“I can’t eat that,” Roger objected, pointing at the food.
“Why not?”
“Because Shelley will be mad at me.”
“Why?”
“It’s my ulcer,” he said. “She says regular food makes me sick. That’s why she gives me that chocolate-flavored stuff to drink. Have them bring me some of that.”
Obviously there was still some confusion in Roger’s mind about what was really going on, but what he’d just said answered one lingering question. No wonder Roger Adams resembled a starving prisoner straight out of a Nazi concentration camp. He actually was starving and for months had existed on a liquid-only diet.
“It’s all right, Daddy,” Nitz assured him. “The hospital doesn’t have any of that chocolate stuff, and Shelley’s not here. Go ahead and try the food. You might like it, and if Shelley turns up, we won’t tell her about it, will we, Jimmy?”
“No,” a wide-eyed Jimmy agreed. “We won’t tell, cross our hearts.”
I couldn’t help but notice Nitz’s casual use of the word “Daddy.” In the previous hours, something important had occurred and the long estrangement between father and daughter had unobtrusively come to an end.
Moments later Roger was digging into his plateful of food. It was hospital fare—probably incredibly bland and mostly tasteless as well, but he downed it with obvious gusto. He was clearly disappointed when Nitz declared he’d eaten as much as he should and removed his plate with some food still on it.
“It’s all right,” she assured him. “If this doesn’t upset your stomach and you’re hungry again a little later, I’ll bring you something else.”
Shortly after that, Jimmy and I left the hospital. With the convenience of AJ’s just across the street from the hotel, I offered to take him there for dinner, but there was only one place in Homer where Jimmy Danielson cared to dine—back to Zig’s Place, so that’s where we went.
Just after nine the Driftwood’s glass doors slid open. Father Jared Danielson entered the lobby, followed by Twink carrying an armload of luggage. She went straight to the check-in desk while Jared headed for us.
“Is that him?” Jimmy whispered.
I nodded.
With that, Jimmy pocketed his phone, shot out of his chair, and went to greet the new arrival.
“Are you my uncle?” he asked.
Jared looked down at the boy and smiled. “If your name happens to be Christopher James Danielson, I certainly am,” he said, extending his hand.
“I’m glad to meet you, sir,” Jimmy said as they shook.
“You’re welcome to call me Uncle Jared. What should I call you?”
“Jimmy.”
“Okay,” Jared said. “Jimmy it is.”
Believe me, I had another huge lump in my throat during that brief encounter,
A few minutes later, I left Jared and Jimmy to get acquainted and hurried across the street to AJ’s, where Twink had arrived just in time to place her order before the kitchen shut down. I stopped at the hostess stand and made arrangements to cover Twink’s tab, sticky pudding and all. Then I wandered over to her table.
“Hey, Trouble,” she greeted me. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to pay my bill.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I don’t have my credit-card gizmo on me.”
“No problem,” I told her. Slipping into the booth across from her, I pulled out a business card and scribbled a series of numbers on it. Then I passed the card to her. “When you do charge the account, that’s the amount you should use.”
Twink looked at the number, and her eyes bulged. “That’s way more than you owe!”
“And you did work that was above and beyond just being my driver.”
“But—”
“No buts, Twink. Having you and Maude at my disposal made all the difference. If nothing else, use the extra moolah to take that ding out of the fender and give the old girl a new paint job.”
“Thanks,” Twink said at last, pocketing the card. “Maybe I will.”
“And if you speak to that brother of yours, you might suggest that he get in touch with Lieutenant Price here at Homer PD. I’m not sure it’ll do any good, but someone needs to let investigators know that Jack Loveday wouldn’t have committed suicide just because the doctors whacked off his legs.”
“I’ll do that, too,” she said.
Rising to my feet, I held out my hand, and she gripped it with knuckle-grinding force. “This is it, then?” she asked.