For You

Chapter Eleven Unidentified

I woke up when Colt slid out from under me. I nabbed his pillow and pulled it to my chest, wrapping my arms around it.

Wilson followed him out of bed and started meowing. Then he followed him to the bathroom then he followed him down the hall then, after a minute or two, Wilson shut up.

I let Colt’s pillow go, looked at the clock and saw it was after nine in the morning. I rolled when I heard Colt coming back down the hall and I got up on an elbow, pulling my hair out of my face to watch him walk into the room wearing nothing but boxers.

His eyes were on me and he came right at me, stopping briefly at the side of the bed to hook his thumbs into the boxers and yank them down. I got a good look, I liked what I saw but it didn’t last long because he leaned in and pulled down the covers. A slight cold hit me before it was swept away when Colt put a knee to the bed right before he covered me with his body.

His hands went into the tee at my sides and his face disappeared into my neck where he said, “Mornin’ baby.”

This wasn’t just a morning, this was a good morning but I decided not to point that out because he probably knew it already.

I slid my hands across the skin of his back, turned my head and said into his hair, “Mornin’.”

His hands were moving on me, his weight heavy, both felt unbelievably great as his lips slid up my neck to the hinge of my jaw where he said, “Fuckin’ love Saturdays.”

I smiled because he sounded content and also because I agreed with him. Only better day in the week than Saturday was Sunday and that was tomorrow. Something to look forward to and it’d been way too long since I’d had something to look forward to.

His hands went up the shirt, taking it with them then it was up further then he arched his back, I lifted my back from the bed as well as my arms over my head and the tee was swept away. He tossed it to the side and dropped his mouth to mine.

“Feel like waffles,” he muttered against my mouth.

I knew what that meant.

Something else to look forward to.

One of my hands went up his neck and my fingers sifted into his hair before I replied, “Me too.”

He grinned against my mouth then he took it in a deep kiss and, after, he did other things at other places on my body with his mouth. Then he was between my legs, lifting and spreading them wide and cocked with his hands behind my knees. He took me with his mouth, making me come then he moved up and over me, fucking me slow and sweet, then harder, then faster, then even harder, his hands on me, my hands on him, our mouths locked, tongues sparring, building it again for me, but now also for him, until I exploded the second time just moments before he lifted my knees high, rammed in deep and groaned.

After, when Colt was gliding gently in and out of me, his tongue tracing my necklaces, I was thinking I was pretty happy I’d packed the waffle iron with the stoneware.

Colt waited for his waffles because I did yoga.

Seeing as I’d had two orgasms, I didn’t really need to do the yoga to relax and de-stress, but I did need to do it to practice and keep fit.

Colt sat at the bar on a stool wearing a pair of shorts and a tee, reading the paper and drinking coffee. I was in the den, my yoga mat down the length of the pool table, one of the scented candles that I brought over from my place burning and I had Norah Jones playing. I was trying to concentrate, clear my mind, focus on my positioning, my muscles, my breathing, deepening the poses, rooting myself to the floor for the balancing ones but this was difficult. This was difficult partly because there was a lot of shit to think about so clearing my mind was a challenge. This was also difficult because, more times than most when I caught Colt in my vision, he was watching me.

“Don’t watch me,” I ordered as I moved from triangle pose to downward-facing dog.

“Baby, your ass is in the air and you’re wearin’ tight clothes. Not watchin’ you is impossible.”

“You’re breaking my concentration.”

“With practice, you’ll get used to me enjoyin’ the show.”

I rolled my eyes to the floor which luckily Colt couldn’t see.

“Next time, you’re doin’ this with me,” I told him and he burst out laughing so I asked, “What?”

“I do yoga the day you play basketball.”

Morrie and Colt had often tried to get me, Jessie, Meems or whatever girl Morrie was dating at the time to play basketball with them. It was supposed to be a low contact sport but the way they played it was not. I figured it was their way to look superior as well as bump into girls a lot. I didn’t mind that, it was all the running and sweating and dribbling and rules that I minded.

No way I was going to play basketball. Ever.

“Enjoy the show,” I invited, and dropped down into child’s pose as I heard Colt chuckle.

Something about his chuckle, maybe the satisfaction I heard mixed with the humor, freed my mind. Everything left it and all I had was the scent of ocean in my nostrils, Norah in my ears, my mat under me and my muscles releasing.

