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He chuckled. “I kind of doubt that.”
“I don’t know.” At least she’d remembered to lock the front door as she flew out. Inserting her key, she said over her shoulder, “He’s been a real pain in the butt this week. It’s like having a rabid teenager in the house.”
Her reward was a deep laugh, so close behind it stirred the hair on her nape and made her shiver. “Sadly,” he murmured, “my mother would know exactly what you’re talking about.”
Despite everything, Laura found herself smiling, too, as she opened the door. “She would, huh?”
Jake was waiting in the hall leading from the bedrooms, his mouth dropping open at the sight of her. “You’re not mad anymore.”
“I’m still mad. I’m just...” She tried to decide. “I did what I could. Monday I’ll go talk to your principal.”
“I thought Uncle Tino would hit you.”
Laura crossed the room to gather him into her arms and press her cheek to his. “He wouldn’t have done that. In his world view, it wouldn’t have been manly.”
“Really?” Her son’s voice squeaked.
“Really.” She smiled and kissed his forehead. “I don’t know if I accomplished anything, but I didn’t blow it as bad as I would have if Ethan hadn’t showed up to talk some sense into me. So thank you for calling him.”
His expression was so incredulous, it made her laugh.
“I thought you’d be mad.”
“You mean, even madder.” She grimaced. “I was. Until he talked sense into me. Now I’m not.”
He exhaled a huge breath. “Oh.” Then a frown crinkled his forehead. “What did he say? Uncle Tino?”
“Actually...not much. Mostly, I didn’t give him a chance to talk.”
“He said he was sorry,” Ethan said quietly, and she turned.
“You were looking at him. Do you think he meant it?”
“Yeah. He was crying, Laura.”
“Crying?” He’d said that, but it hadn’t sunk in. Now, she tried to picture the oldest Vennetti son breaking down. “Tino?”
Jake looked stunned. “Wow.”
Laura gave herself a shake. “Have a seat, Detective.”
His eyes smiled at her. “Ethan.”
“Ethan.” Why had she even bothered to try to distance him? “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“I’d love a cup of coffee.”
“Sugar? Creamer?”
“Black.”
He chose the same place on the sofa to sit as the last time he’d been here. When she went to the kitchen, she heard his and Jake’s voices. Fortunately, she had some decent coffee on hand and returned reasonably quickly with two mugs.
Ethan took his with thanks. “I usually bring a travel mug with me. Kind of hurried out the door this morning.”
“Jake said you investigate assaults and...bias crimes? Does that mean specifically anti-gay or whatever?”
“That’s right. Did you know Oregon has a hate crimes law? It makes the penalty harsher for any given crime than it would be for one that wasn’t motivated by dislike of someone’s race, color, religion or sexual orientation.”
She frowned. “There was something on KGW news about a fire and a swastika spray painted on the driveway.”
He winced. “That one’s mine. I’m...getting a lot of pressure on it. Do you know how many Portland residents have last names that sound Jewish or that some idiot could interpret as Jewish when really they’re Polish or Russian or who knows what? City hall is getting a barrage of panicky phone calls, which means the police department brass are, which means...”
Understanding dawned. “You are.” No wonder he’d had that expression on his face a minute ago.
“What’s a swastika?” Jake asked, predictably. Normally he’d have watched the news with her, but he’d been sulking in his room.
Ethan explained, his tone grim. “The home you saw on the news is the fourth instance of vandalism within two weeks that included the spray painted swastika. First place it was painted was on the garage door, second house, on the front window, third, on the lawn. Those earlier ones were mostly garden-variety vandalism. Eggs, rocks thrown through windows, that kind of thing.”
Mostly. She wondered about that, but didn’t want to ask with Jake here. She thought Ethan would have said otherwise.
“Vandalism doesn’t sound significant enough to justify all the anxiety, but the fire is a significant escalation,” he continued. “We’re afraid someone is going to be hurt soon. There’s always the possibility a home owner with a gun will use it, too.”
“But that’s good, isn’t it?” Jake said. “I mean, that’s why people want guns. So they can protect themselves.”
Good? Laura thought in shock. He knew how vehemently she opposed the whole idea, and still—
“It is,” Ethan agreed, raising her ire, but went on before she could jump in. “The problem is, your average person hasn’t practiced enough to be able to use their weapon effectively. They get scared and are more likely to freeze up than they are to shoot the right person at the right time. A dad panics, shoots and kills his teenage son who was sneaking into the house late at night. Or it’s a burglar, Dad points the gun, but the burglar wrestles it away from him. And here’s the bigger question...”
