A Killing Rain by P.J. Parrish

hesitated, her hand on her hip. “I got leftover pizza.”
    “That’ll work.”
    She withdrew a pizza box from the refrigerator, nodding toward the phone. “Call the mother. The coffee will take a few minutes.”
    Louis called Susan. She was hoarse, but calm. She told him Dan Wainwright had sent two cops and they were in the living room watching some old movie. She told him she had slept a few hours, but he didn’t believe her. He didn’t say much, just listened. He didn’t tell her where he was, or where he had just come from. There was no reason to.
    When he hung up, he took a breath and turned back to Joe. She handed him a plate of pizza.
    “She okay?”
    Louis nodded, taking the plate to the sofa. The first few bites were gobbled down, but as he picked up the second piece, he started looking around the living room. His eyes were drawn to two photographs sitting on a bookshelf near the TV. Two uniforms. He recognized the black one as Miami-Dade. But the other was blue...with a skirt.
    He rose and walked to it, chewing the pizza. The woman in the black uniform was a younger Joe. He guessed the older woman was her mother. They could have been twins, except for the hairstyles and uniforms. The mother’s uniform looked like something a stewardess might wear, complete with a little hat. But there was a badge on her jacket.
    Joe came up behind him.
    “Your mother?” Louis asked.
    “Yes. She was a cop in Cleveland. She was my inspiration, but things were pretty sucky for women back then.”
    “Not the best, even now,” Louis said.
    “You got that right.”
    His eyes caught sight of a small plant on the shelf. It was brown and withered.
    “You need to throw that thing away,” he said. “It looks dead.”
    She reached past him to get the plant. She held it, picking at the brittle leaves. “I used to have a slew of plants. Filled up that whole wall.”
    “What happened to them?”
    “I got promoted,” she said.
    She went back into the kitchen and tossed the plant in the trash. “I had no time after that. No time to cook, take care of my cats, or water plants. I got stuck once on a four-day stakeout and when I got home, they were all dead.”
    “The cats or the plants?” Louis asked.
    “You’re not a cat person or you wouldn’t make jokes like that.”
    “Actually, I have a cat.”
    He frowned and Joe saw it. “What’s the matter?”
    “I forgot to tell someone to look after her.”
    “Cats can take care of themselves. She’ll be okay for one day.”
    “She’s in heat.”
    “You better get her spayed.”
    “That’s what Mel said.”
    “Like Mel knows about cats.”
    Louis walked to the kitchen, setting his plate in the sink. “I think Mel knows about a lot of things people don’t think he knows about.”
    The coffee was done brewing and he poured himself a cup, glancing around for the sugar. A gigantic orange cat was watching him from the counter.
    “Where’s your sugar?” he asked.
    “Sorry, I don’t use sugar,” Joe said, disappearing into the bedroom.
    Louis stared at the black liquid in the cup then drank it, grimacing. He dumped it in the sink. He went back to the living room, sinking into the sofa. He rubbed his face then rested his forehead in his palms. He had been sitting a few minutes when a pillow hit him in the shoulder.
    “We’ll head to Eighth Street around nine, when the businesses open,” she said.
    Louis looked at her, then at the pillow. There was a yellow blanket folded across the arm of the sofa.
    “Yeah, okay,” Louis said.
    She disappeared and Louis heard a door close.
    Louis remained sitting, his eyes drifting to the photo of Joe with her mother, across the dark TV and finally coming to rest on the sliding glass door. He rose and walked to it. He could see the lights of downtown Miami, back-dropped by the weak pink glow of dawn.
    “Louis. Go to bed.”
    He turned. She was standing by the sofa. Her hair was down around her shoulders, her face in the