I made Colt waffles. We ate them both of us sitting on the counter. He helped me clean the kitchen, which I thought was nice until I realized he did this to delay taking a shower so he could do it with me.

The shower we had was nicer than him helping me clean the kitchen. A lot nicer.

We got ready for the day. This took Colt five minutes. It took me forty-five.

We went to my apartment and got another load, leaving behind nothing but my bed, nightstands, lamps, dinette set, table and armchair. While we were in the truck with the boxes on the way home, we discussed the rest of my belongings and how it was too bad Mom bought that bed from Bud because now we had an extra one. Still, Colt figured he had enough room in his garage to store it all until we could find homes for it. I’d called my landlord and he was happy I was jumping my lease by a few months. Our town was a popular location for city commuters and retirees looking for accommodation that took less than three hours to clean so he had a waiting list.

However, when we hauled the boxes into his house and went out to check the garage, we found Colt wasn’t correct, mostly because Mom put all the shit from his second bedroom in the garage.

We stood staring at the stuff piled up in his garage, so much only a small amount of moving space was available.

“I’m not a big fan of scraping ice off my car,” I commented, staring at all the crap in his garage and I felt his eyes come to me.

“Feb, for two years, you parked under a tree.”

I was seeing that being a detective’s girlfriend might not be as cool as I’d thought it would be, considering to be a detective you kinda had to be pretty sharp and you definitely couldn’t let anyone pull anything over on you.

I looked up to him and replied, “Yeah, but I didn’t like it. You got a garage, we should use it. The truck won’t fit in here. My car will.”

“It doesn’t have an electric door opener.”

“We’ll put one in.”

“Baby, I just put in an alarm.”

Shit, he was saying he didn’t have the money.

Denny Lowe was such an assface.

“I’ll pay for it,” I declared.

He gave me a Man Look which communicated the fact that he wasn’t a big fan of me paying for shit, seeing as I had a vagina and breasts. When we divvied up household responsibilities, his look foretold I’d get groceries, cleaning implements, clothing and linens with the odd knick knack or standing kitchen appliance thrown in. The garage was part of Man’s World, not to be touched by female hands or updated with the woman’s money.

Then he wisely decided to let that go and tried a different tactic. “The boat’s gotta stay where it is.”

I turned and looked out the little, high-up, square windows in his garage, which incidentally, seriously needed to be cleaned, to see the boat under the sided awning which would be a perfect fit for his truck so he didn’t have to clear snow or ice.

My eyes moved back to Colt. “How ‘bout we build a side thingie for the boat? You can park your truck where the boat is.”

“Maybe I didn’t mention that I got the full-on deluxe edition of an alarm,” Colt noted.

I braved another Man Look. “I’ll pay for the side thingie too.”

I didn’t get a Man Look because, instead, his brows snapped together before he asked, “You got that kinda cake?”

“I moved my belongings to your house in two trips, using two cars and a truck, Colt. I go to work in t-shirts. I got a low overhead,” I pointed out. “Each month I have three CDs that mature in three different banks across the US of A.”

“You cash in your CDs, you buy yourself a shitload of heels and a new car,” he said, or more like, decreed.

It was then I asked the question I should not have asked. Not only was it my experience it was a useless effort to discuss clothes with men and therefore should be avoided it was also my experience you should never discuss cars with men. First, they knew more about cars than women, or more to the point, women if that woman happened to me. There were many men who even made cars a lifelong study but I, personally, couldn’t care less. Second, because they knew more and knew they knew more, men usually acted annoyingly smug when any car discussion came up. That alone was reason to avoid car discussions. Third, they tended to be right, which was the biggest reason of all to avoid such discussions.

Even knowing all this, I asked, “What’s wrong with my car?”

“Nothin’, ‘cept it was built during the Carter Administration.”

Now he was pissing me off. I liked my car. Sure, it was old. Sure, it was small. Sure, it wasn’t all that attractive. But it got me from point A to point B, it had a kickass stereo and it started up every time.

Well, most every time. It might need some coaxing on the really cold days.

“It was not,” I defended my car.

“Does it have airbags?” he asked.

“No,” I answered.

“Was it built in a time when there were airbags?” he asked.

“No,” I answered, getting more pissed.

“You get into a collision, baby, your compact will fold like an accordion and you’ll get stuck in that shit,” he said, looking back to the pile of stuff in his garage and the tone with which he said his next words meant he’d come to a decision. “You need a sedan.”

