Free Triple Shot by Sandra Balzo

criminals in his restaurant. Knowingly, repeatedly and, from what Luc had said, without anybody putting a gun to his head.
    ‘But the bullet did come from an FBI gun?’
    Luc shrugged. ‘According to my mother, though I’m not sure how reliable she ever was on the subject. She’d only talk about it when she drank homemade wine and had filled up the jelly jar enough times to get morose.’
    Jelly jars made into glasses. I remembered a tiny hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant in Milwaukee that had made their own wine and served it in Welch’s Flintstones jelly jars.
    ‘Did your mother resent the FBI?’ I asked.
    ‘No.’ Luc alternatingly clenched and relaxed his free hand.’ She resented my father for getting involved with somebody called Little Mo, one of the gangsters killed that day.’
    Tien, who had retaken her spot on the arm of his chair, twisted to regard him. ‘You seem to know an awful lot about the Mafia. Are you sure—’
    ‘Don’t worry, sweetie. I just did some research because I was curious.’ He punched her lightly on the arm. ‘As you should understand.’
    ‘Like father like daughter, I guess,’ Tien said, then her eyes darkened. ‘But have you told me everything? No more surprises? I won’t find out my great-great-great grandfather was Attila the Hun or something?’
    ‘Promise,’ Luc said, holding up his free hand. ‘Now is everyone ready for dinner?’
    ###
    It was after nine when we’d finally sat down to eat, Sarah having taken a little snooze as the rest of us put dinner on the table.
    ‘That was delicious,’ I said to Luc as he passed me my jacket. ‘I think the Chicken Francese will be a perfect addition to our Prepared Food section.’
    ‘We just have to make sure we don’t overcook it,’ Tien said. ‘Otherwise it will dry out when it’s reheated.’
    ‘Maybe we should put instructions on it,’ Luc said to his daughter. ‘It really would be best sautéed just enough to crisp up the breading and heat through.’
    Sarah, who had her hand on the doorknob, snorted. ‘Sauté it? Please, if you can’t order it fresh – or at least nuke it back to life – nobody’s going to eat it anyway.’
    ‘That’s you and me, Sarah,’ I said, pushing her ahead of me out the door. ‘Takeout and microwave dinners. Most people in Brookhills have gorgeous gourmet kitchens.’
    I waved goodbye to Luc and Tien, who was staying behind to help her dad clean up.
    ‘Doesn’t mean those people cook in ’em.’
    Sarah being a case in point. Lovely house, beautifully appointed kitchen, layer of dust on most appliances.
    I said, ‘Are you all right to drive?’
    ‘Of course. I had just the one vodka and that was three hours ago.’
    Not to mention a big meal and nap, though not in that order. We had reached the sidewalk. ‘Were you drinking because of . . .?’
    ‘Brigid?’ Sarah had her key out and was walking to her yellow 1975 Firebird, yet another item dating from the mid-seventies. ‘No.’
    She stopped and turned. ‘Not that I’m letting myself off the hook. Brigid was my responsibility as surely as Sam and Courtney are.’
    ‘You are those kids’ legal guardian.’
    ‘I had a legal responsibility to Brigid, too.’ Sarah examined the keys in her hand. ‘Thing was, Maggy, the kid looked and acted more mature than she really was. I guess I just bought into it. Let her make decisions that should have been mine and mine alone. Partly because I was older, but mostly because I was the fully-accredited and licensed boss. I screwed up.’
    ‘It’s not your fault she’s dead. You didn’t—’
    ‘You’re right, I didn’t.’ My partner stuck her key in the door of her classic car. ‘I didn’t teach her how to stay safe. I didn’t show her the articles on the broker websites about dangerous situations.’
    ‘You told her not to show houses alone.’
    ‘But, like you said, who would she have taken? Who would have called her to make sure she was OK?’
    Now Sarah was