was good to be back in the neighborhood. She’d enjoyed her time in the group house, and she’d liked the broom closet she’d been able to finesse during her training at the Shady Grove campus west of Baltimore. But this was home.

  The row houses with their white steps or little porches, pots of flowers on stoops or Italian flags flying from rooftop poles.

  There was always someone around to call out a greeting.

  She took her time, admired some of the murals painted on window screens and wondered if she should ask her mother to do one for her and Gina. Probably needed to run that one by the landlord, but since it was Gina’s second cousin, she doubted it would be an issue.

  She detoured half a block to watch a few minutes of a boccie game between old men in colorful shirts.

  Why hadn’t she thought to ask Hugh if he wanted to stroll down, check out some of the local color?

  What she should do is ask him, casually, if he wanted to take in the open-air movie on Friday night. It was a neighborhood tradition. Movie night meant live music, too—which could lead to dancing. She might put those red shoes to use, after all.

  She’d think about that, maybe make it a double with Gina and Steve. But for now, she might as well enjoy the rest of her evening.

  She reminded herself that Sunday nights were busy at Sirico’s. If she wanted a few minutes with some of the family before the chaos, she shouldn’t linger.

  Things were already heating up when she walked in the door of the restaurant. Buzzing conversations, the clatter of cutlery, the phone ringing greeted her when she stepped inside.

  Pete was at the pizza counter, her mother at the stove. Fran, along with a couple of the waitstaff her father still called his kids, were manning the tables.

  Reena saw her immediate future flash in front of her eyes in the form of an apron and an order pad. She started to call out to Fran, then saw Bella sitting at a table nibbling on some antipasto.

  “Hey, stranger.” Reena plopped on the other chair at the table. “What are you doing around here?”

  “Vince is golfing today. Thought I’d bring the kids by for a while.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Dad and Jack took them for a walk, over to the harbor. Mama called to let you know I was here, but you weren’t home.”

  “Just got back, didn’t even check the machine.” She reached over, nipped one of the olives from Bella’s plate. “Boccie contest is winding down. We’re going to be swamped in about a half hour.”

  “Business is good.” Bella gave a little shrug.

  She looked amazing, Reena thought. The lifestyle she’d aimed for all of her life suited her. She was polished. Her deep blond hair expertly highlighted and swept silkily around a face of fine, smooth skin. There was gold and glitter at her ears, on her fingers, around her throat. Subtle and expensive to match the pale rose linen shirt.

  “How about you?” Reena asked. “Are you as good as you look?”

  A smile flickered around Bella’s mouth. “How good do I look?”

  “Magazine-cover level.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been working on it. It takes time to lose the baby weight, get back in shape. I’ve got a personal trainer who makes Attila the Hun look like a pansy. But it’s worth it.”

  She held out her wrist to show off the sapphire-and-diamond tennis bracelet. “My reward from Vince for getting back to my pre-Vinny weight.”

  “Nice. Sparkly.”

  Bella laughed, gave that little shrug again and toyed with some prosciutto. “Anyway, I came by to try to pigeonhole Fran about the wedding.”

  “What about it?”

  “I just don’t see why she insists on having the reception in some dinky hall when she can use our club. I’ve even got a list of menus, and florists, musicians. She doesn’t need to settle when I’m willing to help.”

  “It’s sweet of you.” And she meant it. “But I think Fran and Jack want something a little simpler and closer to home. They’re simpler, Bella. That’s not a criticism,” she added, reaching out for her sister’s hand when Bella’s eyes flashed. “Honestly. Your wedding was spectacular, and gorgeous and absolutely reflected you. Fran’s should reflect her.”

  “I just want to share some of what I’ve got. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Absolutely nothing. And you know what? I think you ought to help with the flowers.”

  Bella blinked in surprise. “Really?”

  “You’re better at that than Fran and Mama. I think they should let you have your head there, especially if you’re willing to help pay for it.”

  “I would be, but they won’t—”

  “I’ll talk them into it.”

  Bella sat back. “You could, too. You always could work them around.”

  “One condition. If Fran wants simple flowers, you don’t buy truckloads of exotic orchids or whatever.”

