“So you’ve already seen it.”
Zig nodded, eyes still locked on the DVD. “Charmaine emailed it last night.”
It was two minutes and twenty-three seconds long, Maggie sitting on a sofa, wiping tears and snot on her sleeve as she told the story of how Huddy dumped her for Daniella—a detail that seemed to upset Maggie more than the actual breakup.
“Nola, do I even want to know how you got this?” Zig asked, holding up the DVD.
“You don’t.”
Zig laughed, tapping the jewel case like a drum against his own thigh. For years, just the sight of an old photo of Maggie, much less an actual video, would’ve ripped Zig apart. And sure enough, when he’d watched the video last night, hearing the story of her breakup with Huddy, Zig’s eyes welled with tears. But they weren’t tears of pain . . . or the even more ruthless tears of guilt for missing out on something as vital as his daughter’s first boyfriend. To Zig’s own surprise, it was actually . . . nice. It was nice having something new—a little piece of his daughter that came back when he least expected it.
“It was good seeing her again,” Zig admitted, though it wasn’t until this moment, as he drummed the jewel case, that he realized the full extent of it. This DVD . . . everything on it . . . it was a gift from a ghost, a gift from the past—wonderful for sure, but not nearly as vital as something in the present.
“It was thoughtful of you to do this, Nola. You didn’t have to.”
“You’re getting sappy,” she warned.
Of course he was, though he was done apologizing for it. All this time, Zig wasn’t a broken man; he was a frozen man. Two years ago, he’d taken the job at Calta’s Funeral Home to move on from Dover and dead soldiers, hoping it would help him come back to life. Yet it was time to admit, the only way to come back is to actually move forward. Otherwise, you just gather dust.
“By the way, not sure if you heard, but O.J. offered me a job,” Zig added. “Wants me to leave the funeral home and come back to Dover. He said since we helped find the twenty-two million, he wants to bring me onto the investigative side. Have me look at bodies out in the field.”
Nola sat there silent, unreadable.
“Know what else I heard?” Zig added. “That he offered you a job as well.”
“Who told you that? Ms. Waggs?”
“She said your work on the Mint case was exceptional—O.J.’s words, not just hers—and that he’d be lucky to have brains like you on his team.”
“I’d rather have ants eat my eyes than work for him.”
“So how do you really feel?”
“Can you not be a sucker for once? O.J. is—”
“Let me tee it up differently for you: if I was there, and you were there, we cou—”
“Don’t even think it.”
“I’m not saying I’m taking the job, but if I did—”
“Don’t. Think. It.”
Zig tapped the jewel case against his leg, letting the car fill with silence.
“What else did Ms. Waggs tell you?” Nola asked.
“Nothing. That was it.”
She glanced over at him, the two of them locking eyes.
“That was it,” Zig said, holding up three fingers.
“Mr. Zigarowski, are you giving me the Boy Scout salute?”
“Old habits,” Zig said, starting to laugh and waiting for her to join in.
She didn’t.