Authors: Terry Odell
Hidden Fire, Kobo (10 page)
She paused, considering. "I guess
so. I'm going to stay open until five, though. Things are going great and I don't
want to close at two."
"Right. Hugh Garrigue's pottery
exclusive. Opening day."
Warmth crept through her like a summer
morning. "You remembered."
"Of course I did. Sarah, I was
running on less than fumes and work threw me some nasty curves. If I did or
said anything to upset you, please forgive me."
She bit back the automatic agreement. "We'll
talk."
There was a brief silence. "Pick you
up after work? We can go to Woodford. Dinner, movie, dancing. You name it."
Jennifer poked her head through the
doorway, an apologetic expression on her face. "It's getting crazy,"
she whispered. "Customers are asking for specific pieces that aren't on
display yet. They're tourists, not locals, so I can't say, 'Come back tomorrow.'"
"Got to run," Sarah said to
Randy. "Pick me up at my place. Six?"
"I'll be there."
Sarah hung up and dragged the cartons
with the uncataloged pieces to the middle of her office. "Photograph everything.
Hugh's prices are on my desk."
"I know the drill." Jennifer
picked up the small digital camera and set the first piece on the black-draped
table against the wall.
"Thanks." Excited that Hugh's
work was drawing a new clientele, Sarah grinned and went to deal with her
customers. Her grin widened as she saw the line at the register. A
line
.
A man and a woman she didn't recognize
stood away from the counter, eyeing the door to her office. These must be the
ones Jennifer was talking about. The man, mid-twenties, she estimated, wore
faded jeans and a threadbare plaid shirt. He wore his curly brown hair longish
in back, probably to make up for his receding hairline in front. The slender
woman, her hair a shade of red not found in nature, wore a designer pant
ensemble. Not together, was Sarah's initial impression. She hurried over to
them and explained the delay.
"No worries," the man said. "I'm
happy to wait."
"Why don't you browse?" Sarah
suggested. "Jennifer will be right out with your pieces."
He nodded and wandered to the back of the
shop.
"She's checking something for me,"
the woman said. "I'll wait here."
Definitely not a couple. With a smile and
a nod, Sarah threaded her way through the people lining her counter.
"I think I'm next."
Sarah stopped for a breath. "I'm so
sorry you had to wait, Lorraine. That's a great choice." She tipped the
bowl over and checked the price.
"Have you heard anything else about
the dead man?" Lorraine said. "Isn't your boyfriend a cop? Why hasn't
he caught the killer? It's getting so you can't get away from crime anywhere."
Sarah tuned her out as she rang up the
sale. Would it always be like this if she stuck with Randy?
* * * * *
Randy hung up the phone.
We'll talk.
Damn
women.
We'll talk.
What was that supposed to mean? It meant his
breakfast congealed into a boulder in his stomach.
He'd slept until noon, awakened alone,
wondering if he'd imagined Sarah coming over, or if he'd made love to a dream.
It wouldn't have been the first time. When she'd demanded distance after her
trauma, he'd spent many nights alone in the dark, imagining her face, her
laugh, her scent. Merely thinking about her was enough to send him over the
edge, hands free.
The matted hair on his belly and the
tangled sheets said there'd been some kind of action.
He remembered playing the piano and
little else until an hour ago when the need to pee had reached the point where
it couldn't be ignored.
You're a detective, asshole. Figure it
out.
He'd stripped the bed, smelling Sarah's
scent along with his own as he carried the bedding to the washer. She'd been
here.
Hope I didn't disappoint you.
Now he needed to regroup. Jim Eldridge
had been polite about it, but he'd pretty much told Randy to butt out. "Enjoy
your weekend," he'd said. As if cases came to a screeching halt at six
p.m. on Fridays.
His stomach roiled at the thought. Had
the chief been right? Was he in it for the glory? He went out to the back porch
and refilled the cats' food and water dishes and tended to their litter box. He
tossed the empty cat food bag into the trash.
"Looks like you're stuck with me."
He chucked Starsky under the chin and rubbed Hutch's belly. "I'll hit the
store and get you more food. Any requests?"
Starsky regarded him with a solemn stare,
as if contemplating the choices.
"Okay, guys. Here's the biggie.
Dinner with Sarah. She wants to do that talk thing. Do I take her out for
dinner or bring her here?"
Hutch rolled over and stretched, mewing.
"Yeah, I know. I'm hoping we'll end
up here. I think last night was a good sign. If I didn't do something totally
stupid. But maybe we ought to start the evening somewhere more public. She
seems to prefer that."
Both cats hit their food dishes and he
watched them crunch for several minutes, remembering them at the vet those
months ago, unconscious, hanging on to life by a thread. He'd get them some new
toys, too. "Enjoy your breakfast."
He called Kovak from his truck. "You
get any leads?"
"Connor's got the bank list for the
key narrowed down to about eight. That's eight bank chains, not branches. Most
of them are nationwide. But wheels are turning. I've got a list to follow up
from witness reports of cars at the scene. Slow going without full plates or
accurate descriptions. How about you? County treating you right?"
"Separate but equal is what Eldridge's
saying
. What he's
thinking
about us small-town cops is another
story. You want to go over what we have? I was told to take the weekend, but
there's got to be something we can find."
"Sorry, big guy. I've got to drop my
kids off at my sister's in Tillamook. She's being the good Samaritan and taking
them for the weekend so Janie and I can celebrate."
Celebrate what? Not being allowed to do
their jobs?
Randy's
brain clicked into gear. "Right. Happy anniversary. My best to Janie. I'll
see you Monday."