Laura was as mesmerized as Jake. Ethan wasn’t saying what she’d expected from him. And, thank God, he’d been tactful enough not to include in his little litany, Kids get their hands on their parents’ guns and tragic accidents happen.
“We have the death penalty in this state.” He leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs, and looked and sounded even grimmer. “Someone has to have been convicted of aggravated murder to receive death as a sentence. So, if we as a society agreed that’s the only crime that we can justify putting someone to death for committing, is it all right for a home owner to shoot and kill someone breaking into his house?”
“But...it’s self-defense, isn’t it?”
Laura was glad to hear that Jake sounded unsure.
“It’s usually ruled to be. And sometimes it is. A woman is certainly entitled to protect herself from a man who intends to rape her, for example. But the average burglar doesn’t intend to hurt anyone. He’s sneaking in, hoping to grab some hot electronics, maybe some jewelry, and sneak back out without anyone hearing him. If the home owner were to yell that he’d called 911, the guy would bolt. These idiots who target people with a Jewish last name were committing only vandalism until this last time, when they set a fire, too. Their form of vandalism was ugly and indefensible, don’t get me wrong. But a capital crime? Not in my view.”
“So...if you were, like, staking out a house and they showed up and started, you know, painting the swastika and throwing rocks and maybe setting a fire, you wouldn’t pull your gun?” Jake asked in disbelief.
Ethan smiled faintly. “I would, because it would give me the upper hand. I’d be less likely to lose control of the situation. I would use the weapon as a threat to achieve an outcome that didn’t include violence.”
“You mean, they’d put their hands up and do what you tell them. Like that.”
His smile widened and he bent his head. “Just like that.” But the smile was gone when he went on. “The difference between me and the average home owner is that I put in many, many hours at the range practicing. I know when and why I should actually pull the trigger. In that situation, with the vandals, I’d be prepared to defend myself, but otherwise I wouldn’t shoot anyone.”
“You’d let them get away?”
“I’d do my best to catch them.” He flashed a startlingly boyish grin. “I also work out to stay in shape and make sure I’m fast. I can outrun most people.”
Laura bet he could. He’d have a longer stride than most people, for one thing, and none of the clumsiness common to many large men.
“But no, I wouldn’t shoot someone in the back to keep him from getting away. Vandalism isn’t a death penalty crime, even when it’s also a hate crime. Arson isn’t a death penalty crime unless it’s done to commit murder. Police officers rarely shoot except when they’re being attacked or to keep someone else from being badly injured or killed.”
“I never thought about that,” Jake said. “Mom always says—” He sneaked a look at her.
She tilted her head, wanting to find out which, if any, of her oft-repeated pearls of wisdom had actually stuck in his head. “What do I always say?”
“That having a gun in the house is more dangerous than not having one.” He flushed. “’Cuz things can happen. You know.”
Ethan held her son’s gaze. “I do know what happened, Jake. I’ve seen other tragedies like it. And let me say here that some law enforcement officers don’t agree with me. And I’m not opposed to safe gun ownership. People who hunt, for example, who follow the rules and lock their weapons up when they’re not carrying them. Target shooting can be fun. There’s nothing wrong with it. Same caveats.”
He had to explain what a caveat was.
“Dad always said he’d take me to the range when I got bigger.” Jake sounded wistful. “You remember, Mom?”
She remembered. Even then, she had hated the very idea, but she’d never said so. Certainly not to Jake, but not even to Matt. “I do,” she said.
“Did you learn to shoot when you were a kid?” Jake asked, earnestly pursuing...what? Justification for him to learn to handle a gun?
“Actually, no. My dad wasn’t a hunter. He’s in law enforcement, but he didn’t encourage me to take that path.”
“Is he still alive?” Laura asked.
Ethan glanced at her, his eyebrows climbing. “Sure. He’s a US marshal, but not for much longer. He’s taking retirement this coming year. Much to Mom’s relief, he switched to guard duty at the courthouse these past few years. His knees aren’t what they used to be.”
“Is he why you went into law enforcement?” she couldn’t resist asking.
