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the headrest and closed my eyes. I was about to doze off when Sue woke me. "Fifty years," she muttered.
    "I beg your pardon?"
    "Those people back there—the Lawrences. How did they stay married for more than fifty years? I barely made it to six."
    In the months Detective Danielson and I have worked together, I've come to appreciate the fact that she's definitely not a Chatty-Kathy type. Until that morning, I didn't ever remember her saying anything about marriage one way or another. I knew she was divorced, but as far as personal life was concerned, she had never mentioned anything beyond talking about her two kids—Jared, a rebellious, obnoxious thirteen-year-old, and Christopher, an easy-going, sweet-tempered eight.
    Had I been paying attention, the sharp edge of bitterness in Sue's voice should have warned me to be wary. Judging from past experience, I figured her brooding silence most likely had something to do with Jared. His special form of parental torture seemed to include using weekends to declare open season on his mother.
    Sue Danielson and I are partners, but she's also a good ten years younger than I am. There are times when I can't stifle the almost fatherly feelings I have toward her. That's especially true when Jared is giving her hell. Having made my own mother's life plenty miserable when I was a teenager, I have a soft spot in my heart for single mothers. I figured the least I could do was offer Sue an opportunity to vent. She might not want a shoulder to cry on, but I could give her a place where she could let off a little steam.
    "What'd he do this time?" I asked.
    She swung around and glared at me. "Who?" she demanded.
    "Jared," I said. "Isn't he what's bugging you?"
    There was a long pause before she answered. "Jared has nothing to do with it," she said finally. "Not directly. Richie's coming home. His plane gets in tomorrow night at six."
    "Who's Richie?" I asked.
    "My ex," she said.
    Until that moment, sitting stuck in northbound traffic on Interstate 5, I had never heard Sue refer to her former husband by name. The only thing I had known about the man prior to that was that he seldom if ever paid child support.
    I've been a divorced father. I'm proud to say that I never missed a child-support payment, not even back when I was still drinking. I have a hard time understanding fathers who figure a divorce decree gives them carte blanche to walk out on both their kids and their responsibilities. Admittedly, children can be a real pain in the butt on occasion, but kids— even obnoxious teenagers—are people, too.
    "You don't sound too happy about this impending visit," I observed mildly.
    Sue shot me a smoldering glance. "Happy?" she snapped. "Why should I be? I'm pissed as hell as a matter of fact. After not being in touch at all for over two years—not even a birthday card or a Christmas present for either one of the boys—now all of a sudden he calls up on the phone, acts as though nothing is amiss, and says he's coming down this week to take the kids to Disneyland. Not next week, mind you, when it's spring break and the kids could go without missing any school. No, it has to be this week or nothing. He wants to take them out of class for three whole days—Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday."
    "My first reaction was to take a page from the J. P. Beaumont lexicon and tell him to go piss up a rope—that he can see the kids if and when he sends me some of that back child support. But of course, he didn't leave me that option. The underhanded rat called the boys while I was still at work. The first I heard about it, the kids were already so excited they could barely stand it. Not only about seeing their dad again, but also about going on the trip. Believe me, without any child support, it's all I can do to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. I sure as hell can't afford to take them on an outing like that. The best I've ever done is a weekend in somebody's borrowed condo over at Ocean