Alicia Scott - Partners In Crime

“This isn’t over.”

“Oh, famous last words. Cops have absolutely no imagination.”

Jack arched a brow. Far from retreating, he said somberly, “Yes, we do.” He leaned over her desk.

“I’ll see you at the fund-raiser, Josie. And I’ll see you going home every night and I’ll see you jogging every morning. I want Olivia Stuart’s killer. Think about that, Josie. Think about that real hard.”

He stepped out of her office. She struggled to inhale long after the door had shut behind him.

I’m not the killer, dammit. A Reynolds isn’t the killer.

* * *

At nine o’clock, she turned away the last person. She hated doing that, hated seeing the stress in each person’s eyes as she stood in the waiting room and softly promised to meet with them first thing in the morning. Four people were left. They’d waited six hours and now had to return tomorrow.

Goaded by guilt, she spent another two hours trying to catch up with paperwork. By eleven, her stomach was growling too much to concentrate. She cleaned up her desk, updated her list of things to do for the morning and prepared to leave. Halfway out the door she remembered she’d forgotten to speak to FEMA for Gabe Chouder.

“Damn,” she muttered. “Get it on the list.”

Heading back out, she remembered she’d forgotten the report on strip mining for Hal Stuart. She went back to add that to the list. The third time, she recalled her promise to speak with Helen Hunter about the bingo prizes. The fourth time, she made it through the door, stomach growling, eyes tired.

Her low-slung heels echoed in the vaulted hallways of City Hall. All the offices were dark, only the yellow ceiling lights guided her way. It was a strange, lonely feeling to be in a big marble building all alone at night. She nodded goodbye to the security guard stationed by the front doors and let herself out.

The night was cold and clear. Her car was around back. These days she wondered how safe it was to walk to her car alone, but still had no choice. At least, she encountered no surprises tonight.

She drove home on deserted roads and pulled up to a dark one-story rancher. She had no roommates, no pets, no people to help her, which meant she got to drag the garbage can to the curb even though she didn’t feel like doing it. Monday was garbage night, so out it went.

Back inside, she snapped on the kitchen light and set her briefcase and jacket on the kitchen table. She was spending too much time at work, and her small house showed it. Plants drooped from lack of water. The simple, sparse furniture had gathered a thick layer of dust. Abruptly, the whole place depressed her. She had a house, but not a home. A home shouldn’t smell as alien and stale as her place did now.

She stared at the brown kitchen cabinets and contemplated heating up a can of soup. Food might make her feel better. When a person burned the candle at both ends, food and nutrition became even more important, she reminded herself. But the act of taking out a saucepan and opening a can sounded like too much work. Did a man like Stryker come home to an empty house, as well? Did he contemplate heating up soup and realize he was too tired, or did a man as handsome as him have a new woman every night, happy to fill the void?

She could still remember the tight feeling in her belly when Grand Springs’s most eligible bachelor had pinned her with his gaze. And she recalled the secret, nearly primal thrill of making “Straight Arrow Stryker” yell.

Oh God, what was she thinking? She gave up on cooking, dropped her clothes on the floor, and climbed into bed.

Her dreams brought her comfort. She was ten years old again. She knew because her blond hair was in the kind of beautiful French braid only her mother could do. She sat at the simple kitchen table. Her mom was making cookies and the kitchen smelled of nutmeg and vanilla.

The back door opened as her father walked in, wearing a suit he’d donned first thing in the morning and now accessorized it with his hearty smile. Her mom looked up, her eyes immediately going soft. Rose’s gaze always went tender when she saw Stan.

“I got me a job, Rose. Selling cars. I’m going straight, just like I promised.”

“Oh, Stan. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He wrapped her pretty mama in a big bear hug. In his suit, he looked big and handsome, all red hair and snapping blue eyes. In her spring dress, her mother was his perfect complement, all blond hair and delicately defined features.

Her mother sat Stan at the table. He got his own plate with four oatmeal cookies, sneaking one to Josie when Rose turned for the milk. She palmed it effortlessly, the way he’d taught her, and he winked at her until she giggled.

Josie was the luckiest girl in the world and she knew it. She was Stan’s little girl, and Stan was the only father on the block who knew how to make dreams come true. And when Rose smiled at Stan the way Rose was smiling at Stan now, there wasn’t anything Stan couldn’t do.

Josie inhaled the scents of nutmeg and vanilla. She let the oatmeal cookie melt on her tongue.

“I want to stay here always, Daddy,” she whispered in her sleep.

“Of course you can,” he promised her in her dream. “Of course you can.”

Her alarm clock went off at six. She awoke disoriented and groggy. She sat up with a scowl, impatiently pushing a cloud of tangled hair out of her face.

“Liar,” she muttered. Her room, empty and still dark gray with morning, didn’t argue. She pattered into her bathroom and buried herself beneath the scouring spray of a hot shower.

* * *

“Well, I’m so happy you finally found time for your family!”

Jack leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Nice to see you, too, Mom.”

He shook his father’s hand as the older man apologized for Betty Stryker’s comment with his gaze. Jack understood. His mother was a high-strung, anxious woman. Sometimes she was on medication, but mostly she tried to manage it on her own. It wasn’t easy. Betty Stryker’s world was filled with demons and worry. And the death of her oldest son at the age of eighteen had only made the shadows darker.

“We’re grilling steaks,” Betty announced. She stood in the middle of the simple living room, nicely attired in chocolate-colored slacks and an off-white turtleneck. She twisted each ring on her right hand in turn and then started over again.

“Steak sounds great,” Jack told her.

“Are you sure? I have chicken I could defrost. We still have some of that salmon in the freezer….”

“Steak is perfect. Honest. Crazy as things have been lately, a nice thick steak sounds wonderful.”

“Are you working too hard? How is Hal Stuart as acting mayor? I heard he’s a real tyrant. Is he too demanding? Are you getting enough sleep?”

Ben took his wife’s arm and led her toward the kitchen. “Jack is doing just fine, dear. Policemen don’t expect regular hours, do they?”

“Work’s not bad at all,” Jack agreed, when in fact both he and his father knew he hadn’t slept for more than six hours a night in months. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No, no. Just sit right down at the table. I’ll get the salad. Ben, will you check the steaks on the grill?”

His mother bustled around. Movement helped keep the restlessness down. Jack sat down at the table in the same seat he’d occupied since his parents had moved into the house when he was four. It was a simple three-bedroom rancher made of good, solid construction. His father had earned enough as an electrician to support the whole family. They’d been comfortable growing up, but never rich. Family vacations were generally camping in the mountains, not flying to Disneyland.

Jack had been happy, though. Ben had taught him and Tom how to hunt and track. There had been weekends fishing together, then the Boy Scouts. Tom had ridiculed the Boy Scouts after the first three years. Jack had continued on to become an Eagle Scout, however, while his father became a troop leader. Right after Tom’s death, when emotions were still too high for words, Jack and his father had gone on the Scout trips together and let the hiking sweat the pain from their pores. By nightfall, they could sit together in front of the campfire, watching the flickering flames and finding comfort in just being there, side by side, father and son, bonded by the silence.