His shoulders moved. “Partly. Of course there was always an element of glamour to it in my mind, like what Jake’s talking about. But I had a lot of other interests. I didn’t switch my major to criminology until I was a junior, and I had to add an extra semester to make up for lost time.”
She wanted to ask why he’d changed his mind midstream, but couldn’t help noticing how careful he’d been not to say. And really, he undoubtedly had better things to do today than exchange life stories with her.
He took a long swallow of coffee and set the mug down. “I’ve pontificated long enough. A piece of advice, though, Jake.”
Her son gazed eagerly at him.
“Or maybe I should start by asking how you’ve handled the talk about you.”
He hunched his shoulders, clearly unhappy to have the spotlight back on his own troubles. Turtle retreating into his shell. “Sometimes I say you don’t know what you’re talking about. Mostly I just, like, walk away.”
“In other words, you’re hoping if you ignore the whispers, they’ll go away.”
He jerked his shoulders. “I guess.”
“Ignoring things hardly ever makes them go away, you know.”
If she’d said that, Jake would have gotten sullen. But because it was Ethan instead, he screwed up his face. “I sort of know that.”
“Well, here’s what I’d tell them instead. ‘Something really bad did happen, but I was only five. It was an accident. I never meant to hurt anybody. Five-year-olds don’t understand much. I’d give anything for it not to have happened, but I can’t go back.’”
Laura watched Jake’s lips move as he silently repeated every word. Hero worship being born, she thought ruefully. And...she couldn’t even be sorry. Ethan had been sympathetic without getting maudlin, practical and philosophically, well, not that different from where she stood.
Disturbed by the tenor of her thoughts, she reminded herself that he did carry a gun, and was fully prepared to use it at any time.
Ethan glanced down at his phone, and she realized it must have vibrated. He rose to his feet and said, “I do need to go now. Laura, will you walk me out?”
She nodded.
Neither of them said anything until they’d reached the sidewalk by his SUV.
“Maybe I should move again,” Laura said suddenly. “Tino’s two aren’t going to rush around school on Monday telling everyone Dad says he was wrong, that Marco’s death wasn’t Jake’s fault.”
“Probably not. Kids don’t want to admit they were wrong.” His forehead creased. “What are his kids’ names?”
“Names?” She blinked. “His oldest is Niccolo, although I think he goes by Nick. And the girl is Gianna. Then they had another girl...Maddalena, I think. She’d be...eight. Then the boy in kindergarten and, heck, probably at least one more if not two.”
“Does Jake lengthen?”
“You mean, is it Italian? No. His full name is Jacob. Matt’s parents were not happy. He was Matteo, you know. They blamed me, but it was all him. I’d have been fine with Rico or Roberto or something like that, but he refused. He kept saying, ‘Mama doesn’t want to admit it, but we’re American now.’”
“Huh.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I take it that Mama Vennetti did not approve of her son marrying a woman who isn’t Italian?”
“Mama did not, and she never tried to like me.” At first Laura had been hurt, then mad. She’d become a damn fine Italian cook, she’d consented to raise their children in the Catholic Church even though she herself didn’t take the sacraments, but she wasn’t good enough and never would be. She wasn’t a woman who would hover in the background, as Renata had done today. The irony was that Mama was a domineering woman who wouldn’t hang back while her husband made decisions, either. Truthfully, what Mama didn’t want was another woman in the family who would challenge her.
Ethan studied her thoughtfully. “So the setup was already in place after the shooting.”
“For Mama to reject me? Absolutely. Matt...” She had to swallow and it was a struggle to go on. “That, I never would have expected—”
She wondered if being cut off by his family had devastated her husband more than her fury and inability to forgive him. Sometimes she almost hoped so, as if that would reduce the weight of her own sins.
“Hey.” Given how hard Ethan Winter’s face could be with its stark angles and planes, he had a way of looking remarkably gentle. Even...tender. “I didn’t mean to depress you even more.”
“What’s happening with Jake tears off scabs,” she said honestly. “How can it not?”
He didn’t say anything, his eyes intent on her.
“I think you’re right,” she said in a rush. “About the gun safety class. Can you suggest someplace I can sign him up?”
She felt his subtle relaxation. “Yeah. In fact, I sometimes teach a session. Let me see what’s coming up and call you, all right?”
Laura nodded. “And...thank you. For everything you said in there.”
He smiled. “You’re welcome.”
