ENDING OF CHAPTER 11

Hank sat on the edge of the bed, smiling. Memories of last night's dinner and a pleasant evening stroll with Emmy pushed aside his usual morning fog.  

He inhaled, breathing in the aroma of coffee brewing. The automatic coffee maker was on the job. It was one of the few amenities Hank had requested from his new employer. The Boston Police Department supplied an apartment for the first six months or until Hank chose his living arrangements. He had asked for little, but he needed his morning charge. 

He headed to the shower with an unexpected spring in his step, whistling Thomas Rhett's version of "I'm a Happy Man." 

********** 

Across town, Emmy struggled to find the perfect outfit instead of following her usual routine of grabbing the first thing her hand touched. She spent extra time in the bathroom, deciding if she should wear her hair up or not and if Maybelline's Jungle Red would make her lips drive men crazy. She laughed, addressing her reflection in the mirror. "Who do you think you're fooling? Your mind's on one man." 

Leaving her bathroom, she grabbed her jacket from the bed, took one last look in the dresser mirror, and headed to work. She'd made a mental note to stop at the cafe for a box of pastries and freshly brewed Colombian coffee. She struggled to convince herself she was being friendly, repaying Hank for last night's dinner.  

As she put the key in her car's ignition, her eyes stared back at her from the rearview mirror. She admonished the girl looking at her, "Get ahold of yourself, girl. You're giddy over this guy." 

Emmy leaned against the headrest, sighing. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so relaxed with a man. "I've lost my mind. Acting so silly over a guy I just met."   

But then — what about those butterflies? She didn't have an explanation. Instead, she put the car in gear and tried to concentrate on her driving. 

Traffic was sparse during this time of the morning. In another hour, the road would be bumper to bumper. It surprised Emmy how much she enjoyed the drive along the harbor, something she rarely noticed. With less traffic, Emmy pulled into her reserved parking spot thirty minutes early.  

Wanting a few moments to swap gossip with Sara, she hurried to the café, only to find her friend battling a stubborn coffee maker and frosting pastries. 

"Good morning, Emmy." Sara wiped her hands on a cloth as she pushed the brew button. "I should replace this old thing, but it still makes the best coffee."  

"Yes, it does." Emmy smiled.  

"Certainly, I wasn't expecting you so early this morning." Sara leaned closer to Emmy. "Have something to do with the charming new detective?" 

Emmy wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Sara. And I wasn't aware you were on such friendly terms with the detective." 

Sara chuckled. "He was the talk of the town yesterday among half the women who stopped in for coffee. It seems he made quite an impression on the department's staff. Does that include you, my friend?" 

"Sara, you know me better than that." Emmy took the cup of espresso from Sara. "He's a charmer, but this girl doesn't fall off cliffs for no man. Besides, his reputation preceded him. Getting past my door will take more than a smile and good manners." 

"Hmm-mm." Sara handed Emmy a box of freshly baked pastries. "I believe the girl protests too much." 

"I must admit dinner last night and the walk along the boardwalk were nice. But —" 

"Dinner? Moonlight walks?" Sara laughed. "His first day on the job, and he's got you, hook, line, and sinker." Before Emmy could protest, Sara added, "Take the pastries. They're on the house. My mama always told me the fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Now get going, girl." 

They exchanged knowing looks before Emmy thanked Sara for the pastries and coffee and left the café. Walking briskly toward police headquarters, she felt last night's strange fluttering return. A warm flush crept up her delicate throat, adding a tinge of pink to her face. 

"Emmy Lansbury, what's wrong with you? He's just a man." As she entered the building, the detective couldn't deny her eagerness to see Hank again. 

The elevator stopped at the third floor, rattling as the doors opened. Emmy hurried toward Hank's office, hoping to leave her morning treats on his desk before he arrived. Instead, she was the one surprised. The door was open. 

"Oh — good morning, Hank. I wasn't expecting to find you hard at it already. I brought coffee and pastries." She sat the box of pastries on the corner of his desk before handing him a cup of coffee. 

Dressed impeccably, Hank raised himself from the chair, grinning from ear to ear. He also extended his hand toward his flustered visitor with a cup of coffee. "I stopped at the same place I met you yesterday and got us coffee. Double espresso, right?" 

