Her Lost Alibi David Berens (recommended reading TXT) 📖

wine glasses, emptying the box. He leaned over and picked up a cardboard box and heaved it up on the table in front of her.

“I have found our next case,” he smiled. “And if you thought the Morales file was complex, wait until you have a look at this one.”

A warmth that she hadn’t felt since her father died filled her heart. Her eyes began to well with tears.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I do believe that we have the start of a beautiful friendship here, my dear.” He raised his glass. “But why don’t we leave the getting started until tomorrow?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” she picked up her glass and clinked his. “After all, tomorrow is another day.”

Epilogue – Family Ties

Amber Cross woke the next morning to a rain-soaked, but sunny Savannah. She had spent the last evening scoping out new apartments, closer to downtown. One especially sweet looking loft at The Bowery was suddenly within her budget—thanks to Minter Tweed and her new position. She left the meeting with her realtor feeling giddy at putting in an offer. She hadn’t heard back yet, but the realtor had asked her to stay close by, just in case.

She walked along the street, feeling something close to being reborn, expecting a bluebird to land on her shoulder as she hummed “Zip-a-dee-doo-dah.” Her stomach growled and she decided to take a chance on Clary’s Café. It turned out to be a cute little place with an Eggs Benedict to die for—and a fantastic white chocolate mocha latte.

She was studying the menu when a man sat down across from her in the booth. She was slightly shocked, but then realized she knew the man.

“Rick,” she said, hoping he wasn’t here to razz her about quitting the force. “What brings you here? I would’ve guessed this was too healthy for you.”

“Very funny, Ber,” he said. “They do have country fried steak. But that’s not why I’m here.”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a badge. He slid it across the table. At first, she thought maybe it was her old badge and this was some kind of ploy to get her to come back. Not what she would’ve expected from Fat Rick Thompson, but things had been pretty strange lately.

She picked it up, with a well-practiced speech coming to mind about how she just wasn’t cut out for police work, but then she realized it wasn’t her badge. She studied it more closely and realized it was not a Savannah P.D. shield, it was a NYPD badge.

Across the top, in gold on blue, it said CITY OF NEW YORK POLICE, and under that, DETECTIVE. At the bottom, large numbers proclaimed it was from precinct 1947.

“What’s this?” she asked, laying it back on the table.

“You don’t know this, but I used to work in New York. Gave it all I had until I just couldn’t take it no more.”

Amber was speechless.

“And then, when that man killed my son … my stepson, that was the last straw.” Rick spoke with such emotion that it surprised her.

Seemingly, from nowhere, a woman sat down next to Rick in the booth. Amber looked at her, confusion probably plastered across her face.

“Ber, meet my wife, Miriam,” he said, as the woman smiled and held out a hand. “Miriam Torres Thompson.”

Dumbfounded, Amber tried desperately to find words. “But you … you’re … Eric Torres was your son?”

“My stepson,” Rick corrected her. “We left New York when I got the job here in Savannah. Naturally, I wasn’t allowed to work on the case, but they did a good enough job. And as you’ve proved, they got the right man.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Amber asked, her throat filling with emotion.

“I didn’t know.” His wife touched his arm. “We didn’t know you were working on it. At least not until the very end anyway. Hell, that file box really shouldn’t have been down in the basement anyway. They put the whole thing on microfiche in New York and when they put that box out for shredding … I took it.”

“It was all we had left of our son,” Miriam said.

Amber finally saw it, the subtle similarities, same jaw line, same thick, black hair. There was a long pause as the two women looked into each other’s eyes.

The waitress brought a steaming plate of Eggs Benedict and sat it in front of Amber.

Rick cleared his throat. “Well, we should really be going.”

He stood to go with Miriam, but the woman turned back to Amber. “Thank you. You have a gift. Don’t ever forget what good you have done.”

Amber swallowed. She didn’t speak, afraid she might begin to cry. Instead, she held up a hand and smiled.

When Rick and his wife had gone, she was about to take a bite of her brunch when her cellphone rang. It was her realtor on the line telling her the sellers had accepted her offer. Amber squealed drawing concerned looks from the other patrons. She was finishing up the details of when she could close and move in when a call beeped in from the other line.

“My dear,” Minter’s voice drawled, “you do realize it is well past eleven?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” she said. “I was just picking up some breakfast before coming in.”

“Well, put in another order of whatever you’re having and a coffee, two sugars, two creams, and get on in here. We have work to do.”

She hung up and waved the waitress over. The start of a beautiful friendship indeed.

THE END

AMBER CROSS WILL RETURN In HER LAST CHANCE by CRAIG A. HART and DAVID BERENS.

Afterword

Amber Cross came out of nowhere. I was invited to be a part of a box set called Dead Silent - Deadly Secrets, Deadly Lies. But the stories I’m known for writing are not all that deadly, or secret, or dark. In fact, if you’ve read my stuff, you know I’ve made my proverbial hay being pretty