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being so supportive in my time of need.” I said it with false solemnity and a hurt look on my face.
    “You’re welcome!” they all chorused. “Have a good time on your date! You look
beautiful!
”
    I headed out to the car, refusing to look back and give them the satisfaction of one final taunting grin or another rousing another rousing huzzah, I did feel better, though, strangely revived.
    I had promised my family, but also myself, that I was going to have some kind of normal life now. Not just a career, not a series of murder investigations. And yet as I drove away from the house, my last thought was,
Gary Soneji is out there again. What are you going to do about it?
    For starters, I was going to have a terrific, peaceful, exciting dinner with Christine Johnson.
    I wasn’t going to give Gary Soneji another thought for the rest of the night.
    I was going to be
dashing
, if not downright
beautiful
.

Chapter 16

    K INKEAD’S IN Foggy Bottom is one of the best restaurants in Washington or anywhere else I’ve ever eaten. The food there might even be better than home, though I’d never tell Nana that. I was pulling out the stops tonight, trying to, anyway, doing the best I could.
    Christine and I had agreed to meet at the bar around seven. I arrived a couple of minutes before seven, and she walked in right behind me. Soul mates. So began the first date.
    Hilton Felton was playing his usual seductive-as-hell jazz piano downstairs, as he did six nights a week. On the weekends, he was joined by Ephrain Woolfolk on bass. Bob Kinkead was in and out of the kitchen, garnishing and inspecting every dish. Everything seemed just right. Couldn’t be better.
    “This is a really terrific place. I’ve been wanting to come here for years,” Christine said as she looked around approvingly at the cherrywood bar, the sweeping staircase up to the main restaurant.
    I had never seen her like this, all dressed up, and she was even more beautiful than I had thought. She had on a long black slip dress that showed off nicely toned shoulders. A cream-colored shawl fringed in black lace was draped over one arm. She wore a necklace made from an old-fashioned brooch that I liked a lot. She had on black flat-heeled pumps, but she was still nearly six feet tall. She smelled of flowers.
    Her velvet brown eyes were wide and sparkling with the kind of delight I suspected she saw in her children at school, but which was absent on the faces of most adults. Her smile was effortless. She seemed happy to be here.
    I wanted to look like anything but a homicide detective, so I had picked out a black silk shirt given to me by Jannie for my birthday. She called it my “cool guy shirt.” I also wore black slacks, a snazzy black leather belt, black loafers. I already knew that I looked “beautiful.”
    We were escorted to a cozy little booth in the mezzanine section. I usually try to keep “physical allure” in its place, but heads turned as Christine and I walked across the dining room.
    I’d completely forgotten what it was like to be out with someone and have that happen. I must admit that I sort of liked the feeling. I was remembering what it was like to be with someone you want to be with. I was also remembering what it was like to feel whole, or almost whole, or at least on the way to being whole again.
    Our cozy booth overlooked Pennsylvania Avenue and also had a view of Hilton tinkering away at his piano. Kind of perfect.
    “So how was your day?” Christine asked after we settled into the booth.
    “Uneventful,” I said and shrugged. “Just another day in the life of the DCPD.”
    Christine shrugged right back at me. “I heard something on the radio about a shooting at Union Station. Weren’t you involved just a little bit with Gary Soneji at one point in your illustrious career?”
    “Sorry, I’m off-duty now,” I said to her. “I love your dress, by the way.”
I also love that old brooch that you turned into a necklace. I like that