  “If she wants simple, I can work simple. But stupendously simple. And I can turn that dinky hall into a garden. A cottage garden,” she added at Reena’s narrowed stare. “Sweet, old-fashioned, romantic.”

  “Perfect. When my turn comes, I’m hooking you.”

  “Got any potentials?”

  “Not looking for potential husbands. But I’ve got a potential guy. Firefighter.”

  “Oh. Big surprise.”

  “Studly,” Reena said around another olive. “Excellent mattress possibilities.”

  Bella gave a choked laugh. “I miss you, Reena.”

  “Aw, honey, I miss you, too.”

  “I didn’t think I would.”

  Now it was time for Reena to laugh.

  “Seriously. I didn’t think I’d miss you, or this.” She gestured to encompass the restaurant. “But I do, sometimes.”

  “Well, we’re always here.”

  She stayed longer than she’d intended, long after Bella took her children home to her sprawling suburban estate. When business was light enough, she maneuvered her mother and Fran to a table.

  “Girl powwow.”

  “Any excuse to get off my feet.” Bianca sat, poured sparkling water all around.

  “It’s about the wedding, and Bella.”

  “Oh, don’t start.” Fran clamped her hands on her ears. Her waves of hair tossed as she shook her head. “I don’t want a country club wedding. I don’t want a bunch of waiters in tuxedos serving champagne or a damn ice swan.”

  “Don’t blame you. But you do want flowers, right?”

  “Well, of course I want flowers.”

  “Let Bella do them.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “Wait. You know the sort of thing you want, you know the colors you want. But Bella knows more. The one thing she has in spades is style.”

  “I’d be drowning in pink roses.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.” Or, Reena thought, she’d personally drown Bella in them directly after the ceremony. “You want a simple wedding, old-fashioned and romantic. She gets that. Okay, she doesn’t get why you want that, but understands this is your line. And your day. She wants to help. She wants to feel part of it.”

  “She is part of it.” Fran pulled at her hair now while Bianca sat silently. “She’s matron of honor.”

  “She wants to give you something. She loves you.”

  “Oh, Reena, don’t.” Fran put her head on the table, banged it lightly. “Don’t guilt me into this.”

  “She’s a little bored, feeling a little separate.”

  “Mama. Help me.”

  “I’m waiting to hear it all first. To see why Reena’s taking your sister’s part in this.”

  “For one, because I think—No, I know she can do this. And at her expense.” She jabbed a finger at
Fran as Fran’s head whipped up and protest covered her face. “A gift from your sister isn’t an insult, so just choke that back. She wants to give you your wedding flowers, and she’ll want you to be pleased with them, so she won’t screw it up. Quick, name five flowers that aren’t a rose.”

  “Um . . . lily, geranium . . . damn it, mums, pansies. This is too much pressure.”

  “You remember how she hounded those landscapers when she was putting in those gardens, the shrubberies? She knows more than any of us about this, and about coordinating something like this. She said she could do a kind of cottage garden theme. I’m not sure what that is, but it sounds nice.”

  Fran bit her lip. “I’m not sure exactly what it means either. But it sounds right.”

  “It would mean a lot to her, and I think when it was done, it would mean a lot to you.”

  “I could talk to her. Maybe we could go to a florist, or I could go over and look at her gardens again, and she could show me what she means.”

  “Good.” Knowing when to desert the field, Reena slid out of the booth. “I’ve got to head home.” She leaned down, kissed Fran, started to kiss her mother, but Bianca got up.

  “I’m going to walk out with you, get some air.”

  As they went through the door, Bianca put an arm around Reena’s waist. “That was unexpected. You’re not one to take Bella’s side.”

  “I don’t usually agree with her. Plus, my gut tells me there’s no way she’d screw this up. It’s partly for Fran, part for her own ego. It’s a no lose.”

  “Smart. You’ve always been my smart one. Why don’t we all go look at flowers? The women of Sirico’s.”

  “Okay, sure.”

  “Now, call me when you get home.”

  “Mama.”

  “Just call, so I know you got home safe.”

  Four and a half blocks, Reena thought as she strolled away. Through my own neighborhood. A trained police officer.

  But she called when she got home.

  Being a rookie cop meant Reena was at the bottom of the department food chain. The fact that she’d graduated in the top five percent of her class didn’t hold a lot of water once she was in uniform and on patrol.