Visions of me in a staid sedan, which probably had a shit stereo, flooded my head. Then I realized Lorraine owned a sedan. So did Chris Renicki’s wife, Faith. So did Drew Mangold’s wife, Cindy.

And so had Melanie.

My neck started itching mainly because of the heat which was collecting there, which was mainly because I was moving from pissed to pissed off.

“We’ll talk about this later,” I said.

He nodded and threw an arm around my shoulders, guiding me out but he did so while saying, “Soon’s this shit’s over, we’ll go to Ricky’s, look at some four doors.”

I decided to completely ignore the words “four doors” which made my head get light and I suspected if I uttered those words my hair would turn instantly blue.

Instead I focused on Ricky.

Ricky Silvestri owned six different car dealerships in the county which meant Ricky had expanded the family business since when I was growing up, his Dad only owned four. Ricky was a born and bred car salesman and trained all of his employees in the art of sixty years of car salesmanship as passed down from father to son. If Colt and I walked into any one of his dealerships together, I would instantly become the invisible woman. If I walked in alone, they’d screw me three ways ‘til Tuesday.

“I’m not getting a sedan,” I said as he closed the door to the garage.

“I thought we were gonna talk about this later?” he asked, taking his arm from around me as he locked the garage.

“We were, until you brought Ricky into it.”

“Ricky’s a good man. He’ll swing us a deal.”

Colt and I clearly had different definitions of “a good man”. I knew Ricky still played football with Morrie and Colt when they pulled together games every once in awhile. I also knew Ricky could hold his liquor and be quiet while fishing. But, from bar talk with Molly Jefferson, who was Ricky’s second wife, Theresa’s best friend, I knew he didn’t pay child support unless Theresa put out, or at the very least gave him a blowjob. Rumor had it Ricky took it hard when Theresa left him, seeing as he still loved her. Making matters worse, Theresa still loved Ricky, hence her putting out or giving head. Though she had little choice but to leave since he was screwing his secretary and everyone but Theresa knew it, until she found out.

Since I usually kept bar talk to myself, instead of sharing any this with Colt, I said, “We’re not talkin’ us here, Colt, we’re talkin’ you. I don’t want a new car.”

“And I’m not gonna bust my ass so you and me can survive this Denny shit and then be called to the scene of an accident and watch them cuttin’ your dead, mangled body outta that death trap you drive,” he shot back.

Yet another indication that being a cop’s girlfriend might not be as cool as I thought it would be.

I decided, since I was forty-two years old and the time had probably come, to try and be mature.

So I suggested, “All right, Colt, I’ll look at cars with you, not sedans and definitely not four door sedans, but we’ll have a look around if you consider helpin’ me clear out this garage, we get an electric door opener and we build on a shelter for the boat.”

His brows collided again and he asked, “How many CDs you say you have?”

“Nearly forty,” I answered, “but I haven’t mentioned the savings bonds.”

His forehead cleared, he grinned and threw his arm around my shoulders again, leading me toward the house saying, “Shit, my girlfriend’s loaded.”

I thought about it and realized I kind of was. I wasn’t a millionaire or anything but I reckoned I had enough money for a garage door opener, a shelter for the boat and to buy a new car, all of this free and clear. It would strike deep but it wouldn’t wipe me clean. There was more than enough to hold back for a rainy day even if we took a killer vacation thrown on top.

So perhaps I hadn’t accumulated nothing in my life and actually had something to bring to the table. I had another impulse to do a cheerleader, pom pom jump but I squelched it mainly because Colt’s heavy arm was weighing me down.

We went through the side door, hit the kitchen and I turned to Colt. “Play your cards right, baby, things could get exciting. You got a birthday comin’ up.”

And he did, it was at the end of April, next month.

His hand came up, fingers curling around the side of my neck and he brought me close.

“I already know what I want for my birthday and you already bought it,” he told me.

“What’s that?” I asked.

His head dipped so his face was close to mine. “You, in nothin’ but those black heels bent over the pool table.”

I sucked in breath as an internal shiver rippled through my body. Something like that would forever make playing pool with Colt a delicious experience. Therefore, something like that was too good to wait for his birthday.

I decided not to share this either as well as play it cool. “You don’t want me to wrap it up? Get a lacy teddy or something? Garters? Stockings? That kinda shit?”