Emmy laughed. "I can't believe you remembered or that Sara failed to mention she'd seen you. How sweet." She set her offerings on the desk and graciously accepted the one he held in his hand. "Great minds think alike, I guess." 

"Sorry about ruining your surprise." Hank returned to his desk chair, shuffling papers out of his way. "I was trying to get up to speed on this case." 

"You are a bulldog, aren't you? Give you a bone, and you don't let loose."  

"I've been called worse, but you're right about me digging in and not stopping." Hank pointed to a chair. "Sit down and join me. Last night, I proved I could walk and talk. Maybe I can show you how well I drink coffee and discuss a case. However, we have little to go on with this one." 

"You're full of witty sarcasm this morning, detective. Maybe I should take my coffee and disappear." 

"No, please. I promise to watch my manners." Hank's demeanor was overpowering, and Emmy claimed a chair. They both laughed and settled into work. 

********************************************** 

Peter's voice snapped, revealing his irritation at being awakened at 6 a.m. "Officer Smythe, may I ask what your call is about?"  

"We had a call in Shanty Town after closing time. Two thugs beat up one of the locals. Really did a number on the poor guy." 

"Shanty Town?" Peter hadn't finished his first cup of coffee and was in no mood for the officer's nonsense. "Are you suggesting my people beat up some pathetic old man? Because if you are, I'll give you my lawyer's name, or better yet, you can connect me to the Police Chief." 

Terrence Smythe had served on Boston's police force for almost twenty years and still worked in Shanty Town. It was time to get out of this hellhole, but unfortunately, his bank account said otherwise. He was taking an enormous risk but didn't think he had much to lose. 

"No, Mr. Costello, the call is not official." Smythe took a long, drawn breath and released it. "After 20 years, the Boston Police Department would consider me important enough to make official inquiries." 

Peter hesitated for a moment, buzzing for one of his men before putting his phone on speaker. He spoke into the phone. "May I ask how you got this number? It is unlisted." 

The bodyguard entered Peter's bedroom and stood next to his boss, listening.  

"A friend — Zeke Jamison gave it to me." 

"You're a friend of Officer Jamison?" Peter nodded to his man. The bodyguard moved away, dialed a number, and spoke into his phone. Seconds later, he nodded at Peter. 

"Yes, we work together, and he's approached me a few times about side jobs. I wasn't interested." 

"And now?" 

"To be honest, sir. I'm ready to retire, and my pension — well, retirement will be bleak." 

"I understand." Costello was thoughtful for a moment before he continued, "Officer Jamison thinks you have something that I would be interested in?" 

"I was the first police officer at the scene, sir. The guy was in terrible shape, and he was saying something about his son needing protection." 

"I don't know where this conversation is headed, but I am not in the business of protection, especially for people in Shanty Town. Thank you for calling, but I don't think we have any reason to continue this call." 

"Sir, just one more moment, please. Sorry if I am a little nervous. I've never done anything like this before." 

"Like what? Talk to a private citizen about police business that I have no concern about. I don't know what Mr. Jamison told you, but he was mistaken." 

"Dia — dia — monds, sir" Stuttering, Smythe wiped the sweat from his forehead. "The EMTs reported that the guy kept mumbling something about diamonds."   

"Diamonds?" Peter paused, not wanting to sound overly interested. "What else can you tell me about tonight's call?" 

Sensing the change in Peter, Smythe's confidence improved. "Sandy, the owner, and bartender at the Watering Hole heard screams, and she found the guy. Called the police. She might give you more information. She wasn't too talkative with us, but you might have a better chance." 

"Thank you, Mr. —. I must apologize for my grumpiness. I should have better manners." Peter cleared his throat. "I've forgotten your name." 

"Officer Terrence Smythe, sir." 

"Well, Officer Smythe, thank you for this call, and I'll make sure someone sends you a nice gift basket for your help. If this pans out, I promise to make your retirement much happier." 

"Thank you, sir." The line went dead. Terrence slumped into a chair, knowing his life had changed with the phone call. He didn't know if it would be for the good or not.