Thirty
HELEN DOESN’T WASTE any time in driving to the cozy little steakhouse where Gladys says Richard, or at least his phone, is. It’s the same one we dined at during our pre-engagement days, probably for the same reason Richard is there with the son he rarely acknowledges. Small, out of the way, not likely to run into anyone he knows.
Helen parks and scans the parking lot. “I don’t see his car,” she says. “Hopefully he’s still here.”
“Maybe his son drove.”
Helen nods. “Possibly. Let’s go.”
“You want me to go in with you to make the arrest?” I ask with a smile.
“Tom, this is not an arrest,” Helen says. “I’m going in there to ask him to meet with me down at the station and offer to give him a ride. It is an offer he can’t refuse.”
I nod, biting my tongue to keep from making the obvi
