"I guess we'll be having the Memorial Service on Tuesday after all," she said. Again she asked he attend, if possible. He nodded and murmured he'd try his best to be there.
"Thank you. I'd like that," she said.
When Dean pulled in the drive at Maid Marian Lane, Randy was walking a bike into the open garage. His mother alighted and gave him a hug. Dean stood aside while they talked quietly, then walked around the car and shook the young man's hand. No one spoke until the silence became awkward.
"Do you do much riding?" Dean finally asked.
"No. It's my father's bike. I thought it had a flat but I guess he fixed it. You're a bit early; I was just killing some time."
Cynthia put her arm around Randy as she spoke to Dean. "Jeff used to ride, years ago. He started up again this spring. I've been meaning to get my bike fixed too. Both of my tires are flat." She added, "I could use the exercise."
"Say the word," Dean answered. "I'll be over. You just hit on my favorite pastime." Then, thinking his statement presumptive added, "When things settle down."
She smiled. "That sounds like fun." She offered her cheek and took his hand, thanking him again. She then turned to her son as if to apologize for allowing this relative stranger to kiss her. "He's been really wonderful to me."
Randy didn't seem to mind, but Dean felt more like a kindly old uncle than someone who, the prior evening, had undressed this woman and put her to bed. The unease of the entire situation put him in a foul mood all the way home.
As Dean rounded the corner of Collingswood Avenue and pulled in his driveway, he noticed a light blue car pull away from the opposite curb. A slow-moving car on his side of the street blocked him from reading the license number or giving chase. The car was around the corner and out of sight when his field of vision cleared. There were two occupants and the driver had glanced in his direction before turning away. Dean was certain the driver was Alfred Nota, one of the men he'd hassled at Vinnie Baratto's place.
Just what I need, Dean grumbled to himself. He jumped out of the car and dashed up the steps to the house. If he called the station quickly enough they might be able to run down the car.
Fred O'Connor stood in the center of the room, the phone in his hand, with Dolly Parton crooning from the stereo. He gave a wave to Dean. "He just came in now, Lieutenant Anderson. Do you want to speak to him?" Dean grabbed the phone.