Nola rolled her eyes. Not funny.
“What’s interesting, though, at least to me, is five years ago, that time you spent with Mint at Grandma’s Pantry . . .”
“Are you paying attention? This had nothing to do with Grandma’s Pantry.”
“I understand, and I clearly need more info from Zig, but I pulled the Grandma’s Pantry files. Way back when, you were out there just a few days, barely a week,” Waggs said calmly, eyeing her own rearview. “But the way you threw yourself into this case . . . jumping in like such a madwoman to solve Mint’s murder . . . For you to take this all so personally, that’s a pretty deep bond you two developed in such a short time.”
Behind them, the EMTs pushed Tessa’s stretcher into the ambulance, the legs collapsing. Huck was still holding his mother’s hand, climbing in behind her.
“Mint was far from perfect, but it was one of my first cases. He was a good mentor,” Nola explained.
“And that’s why you came here? To help an old friend? Nothing more?”
“Nothing more,” Nola replied, her tone flat, unwavering.
“Y’know, you’re a frustrating demon, Nola Brown. But I will say, Mint and his family are lucky to have you. And as far as I’m concerned, so’s my friend Zig.”
There was a loud thunk behind them. The ambulance doors slamming shut.
“I really should go, Ms. Waggs.”
“Yeah, I gotta run, too. They want me at the hospital and . . . hmm . . . now that I think about it, if you’re headed that way . . . well . . . you wanna join us?”
Us?
Outside the car, the little girl appeared from nowhere, standing there, framed by the window. Nola was so busy studying the rearview, she didn’t see her approach, her bird’s nest of black hair messier than ever. Mint’s daughter, Violet.
“Personally, I hate other people’s kids,” Waggs explained, “but the EMTs said only one family member per ambulance, and I couldn’t leave her home alone while her mother and brother were at the hospital.”
Nola sat there, silent, staring dumbfounded at Waggs.
“It’s just a fifteen-minute drive, but I’m not really from this area, so, anyway . . . was just thinking, if you’re free . . .” Waggs added, a smile lighting her eyes. “You up for a ride to the hospital?”
Nola cracked her toes, her forehead filling with creases. She looked confused, like a rule had been broken, and if that rule was broken, then what else could give way?
“Nola, have you heard a word I’ve said?”
Nola nodded, slowly, then faster, like a translator was relaying a foreign language and she was a few seconds behind. It made Waggs realize that Nola Brown could deal with murder, with violence . . . even personal tragedy. But she didn’t know how to deal with kindness.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Waggs added. “It’s just . . . when you live in a ditch long enough, you start to decorate it. I thought you needed an upgrade, y’know?”
Nola sat there, turning back to the window.
Violet opened the back door and climbed inside.
“Ms. Waggs, I’m in,” the girl said, her voice sounding wounded as she clicked her seat belt, holding the strap across her chest like a lifeline. She’d been through hell these past few days—her father dead, her mother now on her way to the hospital. Yet here she was, ready for whatever came next.
On their right, the ambulance blew past, Violet watching it race up the block. Nola tried to be subtle, taking a quick peek toward the back seat.
Violet’s NASA T-shirt was faded and ratty, looking like something she’d slept in. Her jean shorts looked new; same with her sneakers, which, surprisingly, made Nola feel . . . relieved? . . . proud? . . . She didn’t have the right word, but it felt good.