Maggie Shayne - Darker Than Midnight

“We didn’t have any until this past year,” Frankie told her. “It’s brand-new.”

“What did you do with the criminals before now?”

Overhearing her, Kurt Parker released a bark of laughter. “Hell, honey, this isn’t some city police department. We barely have any criminals.”

She shot him a look, but before she could say a thing, Frankie cut in. “I’m pretty sure I did introduce you, didn’t I, Kurt? The woman’s name is Lieutenant Jackson. Not ‘honey.’”

He looked as if he was about to say something belligerent, but by then the other two officers were chiming in. “You’d think some of us had been raised in a cave,” Matthews said.

“Hey, Parker, you want some more coffee? Honey?”

“Yeah, how about it, sweetie pie?”

Parker’s face reddened, and he turned to stomp off to his desk as if he had something pressing awaiting him there.

Rolling her eyes, Frankie led Jax into her office and closed the door. There was a smaller desk set up in the corner with a blotter, a cup full of pencils and pens, and a Blackberry Police Department coffee mug with a blue ribbon fastened to the handle.

“Aw, heck. Is that for me?”

“Sure is,” Frankie said. “That’s your desk. At least, until you move on over to this one.” She patted her own desk. “And to answer your earlier question, when we needed to make arrests, we’d call the county boys in. We’d get the paperwork, they’d get to hold the prisoners. It sounds complicated, but we had got it running like clockwork. Still, having a holding cell of our own is nice. And Kurt was right about one thing—we very rarely have to make any arrests.”

There was a tap on the door, then it opened and Rosie poked her head through. “Got a call, Chief.”

Frankie lifted her brows and waited, and Jax felt herself tense, just as she always did on the job when a call came her way.

“Purdy says someone just snatched some fruit from his produce section, and took off without paying.”

Jax blinked. Frankie nodded. “And what did this dangerous felon make off with?”

“An orange and a bunch of grapes, near as he could figure.”

Frankie nodded and smiled at Jax. “Welcome to high crime in Blackberry,” she said, her eyes twinkling. Then, to Rosie, “Description?”

“Male. Couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a blue hooded sweatshirt with some kind of bright orange logo on the front.”

Jax felt her own smile freeze in place and slowly die. Damn, she hoped the stranger went back by her place, so he would find the offerings she’d left and not feel compelled to steal. Apparently, he wasn’t very good at it. An orange and some grapes? Freaking pathetic.

“Suggestions, Lieutenant Jackson?” Frankie asked.

“Maybe the store’s security camera got him on tape?” she said.

“Nope. No security cams around here, except at the bank and post office.” She nodded to Rosie. “Why don’t you send Kurt over to take a report? He needs something to get his mind off his hurt feelings.”

“Sure thing, Chief.” Rosie backed out of the office.

Frankie sighed. “May as well get comfortable,” she told Jax. “We’ll take a look at the notices from the state police, and the county, and then we’ll head on over to the coffee shop.”

“But there’s coffee here,” Jax said.

“Ah, but we don’t go for coffee. We go for gossip. Best way to keep your finger on the pulse of this town. The good old grapevine—Blackberry’s lifeblood flows through it.”

“I can see I’ve got to get used to a whole new way of working, huh?”

“You’ll pick it up in no time, Jax.” The telephone on her desk rang, and Frankie reached for it. Her smile faded about three seconds into the phone call. Her face seemed to pale, as she scribbled notes. When she hung up she was already on her feet.

“What have we got?” Jax asked, getting to her feet, as well.

“Trouble. Come with me.” She went out of her office. “Rosie, there will be a fax coming through any minute. I’m gonna want a dozen copies, pronto.”

“On it,” Rosie said, and even as she spoke, the fax machine beside her desk was ringing and churning to life.

Matthews and Campanelli came over from their desks. Kurt Parker had apparently already gone to check out the great produce heist.

“Michael Corbett escaped from the state hospital last night,” Frankie said. “Killed an orderly in the process.”

“Holy shit,” Matthews muttered. “They think he’ll head here?”

“He’d be stupid to come here,” Frankie said. “But we need to be ready, just in case.”

“Wait, someone needs to bring me up to speed,” Jax said. “Who is this Corbett? Is he dangerous?”

With a heavy sigh, Frankie turned to her. “Hell, I didn’t want to dump all this on you your first night in town and maybe scare you off. But…well, I already told you the house—your house—has a history.”

“You said a whole wing was destroyed in a fire, and a woman was killed.” A little shiver ran up her spine, but Jax shook it off. She was a cop. Those kinds of shivers had no place in her life. And yet she kept thinking about the odd white shape she’d glimpsed outside, and Kurt Parker’s words about the place spooking people. And the cold spot on one side of the house that never seemed to get warm.

“The house belonged to the Corbetts, and the fire was arson,” Frankie said. “Corbett was found on the lawn with a gas can at his feet. His wife died in the fire—was pregnant at the time, too. Corbett claimed he couldn’t remember a thing, and he had some history of blackouts to back it up and a top-notch shrink on his side. The D.A. accepted an insanity plea and shipped him off to the state hospital, where everyone expected him to spend the rest of his life.”

Jax lifted her brows. “I thought you said nothing bad ever happened here?”

“I may have exaggerated just a tad. Hell, I’ve only given you the digest version. Rosie, dig out those old files so Jax can get caught up. Got that fax yet?”

“Got it.” Rosie handed the faxed sheet to Frankie, who looked at it and shook her head sadly. “That’s our man. Shame, crying shame. He was a cop once. A damn good one, as I understand it.” She passed the sheet to Jax. “We’ll get some posters up around town, keep a keen eye out for him.”

Jax barely heard her. Instead, she stared down at the face of the man who had spent the night in her house. The man who had saved her life at the risk of his own, who had wept in her arms and then slipped away before she woke. The man who, even now, might be finding the food and clothing she had provided for him.

Clothing—that belonged to her father, who was an ex-con and couldn’t afford to be tied to an escaped killer. God, what the hell had she done?

Her first day on the job, and already she was guilty of aiding and abetting an escaped criminal. That wasn’t going to earn her any points. She wouldn’t be surprised if Frankie withdrew the job offer when she found out. Jax knew that in her place, that’s what she would do.

She couldn’t believe she’d done it. She’d helped a murderer—one who’d got off on an insanity plea—much like the man accused of murdering her own sister had nearly done twelve years ago.

And maybe that was why. Not that she believed in fate, or karma or any of that hokey new age garbage. But damn, at the very least, the universe had one sick sense of humor.

He wasn’t doing well.

His feet scuffed through the dusting of snow along the winding road’s shoulder. He knew he was leaving a distinct trail, but doubted anyone was following it. The cold seemed to knife straight through to his bones. He ached with it.

He’d expected to feel better by now. To be starting to feel strong again after a good night’s sleep, in a warm, dry place. But he wasn’t feeling strong. He was shaky. His head felt heavy and cotton filled, and he was having trouble convincing his feet to pick up off the pavement. His chest hurt, too, ached and burned. And every now and then a full body shiver racked him from head to toe.