Chapter 4 — I don't talk about my feelings.

Frank headed for his car. This whole situation made him uneasy. Ms. Drew could be the perpetrator, and if so, was a cold and calculating little actress; or the dump site could be random, and if so she was simply a victim of circumstance; or the dump site was intentional which meant somewhere out there was an unknown threat. He preferred option B, but there was hardly enough information to make a call yet — he was stopped by Joe's hand on his arm.

"Don't follow too closely," Joe said, his eyes concerned. "She'll be hyper aware of stuff like that tonight."

"It's hardly my first time tailing someone," Frank replied, aiming for levity, but failing.

"But you don't know yet if you're protecting a witness or tailing a suspect," Joe said, lowering his voice. "I'm supposed to be the impulsive one, remember?"

Frank ignored that. "Can you hitch a ride back and follow up with the coroner?"

"Sure," Joe sighed. "I'll see you back at the station."

Ms. Drew was almost a block away by the time he was on the street behind her. He stayed three cars back, keeping the little gray four-door Nissan in sight. She didn't seem to know she was being followed, driving normally and pulling up in front of a small blue house in a row of prefabricated early twentieth century homes. It was a quiet neighborhood, lower than average crime, if Frank remembered last month's briefing on statistics correctly.

He pulled up and parked along the street two houses down. She didn't look up or seem to notice him there as she walked up to the front door, keys in hand.

The front door of the next house swung open and an older woman hurried down her front steps and over to Ms. Drew's porch. Frank watched as they spoke for a moment. The older woman was gesturing for Nancy to come with her and Nancy was shaking her head. Then she stood there a little stiffly as the older woman embraced her and went back into her own house. Interesting. Maybe this was George's grandmother. Did Ms. Drew not like the woman? Or maybe she just didn't like the familiarity. She had reacted sharply and made that comment about the young assistant not being her babysitter. Her red-gold hair glowed in the porch light as she unlocked the door and then disappeared into the dark house.

Frank waited ten more minutes as lights were turned on and the house's occupant went about her business. He realized in that moment that he had assumed she lived alone, but he didn't know that for a fact. She didn't wear a wedding ring, he had noticed that much, and in his head he could hear his Aunt Gertrude say with a sniff, As if that means anything nowadays! But the door was locked when she arrived at the house; no one appeared to have been waiting up. And at the store she had only been texting with George, no mention of a husband or boyfriend being concerned about her. He started his car again and slowly circled the block, noting that the small drive at the back of the house was empty of any other cars. Driving past the front of the house once more, satisfied that things were quiet, Frank headed back to the station. His night wouldn't be over for hours yet.

The station was in its usual state of nighttime busyness, not as chaotic as the daylight hours, but still humming with activity. Joe was studying a file at his desk, jacket and tie draped over the back of his chair, shirt sleeves rolled up and head propped tiredly on one hand.

"What do we know?" Frank asked as he walked towards his own desk, shrugging out of his own jacket.

Joe looked up and grinned. "Did you escort the not-blonde safely home?"

Frank ignored him and yanked the file away. "Is this the coroner's report?"

"Preliminary," Joe nodded. "The full autopsy and initial lab reports won't be ready until tomorrow, but at first glance it looks to him like it looked to us, lateral incision severed the carotid artery. There was some sheet wrapped around her, but had gotten caught on the edge of the dumpster. There was not a lot of blood in the alley, so we're definitely looking at a dump site. Wherever she was killed would have required significant clean up. What's your take on the laundry lady?"

He dropped the folder back on the desk and crossed his arms, thinking over the last couple hours. "Seemed stunned, bordering on complete shock, but I've seen people fake that before. Or go into shock because they killed someone," Frank added dryly. "What about the alley?"

Joe drummed his fingertips on the desktop. "It wouldn't have been easy hefting that body into the dumpster. But she could have had an accomplice."

"Any ID on the body?"

"No. I'm running a facial search through missing persons, but no matches so far. We can bring the college girl in tomorrow. She definitely knew the victim."

Frank nodded his agreement. He'd thought the same thing when they asked the women to look at the body. George had seemed surprised, had taken a quick step backwards from the gurney, then seemed to feel sickened as she thought about it. Her denial at recognizing the girl was a little too emphatic. "Ok, let's—"

"Go home," Joe interrupted. "There is very little we can do tonight and a whole lot we can do tomorrow if we get some sleep."

"You do look ready to collapse," Frank acknowledged, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair.

"You should see the bags under your own eyes, brother dear," Joe countered. A smirk inched over his face. "Some beauty sleep will do wonders for you before you talk to lovely laundry lady again."

Frank gave him a look and Joe grinned back unrepentantly. "Frank, I am nothing but thrilled. Obviously I hope she's innocent and not involved in any way. She's the first woman you've shown any interest in since you and Callie divorced. I think it's great!"

"Let's not get into all that now," Frank said, suddenly feeling exhaustion overwhelm him and a host of conflicting emotions about his failed marriage rise to the surface. "Did you get your date rescheduled?" he asked, trying to sound genuinely interested and simultaneously turn the conversation off of himself.

"Well, she did say she would be willing to meet up for drinks if I was free in the next hour," Joe said, a decided twinkle in his eye. "But only if we're really finished up for the night and you don't need to spill your guts about your dry cleaners."

Frank huffed an exasperated laugh. "I most definitely do not need to do that. Go on then." He shook his head and left Joe to retie his tie and get himself straightened out. Truth be told, he was a little thankful to get to head home on his own. Joe's teasing had brought up some truths that he wasn't sure he was quite ready to face.

Besides the fact that he still carried some latent guilt about not being able to be the sort of husband that Callie needed, in the aftermath of the divorce Frank had moved in with his brother and just…stayed. Joe had suggested it, showed up to help him pack his things and move, and had never once indicated that Frank had maybe overstayed his welcome and needed to find his own place. But Frank still wondered sometimes if Joe ever wished he were rid of his older brother.

Thirty minutes later he was showered, dressed in his most comfortable old sweats, and sitting down to a microwaved dinner. But no slumping on the couch, plastic tray in hand. He still always ate at the table with a full place setting, napkin laid out neatly in his lap. Part of it was an act of defiance, a declaration that he was still in charge of his own life, even when things felt completely out of control. He wasn't going to settle for a bowl of cereal eaten over the sink because he couldn't be bothered to do anything else. As Aunt Gertrude always said, "Civility is the thin line separating humanity from utter chaos." Of course, she'd always been a little dramatic, but that didn't mean she was wrong.

He stared down at the steaming chicken fettuccini, feeling a sense of camaraderie with Aunt Gertrude. After her husband had died she'd moved in with their family and just…stayed. Frank speared a piece of chicken thoughtfully. Maybe it was time for a change. He was nearing forty. Maybe it was time to acknowledge that the second half of his life was starting and it needed to look different than the first half. Joe was right about one thing. Nancy was the first woman that had drawn his attention since Callie. He had walked into the shop to drop off some shirts while she was dealing with a particularly irate customer on the phone. Ending the call, she had been a little sharp in addressing him, and rather than be offended he'd found it amusing, as Shakespeare said of Hermia, Though she be but little, she is fierce.

"But if she be fierce, could she also be a murderer?" Frank muttered to himself. His mind ran back over the scene at the store, evaluating everything he'd seen and heard, comparing Nancy's behavior tonight with his previous interactions with her and his almost two decades of experience dealing with people on the wrong side of the law. He stood from the table, took his empty plate to the sink, and began to methodically wash his dishes. "I don't think she did it," he finally said aloud to the soapy water, "but this is definitely something more than a random body dump."