  That was fine. She’d been taught to earn her way.

  And she liked patrolling. She liked being able to talk to people, to try to help solve problems or disputes.

  She and her partner, a ten-year man named Samuel Smith, responded to a report of a disturbance on West Pratt in the southwest part of the city the locals called Sowebo.

  “Thought we were going to hit Krispy Kreme,” Smithy complained as he turned in the direction of the call.

  “How do you eat all those doughnuts and not put on weight?”

  “Cop blood.” He winked at her. He was six-four, and a stone-solid two-twenty. His skin was walnut, his eyes sharp and black. Out of uniform he’d have looked intimidating. In it, he looked ferocious.

  It was a comfort to someone in her first year on the force to be partnered with someone built like a truck. And as a Baltimore native, he knew the city as well as—or better than—she did.

  She could see the crowd on the sidewalk as they turned down the block. This area ran more to art galleries and historic homes than the street brawl she realized was in progress.

  Indeed most of the people watching the two men roll around on the asphalt were dressed in style—a lot of bold colors and New York black.

  She got out with Smithy, moved with him through the crowd.

  “Break it up, break it up.” Smithy’s voice boomed, and people flowed back. But the two men kept pummeling each other. And not very skillfully, Reena noted.

  Designer shoes were getting scuffed, and the Italian-cut jackets were going to be trash, but there wasn’t much blood.

  She reached down, as Smithy did, to pull them apart. “Police. Cut it out.”

  She had her hands on the smaller of the two, and he rolled when she gripped his arm. His other came up, fist clenched. She saw the swing coming, had a moment to think, Shit, and blocked it with her forearm.

  Using his momentum, she shoved him over on his face, then yanked his hands behind his back. “You swing at me? You’re going to take a punch at me?” She cuffed him while he rocked his body like an upturned turtle. “That’ll get you popped for assaulting an officer.”

  “He started it.”

  “What are you, twelve?”

  She pulled him upright. His face was a little scraped up, and she judged him to be mid-twenties. His opponent, in basically the same shape, and of approximately the same age, sat on the ground where Smithy put him.

  “Did you take a swing at my partner?” Smithy pointed to the second man. “Stay,” he ordered and stepped up into the first man’s face. It was like a redwood towering over a sapling. “Did your dumb ass swing at my partner?”

  “I didn’t know she was a cop. I didn’t know it was a she. And he started it. You can ask anybody. He started pushing me inside.”

  “I don’t hear an apology.” Smithy tapped his ear. “Officer Hale, do you hear an apology out of this dumbass?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I’m sorry.” He didn’t look sorry, but he did look mortified, and on the verge of tears. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”

  “You didn’t hit me. You punch like a girl. You people go about your business,” she ordered the onlookers. “Now, you can tell me your side of it while he tells my partner his. And I don’t want to hear you say he started it again.”

  Awoman,” Smithy said with a sigh when they drove away. “It’s always over a woman.”

  “Hey, don’t blame my breed for the stupidity of yours.”

  He turned his head, widened his eyes. “You a woman, Hale?”

  “Why do I always get the wise guys?”

  “You did okay. Handled that fine. You’ve got good reflexes, and you kept it chilled when he tried to pop you.”

  “If he’d connected, it might’ve been a different story.” But satisfied with a job well done, she eased back. “You buy the doughnuts.”

  The apartment was empty when she got home after her shift. A note in Gina’s large, flowery hand was stuck to the fridge, along with the snapshot of her extra-large aunt Opal. Gina’s deterrent to snacking.

  Out with Steve. We’re at Club Dread if you want to hook up. Hugh may swing by, too.

  XXXOOO

  G

  She thought about it, actually stood in the kitchen running through her head what she could wear. Then she shook her head. She wasn’t in the mood for a noisy club.

  She wanted to get out of uniform, stretch out and do some studying. John passed her old case files, let her go through them and try to determine accident or incendiary, and the hows and whys.

  When she moved to the arson unit, those hours of reconstruction would come in handy.

  Instead, she wandered into the bedroom. The reflection in the mirror caught her eye, made her stop, study herself.

  Maybe she didn’t look particularly female in the uniform, but she liked the image she projected. Authority and confidence. Though