“I think I’ve been there, a long time ago, right after we moved to the city.” Mika gathered up the wrappers from his meal, stuffed them in the empty cup, and stood. “I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Great. Don’t work too hard tomorrow.”
Mika laughed. “I’ll try not to.”
* * * *
Buck watched Mika walk away, wondering why he’d suggested they go to lunch. He was fairly sure he knew the answer. He needs a friend. He also needs help if he’s going to try to find the killers. Hell, he’ll need more than help. He’ll need someone to protect him if he does. At least I’ve got the brawn, if not the brains. He should start by going through the scrapbooks he mentioned, and maybe the letters, even though I suspect they were written years ago. I wonder how his father died. I’ll have to ask on Sunday.4
As soon as he got home from work Friday evening, Mika made a sandwich and coffee, and then settled down to go through his mother’s scrapbooks.