Page 112 of Backtrack

She smiled, making eye contact first with Lola, who put the manila folder on the table and picked up the menu.

Both deputies ordered Caesar salads and filets, hungry but unwilling to get too full when they didn’t know what their evening held. The steaks came in six- or ten-ounce portions. Cutter started to order the six-ounce, but Lola stopped him.

“Get the big one, Boss,” she said. “I’m running on four miles before breakfast and a foot pursuit at lunch. I’ll gladly eat what you don’t.”

Polina’s eyes suddenly narrowed, as if she’d been taken aback. She took an audible breath and cocked her head ever so slightly, pushing the lock of hair behind her ear again.

A piece of printer paper with a large line drawing of Jess Stone’s brand had fallen out of the folder when Lola nudged it to the side.

Lola turned the paper around so it faced Polina. “You act as though you recognize this?”

The server used both hands to pull down at the waist of heruniform blouse. “An interesting choice for a tattoo,” she said, in a Slavic accent but otherwise in excellent English. “That’s all.”

Lola looked up at her. “But you do recognize it?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Mostly from stories my grandmother used to tell.”

“What kind of stories?” Lola asked.

“They were to keep us … how would you say … ? In line.” The server continued to gaze at the sketch, bouncing on her toes, brimming with more to say.

“I would love to hear those stories,” Lola said.

Polina shook it off. “They were foolish tales,” she said. “I think you would find them—”

“They could help me solve a murder.”

Polina gasped. “Pi—” Whatever she said was lost under her breath, but Lola was certain it was a curse. “Where did you see this?”

Lola glanced at Cutter.

“The body of a young woman,” he said. He didn’t mention that the design had been burned in.

Lola tapped the drawing again. “We just need to know what it means.”

“It is a dog,” Polina said on the back of another gasp.

“A dog,” Cutter mused. He could see it. A mean and ugly dog.

“But you must understand,” Polina said. “This is not just any—”

Just then, a waiter stumbled behind Polina, dumping his brimming tray. Plates of steak and lobster, ramekins of drawn butter, all crashed to the floor. Gasps of disapproval rose from surrounding patrons when butter and béarnaise sauce splashed onto fancy slacks and Jimmy Choo shoes.

“I am sorry,” Polina said to Lola. “I will be back. I promise.”

Lola smacked the table with her fist. “Perfect timing,” she said. “It’s like the world is against me.”

“You?”

“Okay, against us.”

“We don’t have brands on our necks,” Cutter said.

“Yeah, nah,” Lola said. “I reckon our world is pretty bright, comparatively speaking. Still, I’m keen to know what Ms. Polina has to tell us.”

“I am … as … well …” Cutter gave a low groan, looking directly at Joellen.

“What?” Lola turned to look over her shoulder as Joellen tossed her napkin on the chair and started for the door. “That bitch—Sorry, Boss.”