He grinned and put his mouth to mine.

“Knock yourself out,” he said there before he kissed me.

When he lifted his head, let me go, turned me toward the living room and smacked my ass, muttering, “Gotta get to the park,” was when I returned to thinking being a cop’s girlfriend was going to be all right.

Delilah and I sat on swings at Arbuckle Acres park while Palmer and Tuesday mostly ran around screaming since Dee had confiscated their cell phones and told them in that lovingly exasperated voice that only Moms could pull off to, “Go. Play. Be kids.”

I personally didn’t think ten and twelve year old kids should have cell phones and neither did Dee. Unfortunately Morrie had taken them to the mall about three weeks ago and Morrie, also not thinking kids that age should have cell phones, bought them anyway because they begged for them and he was a pushover.

The swings were a good place to be seeing as they pointed to the basketball court on which Morrie and Colt were playing one-on-one.

It was sunny and in the upper sixties. I had on a black tank with a big, embroidered butterfly at the chest and a black, belted cardigan that went over my ass, faded jeans with a rip in the right knee and my black motorcycle boots.

Colt had on a t-shirt, shorts and basketball shoes.

He was dripping with sweat, breathing heavily and grinning all the while taunting Morrie, who was also dripping with sweat, breathing even heavier and still had the shiner Colt gave him. Further, Morrie was scowling and he was losing.

“Why Morrie plays him, I’ll never know. Can’t remember the last time he took a game,” Dee muttered, her eyes glued to the men, just like me.

Morrie was my brother and all but in a clinical, detached, sister way, I noticed not for the first time my brother was good-looking and, like my Dad, age was being kind to him. He was always a big, cuddly, handsome guy and all that remained but he was also beginning to get that look that interesting men had. The kind of men you took one look at and you knew it would not be a waste of your time to sit down and have a beer with them, or two, or three.

Again, just like my Dad.

In other words, Dee and I had a lot to glue our eyes to. In fact, it was a wonder Colt and Morrie, having their regular Saturday game, didn’t draw a crowd.

I answered Dee’s question, “Because he loves bein’ anywhere and doin’ anything with Colt, even if he’s losin’.”

She nodded because this was now and always had been an absolute fact.

“Dee,” I called like she wasn’t swinging right beside me.

“Yeah, hon,” she replied.

“What made you decide to come work the bar?”

She quit swinging for just a beat before she started again and answered, “All of this stuff happenin’, with that psycho and you and Colt and everythin’, I just got to thinkin’.”

“Yeah?” I prompted when she stopped talking.

“It’s stuff I been thinkin’ about awhile, just wouldn’t let my head get around it because I got pissed off first and acted on it, kickin’ Morrie out before I really ever talked to him. I was bein’ stubborn, thinkin’ I was savin’ face. But, I reckon, your parents made a go of it with that bar all their lives and Morrie, Colt and you are the best people I know. They didn’t have it any different than Morrie and me, they didn’t even have a sister who was at the bar all the time, doin’ most of the work. And they still made a go of it and raised three great kids besides. So, I thought, maybe I acted too quick and, with all this shit happening, I definitely thought life’s too damned short.”

I nodded. She was right. Life was too damned short. I was just glad that Dee didn’t waste as much of it as me being stubborn and thinking I was saving face.

Then, her eyes still on the boys, she changed the subject and said, “Colt’s so fast, almost a blur. You think he’ll ever slow down?”

I watched my man move then jump, his arms up in the air, his wrists loose as he released the ball. It wasn’t a whoosh, it rolled the rim about a quarter of the way around, but it still fell in.

To be kind to my brother, I didn’t whoop, but I wanted to.

“You shoulda seen him play football, Dee,” I told her. “Fast and strong. Never seen anything like it. When he had the ball, if he was going, he was so fast, no one could catch him, so strong, even if they did, they couldn’t bring him down. If he bounced off another player, the crash the pads would make…” I trailed off as I heard them in my head like it was yesterday and all of a sudden memories flooded my brain.

Colt running down the field, one hand out, one arm tucked and holding the ball; Colt dipping his shoulder, landing a blow, blocking for his runner; Colt walking to the sideline, yanking at the snaps of his chin guard then pulling off his helmet, his hair wet with sweat and a mess, his face the picture of what my father called, “in the zone”; the crash of the pads, the grunts of the players, the cheers from the stands.

