“I thought you said you weren’t a marriage counselor,” Ellie still whispered so as to not wake Ginny.
“I’m not. I don’t have any formal psychological training, but I’ve spent a lot of time watching all kinds of people, trying to read them. I’m a private detective, old school.” I pointed to the Chandler paperback in the seat pocket. “Before all the fancy tech, detectives read people and used instinct. I’ve dealt with a lot of unhappy spouses telling me their problems. Some wanted to know if there was someone else in the picture, most were after dirt, leverage for a divorce.”
Ellie’s face wilted at the last word. I elbowed her shoulder lightly.
“As a detective, and a man, talk to Leo. You love him. Problems can be worked out. Find the joy in each other again. It’s Christmas, anything is possible.”
“Why did you tell her that?” Nikki asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I’m not one to tell people to find joy, either, but the words felt right to say. Like I told her, detectives work on instinct.”
“I have noticed that your instincts have not yet gotten you killed.”
“Which means I have some of the best instincts in the world.”
“Perhaps so,” Nikki smiled.