Easy Innocence

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

SHINY LINOLEUM floors, naugahyde booths, and lots of mirrors tagged the Villager restaurant as a newly renovated diner, but a diner nonetheless. Tucked away on a side street not far from the police station, it had been serving good food at reasonable prices for twenty years. A few years ago the place had been bought by two Greek brothers and their sister, and while the menu now reflected an ethnic flavor, it was still a popular hangout for cops. O’Malley was nursing a bowl of soup. It was mid-afternoon, and the place was practically empty. O’Malley would never have met her here at rush hour, Georgia knew. It wasn’t wise for a cop and a PI to be seen together, even if the PI had once been on the force. So why had he suggested the Villager? Maybe he didn’t care. She slid into the booth across from him.

“Hey, Danny. I appreciate this.”

“Gotta make it quick.” O’Malley picked up his spoon. His red hair, marginally flecked with gray, made him look younger than his forty-five years, but there was no trace of the eager police officer he’d been when Georgia first met him. His face now held a world-weary cast, and his expression was naturally suspicious, even in repose. They’d come onto the force around the same time, but O’Malley was promoted after a couple of years. In fact, he’d been her supervisor when she left. He was a good one, too. Never got tied up in knots over political correctness or idiotic regulations, some of which were designed to keep her a few rungs behind the men. O’Malley told her when she did good and when she screwed up.

She pretended not to notice his thickening gut and chalky complexion. Was he okay? Should she ask? They’d always been straight with each other. Still, she wasn’t on the force any more. She glanced at his soup, a steaming, thick, buttery mass with a few pieces of bacon thrown in.

She motioned to the bowl. “That your idea of healthy eating?”

“Careful, there,” he said, spooning soup into his mouth. He took his time swallowing. “I already have a food cop in my life.”

If anything was wrong with him, his wife Joyce, a strong plain-speaking woman with so much energy she could power the lights at Wrigley Field by herself, would be all over him with a list of remedies she’d discovered on the Internet.

Georgia righted her coffee cup, which had been upside down. As a waitress came over to fill it, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirrored panel on the wall. Some said she had hard features, especially when she wasn’t wearing makeup. Today, with her blond hair pulled into a butterfly clip, she looked all nose, blue eyes, and pale skin. She started to tug at her fisherman’s sweater, then stopped. She was what she was. She ran her hands down her thighs. The denim of her jeans was comforting.

“So to what do I owe the honor of this referral?”

“Don’t call it that, okay? I told her I wasn’t sure there was anything you—or anyone—could do. But she was—well—persistent.” He put his spoon down and studied her. “Hey. You doing all right?”

Georgia sipped her coffee. “I’m doing fine. There is life after the force.”

“Good.” He shook his head. “The way all that went down, it—it wasn’t right. Olson shouldn’t have... well... Shit.”

“It’s okay, Dan. I’m moving on. You should too. Gotta live for the present, you know what I mean?”

“That’s for sure.” He started to nod then caught himself. “You sound— different.” His eyes narrowed. “You doing some kind of religious stuff? Or yoga?”

Georgia laughed. “Church of life, Dan. Church of Life.”

He snorted and spooned up more soup. It left a trace of white on his mustache.