Page 37 of Kiss Her Goodbye (Frankie Elkin #4)

B Y THE TIME A LIAH FINISHES packing up supplies and we make the drive back to the hills, it’s past nine.

Not having much experience with domestic life, I don’t know how well Genni—let alone Petunia—will take us missing dinner.

But Daryl must’ve phoned ahead, because Genni is waiting at the front door, all beaming smiles and red gingham cuteness as she greets our new guests.

Tonight’s fashion homage appears to be Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island , including a dark-haired wig with red-ribboned pigtails.

Aliah blinks several times, then manages to recover. Zahra simply stares up at Genni in awe.

Genni scoops up Zahra’s pink backpack, slips it over her shoulder. “Hungry, hun? Of course you are. This hour is much too late for dinner, so I made you breakfast instead. What do you think, waffles with whipped cream and strawberries? Mmm-hmm, follow me, love. I got you covered.”

Genni holds out a red-manicured hand. Zahra takes it and they’re off, Genni’s heels rat-a-tat-tatting across the tiled floor.

“Did that just happen?” Aliah murmurs at last.

“Yes,” I assure her.

“He is a her? I know of these things, but have never…”

“She goes by the name Genni. And let me tell you, those waffles are going to be amazing.”

While Daryl handles her suitcase, Aliah follows me to the kitchen, where Genni is mounding an impressive pile of homemade whipped cream atop a single waffle for Zahra’s dining pleasure. The little girl looks both giddy and exhausted. She’ll crash hard after all this. I know I will.

I’m halfway to the fridge to fetch Petunia’s salad when Genni informs me she already took pity on the lizard. The “because someone had to” is implied.

I’m pretty sure I’m a complete fail as a reptile sitter, but am prepared to live with the shame.

Aliah and I dish up bowls of fresh-sliced strawberries, leaving our share of waffles to be devoured by Daryl. Genni fusses happily over the extra guests. She produces a toiletry bag and is soon brushing out Zahra’s long, dark hair while the girl picks through a rainbow of colored ribbons.

The only life-form put out from the evening’s unexpected turn appears to be Petunia, who has abandoned her usual spot in front of the glass slider in favor of a high perch on top of the curtain rod.

Given the iguana did get fed, I’m not sure what she has to be so hostile about, but she keeps glancing down at us, flicking her tail and sticking out her eerily human-looking tongue.

“Don’t be a brat,” I finally inform her.

Zahra starts yawning minutes later. Daryl takes the hint to scoop the last bite from his plate, then escorts Aliah and Zahra to their room. Genni is already bustling about, clearing dishes.

Petunia deigns to climb down the draperies. I toss her a strawberry as a peace offering. She gulps it off the floor, scuttles closer. I feed her a couple more, till her posture relaxes and we seem to be buddies again.

“Daryl said the little girl’s father was found dead,” Genni speaks up from the sink.

“Yeah. Tortured and killed. Not a good scene.” All at once, I feel exhausted. I drop to the floor beside Petunia, stroke a line down her side. She’s not exactly a purring kitten, but as pet therapy goes, she’s not half bad.

“And the mother?”

“Still no word.”

“But you think she’s in danger, the girl as well.”

“Let’s just say wherever Sabera goes, violence seems to follow.” I glance up at Genni. “Are you worried? Should we take them someplace else?”

Genni practically huffs at me. “Girl, I grew up dressing like this while living on the streets. You think I don’t know how to defend myself?

I might be a tall, gorgeous Amazon now, but I earned my scars along the way.

I don’t just sew my own clothes, I make sure they have plenty of pockets for rusty blades. You?”

“I killed a man.” The words are out before I can stop them. I don’t know why I’m talking about it, but it’s too late to take the statement back now.

Genni comes around the massive kitchen island. She peers at me thoughtfully, then in a surprisingly graceful motion for a woman in two-inch Mary Janes, lowers herself to the tiled floor.

“Tell me about it.”

“I didn’t do it myself, per se. But I knew what would happen next, and I did it anyway. Led him into the clearing. I don’t think he saw the bullet coming, but I did.”

My hands are trembling again. Which makes me imagine Isaad Ahmadi’s fingers, burnt black claws from scrabbling through the flames to save his precious notes.

He must’ve known he wasn’t walking out of that warehouse alive. They lured him there with the lock of his wife’s hair. Offered it up as some kind of exchange. Did he think he was saving Sabera? Did he love her that much?

A woman who’d once been his assistant, before becoming his bride—if indeed they were really married.

Aliah found him dominating, the proverbial controlling older husband. Sabera’s neighbor, Nageenah, and the caseworker, Staci, thought the Ahmadis’ relationship was more complicated. Then again, aren’t all relationships?

I press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, scrub at my own eyelids. When I lower my arms, Genni is regarding me with open sympathy.

“Honey, we all got our scars.” She gestures down at her country chic ensemble. “And we all got our own kind of armor.”

I get it. “Who worked here first, you or Daryl?”

“My charming self, of course.”

“And you got this job…?”

“Bart Boy likes the bar scene, drag and otherwise. We bonded one night over our shared love of chicken-fried steak. Told him I made the best he’d ever have.

And I was right. He offered me a permanent position before he even finished the dish.

’Course, I still have Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights to strut my stuff.

No girl wants to be too domesticated.” She gives me a look.

“Judging by how many times you check your phone, guessing you’re struggling with some man trying to clip your wings? ”

“They don’t clip. That’s the problem. Doesn’t matter the person, place, or thing. Sooner or later I just have to go.”

“It’s not something you choose; it’s someone you are.” Genni nods. “People come in all types, honey. You just gotta be you.”

“Sometimes being me sucks.”

“Welcome to the club, my friend. Welcome to the club.”

I regard her for a moment. “Have you met Roberta?” I ask her curiously.

“You mean Daryl’s dance partner and unrequited love?” She arches a brow.

“You think Roberta knows?”

“Girl, I’ve watched them dance together. How any woman can be held like that and not know… Mmm-hmm.”

“And her husband?”

“Nice enough. A little too vanilla for my tastes, but you know what they say about opposites attracting.”

“She’s the fire, he’s the rock?”

“Or that’s the lie they tell themselves to keep on keeping on.”

“Do you think Daryl has a violent streak? I mean he’s kinda got this whole reformed ex-con, gentle giant thing going on. But then again…”

“Still waters…” Genni agrees.

“I thought… I thought I saw blood on his shirt last night.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” It’s a good question. “I mean, he definitely didn’t cut himself shaving. Whatever else happened, maybe I didn’t want to know.”

“And now?”

“I think he would kill for her. Watching them together this afternoon. Daryl would kill for Roberta, no questions asked.”

“Sounds damn sexy when you put it that way.” Genni shivers delicately.

I trace a final line down Petunia’s soft, leathery skin. “Lately, it feels to me like there’s way too many people willing to kill for each other. Maybe we need some people desperate to live for each other instead. Because I’m honestly not sure how much more of this I can take.”