Land of Careful Shadows by Suzanne Chazin

wasn’t an everyday occurrence for most people. Plus, Joy had always been impressionable. When she was little, movies had to be prescreened, nightlights left on throughout the house. Before bed, Vega used to have to make an elaborate show of rendering her room monster-free by dabbing witch hazel on the doorknobs. So he lied.
    â€œShe drowned. That’s all. These things happen.” Vega undid his seatbelt and put his arm around her. It felt good to feel her loose and willing for once in his embrace. “This Kenny stuff—you’ll see—it’s not going to matter once you’re up at Amherst.”
    He caught a shadow of something cross her face and wondered what secret fear or insecurity he’d blindly trampled now. Her moods changed like quicksilver these days. She could seem so brash and independent one moment, so childlike the next.
    â€œI’m sorry, Daddy,” she said thickly.
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œAbout totaling your car.”
    â€œI don’t care about the car, Chispita . You’re the only thing that matters.”
    Chispita : “Little Spark.” He used to call her that after the plucky young heroine in a Mexican telenovela his mother used to watch when he was a kid. The last time he called her Chispita , she cringed. This time she seemed almost grateful that someone could still see the little girl inside the skimpy pink jacket and black leather boots.
    She shrugged off his jacket and handed it back to him. Vega kissed her cheek, feeling the dampness from her earlier tears with Kenny, the way they made her skin smell all yeasty like she was a little girl again, riding on his shoulders, burying her face in his chest when something frightened her or turned her shy. He would have to get comfortable with saying good-bye to her in a couple of months. It felt too soon.
    He stepped out of the car. “Drive safely, Mija. ” It’s what he always said. His stand-in for “I love you,” when I love you was too hard to say. He slapped the window of the passenger’s side and stood shivering in the cold as he watched her red taillights fade down the street, braking at a traffic light before turning into the darkness beyond.

Chapter 7
    â€œO ur Juanita Doe didn’t go into that lake under the influence, that’s for sure. The average five-year-old in this country’s got more pharmaceuticals in him than she had.”
    At least Greco wasn’t calling her a “chick” anymore. Vega supposed he had to be thankful for small favors. Like the bad coffee Greco was handing him now as he walked into the detectives’ bullpen on Monday morning. Neither of them had gotten much sleep the night before.
    Vega leaned against the side of Greco’s cubicle. “I gather the autopsy results are in?”
    â€œNah. I just figured I’d make something up. Keep it interesting.” Greco pushed the report into Vega’s hands. Vega pulled up a chair and set down his coffee. He could smell the remains of an Egg McMuffin in Greco’s trash. There was still a smudge of bacon grease next to his computer. Greco’s workspace was demarcated by a fabric partition and a file cabinet with a two-year-old calendar of Florida travel scenes taped to one side. It had been up there so long, the edges had curled and the Gulf waters had faded to the color of urine. Vega knew Greco had three or four grown kids and a wife up north somewhere but there were no pictures in sight. He wondered what that said about the man.
    â€œYou’ve looked through the report already?” asked Vega.
    â€œEnough to give you the highlights.” Greco pulled a red Twizzler from an open package on his desk and offered one to Vega. Vega declined.
    â€œI don’t know why you eat that sugar-coated wire insulation.”
    â€œThis, from a Puerto Rican who’s probably never met a food he hasn’t deep-fried and smothered in Tabasco sauce.”