"Randy?" Kovak's voice dropped.
"Can I ask you something? As a friend and a colleague?"
Great. Sarah wanted to
talk
and
now Kovak was doing the
as a friend
bit. His stomach tightened. "Shoot."
From behind, a horn coughed and he realized he'd been sitting at a stop sign.
He eased the truck through the intersection.
"Why make a big deal about County's
help on this case? We've worked with them before. It's not like you to get your
shorts in a knot and you know damn well we're not equipped for something like
this. From day one, you've pounded teamwork into my skull. 'It's the result,
not who gets the credit.' What's different this time?"
His pulse throbbing in his ears, Randy backed
his Ford F-150 into a reserved slot behind the Municipal Building. Kovak was
right. This was an emotional reaction, pure and simple. Something he rarely
allowed to interfere with his job. Why now? He honestly couldn't say. He turned
off the ignition and closed his eyes. "Nothing. You're right. I don't know
why I went off the deep end. I've been carrying a bucketload of resentment for
no reason. Eldridge's been fine."
"Good. I thought maybe it had
something to do with …"
He heard Kovak's unspoken word.
Sarah.
The only other time he'd crossed any lines was when he'd been worried about
her, when she'd gone missing. Had she triggered his reaction when she'd
insisted on the dinner at Rob's Wednesday night? Had she burrowed so deeply
into his being that her feelings were affecting his work?
He opened his eyes and sat up straight. "Lack
of sleep, for starters. I crashed for about fifteen hours and my head's back on
straight."
Kovak's silence filled the truck's cab.
"Okay. Maybe my time in 'Frisco made
me hot to show what I learned and I overreacted. Too bad I'm not a woman. I
could say it was that time of the month and the subject would be dropped."
Kovak snorted. "Thanks for putting
that
picture in my head."
Randy laughed. "You enjoy your
weekend. I'm cool."
"Good," Kovak said. "I
hate it when I have to pound sense into you."
"Especially since I'm bigger, better,
and you always lose."
"Exactly."
"Thanks for the mental pounding,
then."
"Part of my job." An unusual
pensive tone coated Kovak's words. "See you Monday."
Kovak hung up before Randy could ask what
was wrong.
Abandoning his plans to spend the
afternoon developing a case of eyestrain studying databases and reports, Randy
loped into the building and down to his locker where he changed into running
shorts and t-shirt. Fifteen minutes later, he parked his truck under a tree at
the edge of the park and laced on his running shoes. A mind-clearing run was
what he needed. Maybe a runner's high would give him the answer to his first
question, where to take Sarah tonight.
He did some stretches, then started down
the wooded path at a slow jog. After the first circuit, he picked up his pace
until there was nothing but the slap of his sneakers against the packed dirt
trail. Sunlight filtered through the tree branches, casting mosaic patterns of
light and shadow at his feet. Randy wasn't alone in taking advantage of the
clear, crisp weather hinting of autumn days to come. Some ran in pairs,
carrying on breathless conversations. Others were anchored to earphones. Most
nodded as they passed. Randy returned the unspoken greetings, but in this
world, each stride carried him through a self-contained universe, communing
with lungs, legs and personal limits.
He lost count of his circuits, but his
body told him he'd done enough. One more trip over the mile-long course at a
slow jog brought his breathing and heart rates down. He walked the last hundred
yards to his truck where he took his gym bag out of the bed. He toweled off,
swapped his sweat-soaked t-shirt for a clean one, and pulled sweat pants over
his shorts. The run had done its job and he was ready to enjoy the rest of the
weekend. As he chugged a bottle of water, he decided to skip showering at the
station. Instead, he'd go to Thriftway for groceries, then to Sadie's and order
dinner. Sarah wanted to
talk
and they'd talk. The two of them. In
private, not handcuffed by rules of proper behavior in a public place.
When his cell rang and the call was from
Charlotte, he debated letting it roll to voice mail. On the third ring, he
pressed the talk button. "Detweiler."
"I'm forwarding the preliminary
report on the substance under the victim's fingernails."
"Thanks. That's nice of you.
Eldridge too busy?" He heard his sarcasm. "Sorry, Charlotte. I do
appreciate it."
"Look, Detweiler. Jim Eldridge's a
good cop, but he's overworked and his boss is breathing down his neck on this
case. Jim's not going to keep you out of the loop intentionally, but he's not
going to have you at the top of his priorities, either. He's assigned the case
to one of his detectives, who probably has at least ten, maybe twenty other
cases. In the spirit of inter-departmental cooperation, I've faxed the report to
your office. I'm calling because I didn't want it to get lost in the weekend
shuffle, if your place is anything like ours."
Phone to his ear, he jogged to the trash
can and tossed his water bottle. "And?"
"And the dirt was definitely not
something he picked up in that field. Our guys are going to see if they can
narrow it down. It's high on their to-do list, but it's a long list. Maybe it'll
ring a bell with your lab guys."
"What about the bridgework? Any hits
there?" Randy slammed the cover of the truck's bed shut and got behind the
wheel. He pressed the loudspeaker button on the phone and set it in the
console.
"Not my job, Detweiler, but I'll try
to find out. Monday."
"Understood. I've been ordered to
take a weekend myself." Right after he picked up the report.
"Sit tight. Give it a few days. The
crime rate in the county being what it is, Jim will be happy to give this one
back to you."
"Anyone ever tell you you're one
wise woman?"
She laughed. "Not often enough.
Thanks. Go enjoy yourself."
"I intend to."