And while he blinked and adjusted, I eased off the bed and crossed the room and threw my arms around the detective in a move that I think surprised him.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but am I in the right place?" he asked.
"Most definitely," I said. I was still hugging him. God, he was so warm...and thick around the middle. Just the way I liked it.
"You do realize that you are still hugging me," he said, but I felt him switch the balloon over and then use his free hand to pat me gently on the head.
I couldn't speak. Instead, a big choking sob burst out of me and I hugged him harder than I had hugged anyone before, and my tears quickly stained his shirt.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Hidden in the crook of his arm, previously unnoticed, had been a big, greasy bag of donuts.
We were now sitting across from each other at the foot of my son's bed. The smell of the greasy donut was both delicious and nauseating. Sherbet was currently working on a maple old fashioned. Some of the frosting broke off and had sprinkled down his shirt and over his thick thigh. He ignored the frosting crumbs. I thought they looked delicious.
"I'd offer you one," he said. "Except I know you'll say no."
"Thanks anyway, but I'm not hungry."
"Gee, how did I know you were going to say that?" he asked between bites.
"Because anyone who cared an ounce about their bodies wouldn't put that crap in it." Which was a lie. I loved donuts. I just couldn't eat them...or anything, for that matter.
"Except for those whose bodies are indestructible," said Sherbet off-handedly.
My heart slammed hard against my ribs. Sweet, Jesus, what did Sherbet know?
He stopped chewing and looked at me curiously. "You look like you just saw a ghost. Relax, my doctor tells me my heart has no business being as strong as it is."
I breathed again. Good lord.
I said, "And so you figure you might as well push your heart to the limit?"
"Not really," he said, sucking on his fingers. "I just like donuts."
I shook my head while he dug into the bag, coming up with something pink and sprinkled. He said, "I've grown rather fond of these donuts."
"And how's your son, by the way?" I asked.
Sherbet looked at me from over the donut. "I bring out a pink donut and it immediately reminds you of my son?"
"Yes and no."
He chomped into it. Pink frosting coated his thick, cop mustache. "He's fine, of course. I love him terribly, but there's something definitely wrong."
"Wrong how?"
"I keep catching him in his mother's clothing, especially her shoes."
"Is it that you catch him, or he likes to wear them?"
"Both, I think. Makes me want to cry."
We were silent, and as the wall clock behind me ticked so loudly that I could practically hear the inner gears grinding together, Sherbet figured out what an ass he was being.
"Look, I'm sorry," he said. "You've got your little one here fighting for his life and I'm bitching because mine likes to dress up like Nanny McPhee."
I nodded, said nothing.
Sherbet reached out and placed his warm hand over my own. He took mine tightly and didn't flinch from the cold. I think he was getting used to my icy hands.
"Let's change the subject, okay?" he suggested.
I nodded again and looked away. I wasn't going to cry. I was tired of crying.
He said, "The guy you found dead in the meth house was murdered."
"I'm shocked and outraged," I said. I was neither, of course. Drug hits were common and quickly forgotten by the police.
"Execution style, too."
"Do we care enough about him to know his name?" I asked.
"No," said Sherbet. "We don't. He was a known user and dealer. Too many suspects, too little time. The place was grand central station for meth and blow...and other things as well."
"Prostitutes," I said.
"And various child abuses that we need not get into here."
"Let's call it for what it is, detective. Child slavery and prostitution."
The detective looked sick. I felt sick, too. He nodded gravely and dropped the unfinished donut in his bag. It's hard to have an appetite for pink donuts when the talk turns to child abuse.
He said, "From what we understand, the children are used as...payments, of one sort or another."
I nodded, and felt bile rise in the back of my throat.
Sherbet continued, "Maddie's mother was no doubt caught up in it. And now she's dead, apparently."
"And little Maddie is alone," I said.
Sherbet nodded and we were silent. He turned to me. "You making any headway on the case?"
"Some," I said. I decided not to mention Aaron's hot lead in Simi Valley. Mostly because I didn't trust the police enough at this point to get Maddie out alive, wherever she was. I trusted Sherbet, certainly, but he was only one man, and Simi Valley was not his beat, not by a long shot.
"Let me know if you need some help," he said.
"You bet."
Sherbet was openly staring at me.
"What?" I said.
"I was just thinking."
"Don't hurt yourself, Detective."
He ignored me. "It's funny how suspects keep ending up dead on cases you investigate."
"Whatever do you mean, Detective?"
"You were working an angle on the Jerry Blum case last month."
"You know this how?"
"I have friends in the FBI, too, Sam."
"Good for you."
"You were making inquiries for your client. A Stuart something-or-other."
"Stuart Young."
"Whatever. Anyway, Jerry Blum has been missing for a month."
"Maybe he's on the lam."
"Or maybe he's dead," said Sherbet.
I shrugged.
"Well, let's try to keep the body count down this time, Sam."
"People die," I said. "Especially bad people."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."
My son made a small sound and turned over in his sleep. As he turned, the black shadow that surrounded him turned with him. My heart sank further.
Sherbet patted me on the shoulder and stood. He looked down at me long and hard, and then left.
Chapter Thirty-nine
You there, Moon Dance?
It was Fang via a text message. With our super-secret identities now revealed, we had graduated from anonymous IM messages to exchanging our cell numbers and texting like real people. Or, at least, like teenagers.
I was still sitting next to my son. It was coming on noon and I was weak and sad and tired.