My precious little daughter.“It isn’t a positive ID until next of kin identify her,” the counselor whispered.“Take me...” I started. Lily grabbed my hand so hard I flinched. “Take us to her. Please,” I begged.It required another person to accompany us to the morgue. Before we reached it, a priest showed up beside us. There is no nice way to view a dead body. There is no acceptable way to see your daughter lying still and cold on a stainless steel table.She looked so calm and peaceful. Not even surprised. Her makeup and hair were perfect. I wanted to shake her and wake her up. But she wasn’t there. Her spirit was gone. The priest administered the last rites as Lily and I knelt beside our dead daughter.“Joe, I need my hound.” I could hear his intake of breath over the long distance line.“Are you in Bloomington? It will take me about seven hours. Talk to me.”“Some bastard killed my daughter. Alexandra is dead. I need to hunt him down.”“I’ll make it six hours.”“Come to the hospital. He. ”“And of course you didn’t keep your mouth shut and instead set her straight.”“Of course. Except she wouldn’t learn her lesson and kept mumbling at me in some strange language.”“French?”“I know what French sounds like, lol, it wasn’t that. It seemed European, so I guess half a point for you.”“Yeah, I suppose that having an argument with someone like that, first thing in the morning, could sour your day. But only if you let it.”I felt like pouring the iced Americano I was preparing on her stupid head. She had these zen philosophies, about being chill and happy and letting things slide off you like water off a duck’s back or something equally stupid. I wasn’t like that. My brother said I had a temper, but I was just simply no one’s doormat. Before working at this coffee shop that my parents decided to open a few months ago, I had been secretly working as a barista. With a fake ID, but that was not what mattered now. What mattered was that I had long since learned how to deal with touchy.
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