Julia Spencer-Fleming - I Shall Not Want

None of them joked around within the chief's earshot now.

Kevin flopped his notebook open, and as the chief launched into the bulletins and BOLOs, he snuck a look at Hadley Knox. Eric McCrea had called her a babe, but that didn't do her justice. Kevin had never seen anyone like her, with her perfect skin and her huge brown eyes and her round, pouty lips. Even in a tan poly uniform with no makeup on and her dark hair cut like a boy's, she was better-looking than 99.9 percent of the other women in Millers Kill. McCrea had another thing wrong, too. Kevin knew he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell with a woman like that. If he had swapped more than six words with her since she started patrolling last week, he'da been surprised. He just wanted… to admire her. And to think that when she happened to look at him, she wouldn't think he was a complete geek.

"… with Kevin," the chief was saying.

He jerked to attention.

"You think that's a good idea?" MacAuley said. "I mean, isn't that like the blind leading the blind?"

"It's a routine traffic patrol," the chief said. "And I want Knox to get as much time behind the wheel as she can. Eric can't take her, he's working the Christie break-in."

"Paul?" MacAuley asked.

The chief gave him a look.

"Ah," the deputy said. Kevin figured Paul Urquhart had made yet another dirty joke about the new recruit. Or did something inappropriate. Whatever it was, the dep had gotten it.

Everything that's happened between the chief and MacAuley . It was a waste and a shame, as his dad would have said: two old guys who worked so well together they could have a whole conversation with a word and a look. Now, those were the only conversations they had.

"If Kevin runs into anything heavy while he's out with Officer Knox, he'll call it in. Right?"

In like Flynn . "Yessir." Kevin glanced toward her again, this time smiling reassuringly. Her face, looking back at him, was blank. What did that mean? Was she nervous about riding with him? Pissed off because she wasn't going with one of the more experienced guys?

"Eric, catch us up on the Christie B and E." They were up to the current investigations. Kevin returned his attention to his notebook.

McCrea flopped open the case folder and began to recite. "Saturday, April six, at five thirty P.M., Bruce Christie reported returning home to find his trailer in the Meadowbrook Estates trailer park had been broken into. The interior had been trashed, as near as Noble and I could tell"-there was some snickering on this-"but he said nothing was missing. The manager reports seeing a vehicle speeding out of the park entrance at approximately five thirty P.M. No description, other than it was 'big and expensive.' " He glanced up from his notes. "That might mean any pickup or SUV with more steel than rust. Christie suggested it might be someone his two brothers owe money to and gave us a list of names." He pulled a short stack of papers from the file and tossed them to Kevin, who took one and passed it on. "The manager suggested it might have been the two brothers." McCrea looked up. "I tend to discount that. Whatever else you can say about the Christies, they hang tight together."

"If that's what you wanna call it," MacAuley said, under his breath.

"What do you think they were looking for?" the chief asked McCrea.

He shrugged. "Money? Pot? Neil Christie was up for distributing a few years back. Got it knocked down to possession."

"Sheep?" someone said. There was a snort of laughter, stifled.

"Why did he report it?" The question was out of Kevin's mouth before he remembered he was trying to appear cool and knowledgeable in front of their new officer. "If the intruders were looking for something illegal, I mean." God, he sounded lame.

The chief swiveled toward him. "You tell me."

"Um… he's genuinely clean?"

MacAuley snorted, but the chief gestured for him to go on. Kevin thought furiously. "He was lying about nothing being missing. He's counting on us to lead him to the guys who took whatever it was."

The chief tapped his nose. "Something to consider, isn't it?" He looked at McCrea. "And, of course, it could be someone with a grudge, looking to beat the crap out of Bruce Christie and settling for wrecking his place. Between the three of 'em, the Christie brothers have a record as thick as the Cossayuharie Directory. Assault, possession-" He glanced at MacAuley. "Didn't one of them do time for resisting?"

"Donald. Got five in Plattsburgh, out in three. Tried to run over the state trooper who was taking him in for D and D."

"So, be careful." The chief pointed at McCrea. "Anything strikes you funny, ease off and call for backup."

"Will do, Chief."

The chief pushed the chairs away and slid off the table. "That's all." He gathered up his folders and stalked out of the squad room. Through the doorway, Kevin could hear Harlene telling him about his calls.

"Christies. They put the dirt in dirt poor." MacAuley shook his head. He squinted up at McCrea from beneath his bushy eyebrows. "I've been to Bruce Christie's place. How did you tell where the deliberate trashing ended and the usual trashing began?"

McCrea snorted. "I wouldn't have wanted to stay there any longer than absolutely necessary, I'll tell you." He jerked a thumb toward Entwhistle. "Noble here was freaked out by the great big googly-eyed Jesus tapestry he had tacked to the wall."

"It was creepy," Noble agreed. "Its eyes followed you around. Like in that Stephen King book."

" Carrie ," Kevin supplied.

"Thank you, Kevin." McCrea smiled at him. Shit . There he was, doing it again. He had to stop trying to be so damn helpful all the time.

"You know how you know if a Christie girl is still a virgin?" MacAuley grinned. "She can run faster than her brothers."

McCrea looked at him meaningfully and nudged his head toward Hadley Knox.

"Uh-" The deputy chief was seized with a convenient coughing fit.

Hadley rose from her seat. Looked at MacAuley. Looked at McCrea. "The way I heard it, it's if she can run faster than the sheep." She tucked her folder beneath her arm. "You coming, Flynn?"

Clare was three miles out of Millers Kill, at the end of a five-hour drive from Fort Dix, when she realized she was out of booze. She groaned, thinking of returning to her cold house-when she was away for Guard training, she turned the thermostat down to fifty to save on oil-and facing the evening with nothing but some undoubtedly sour milk and a two-day-old Thermos of coffee. No wine. No sherry. No scotch.

No way. She cruised up Route 57, watching the river that gave the town its name running brown and gold beneath the long rays of the setting sun. Driving past St. Alban's, she continued on toward Main, then crossed over the river, headed for the town line. She'd been doing her shopping in Glens Falls, the better to avoid running into Russ Van Alstyne. But Napoli 's Discount Liquor ought to be safe, seeing as the chief of police was a nondrinking alcoholic.

In the parking lot, she unfolded out of her seat and stretched gratefully-up, down, and side to side. The breeze from the west was still cool with the snow lingering in the mountains, but the warmth thrown off by the asphalt testified to the power of the spring sun. Winter was gone, and good freaking riddance to it. If she never saw another snowflake in her life, it wouldn't be too soon.

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and checked her messages. One from her parents touching base, one from Deacon Elizabeth de Groot, assuring her that they were all doing splendidly without her, and one from Hugh Parteger. "Vicar! Thanks for stopping by for lunch on your way to that pestilent place south of the Palisades." She assumed he meant New Jersey. Hugh may have been born in England, but he was a true New Yorker at heart. "Next time"-his voice dropped-"why don't you just tell your congregation you're reporting for duty and stay the weekend with me? I promise I can show you maneuvers the U.S. Army has yet to think of."