I was proud to sit with Morrie, Dad and Mom at Colt’s games at Ross-Ade Stadium at Purdue. It was cool watching Colt play college ball and it was a thrill seeing the name “Colton” on the back of his Boilermaker jersey.

But nothing was more exciting than high school football, not back in the day and not now. The whole town went to all the home games, even me, Morrie and Colt. All bundled up, drinking hot chocolate with a shared woolly blanket on our knees, I’d sit in the stands shoulder to shoulder with Jessie and Meems and I’d see Colt standing with Morrie and Lore and half a dozen other guys at the chain link fence around the track that surrounded the field. Most of the guys shot the shit and jacked around, only partially watching the game. Not Morrie and Colt, if the ball was in play, their eyes were on the field. Not reliving glory days, no, they were on sacred ground, communing with their brethren.

“Feb, hon, you there?” Delilah called and I tore my eyes from Colt and Morrie and looked at my sister-in-law.

“Yeah, just…” I sighed then said, “Remembering stuff.”

“Good stuff?” she asked quietly and it hit me then.

I was remembering good stuff and for the first time in a long time those memories didn’t come with pain.

“Yeah,” I said quietly back.

She scooted to the side in her swing and reached out a hand. I scooted toward her and took it.

“I like happy endings,” she said, tightening her hand in mine, swinging her swing a bit back and forth, keeping her feet to the ground but coming up on her toes and then going back to her heels.

I squeezed her hand back, doing my own mini-swings, and said, “Me too.”

Then we let go of each others’ hands, lifted our feet, the chains we were suspended from swung us sideways into place and we looked back at our men.

After Colt wupped Morrie, he drove us home while I made a mental note to bring a towel to drape on his seat in the truck. He was drenched. I’d never seen so much sweat and I grew up essentially with three men.

Then for some insane reason, I shared this. “You need a towel for your seat.”

“What?”

“You’re sweaty. You need a towel for your seat.”

“Feb, I own a truck,” was his absurd reply.

“So?”

“You can sweat in a truck.”

“Is that a rule?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “You can sweat in a truck, certain vans and any car that was built before 1990. That’s the rule. You know what you can’t sweat in?”

I knew where this was heading so I stayed silent and looked out the side window.

He didn’t let it go which wasn’t a surprise. Colt had never been one to let anything go. Back in the day we’d argue, mostly because Colt never let anything go but also because I never let anything out. It wasn’t a good combination but we never argued mean. It was always about exasperation at each other’s understood quirks but it was also always tethered to love. Half the time we’d end an argument laughing our asses off.

The only time he ever let anything go was when he let me go. Then again, that time it was a doozy what I wouldn’t let out.

Therefore not letting it go, Colt said, “A four door sedan.”

“You can’t sweat in a Volkswagen Beetle,” I told him.

“You’re not gettin’ a Beetle.”

“Why not?” I asked, looking back to him and sounding snippy because I liked Beetles.

“Because they’re ridiculous.”

“They are not.”

“No Beetle, Feb.”

“A convertible one?”

“Definitely not.”

I felt my vision narrow mainly because my eyes narrowed.

“Why ‘definitely not’?”

“‘Cause, you got a roof, at least that’s some barrier to the music blastin’ outta your car four seasons in the year. You got a convertible, you’ll get slapped with a moving noise violation.”

I stared at him with what I suspected was horror. “Is there such a thing as a ‘moving noise violation’?”

Colt didn’t answer which I didn’t know whether to take as good or bad.

I decided to ask Sully, or more aptly, to ask Lorraine who would ask Sully which would be more likely to get me a truthful answer.

Then I suggested, “How ‘bout one of those new Minis?”

“How ‘bout a Buick?”

I wasn’t sure but it was almost like I tasted vomit in the back of my throat.

“A Buick?” I whispered.

“They’re safe and they’re American.”

“Minis are English. The English are our allies.”

“The new Mini is made by BMW which is German.”

There it was, proof that he knew more about cars than me.

“Germans are our allies now too,” I told him.

“How ‘bout we talk about this later?” Colt suggested and I stayed quiet because I thought it was a good suggestion.

When we got home Colt went straight to the shower, I went straight to the boxes. I had time to get one unpacked, sheets and towels. My towels would go in his guest bathroom which made our purchases yesterday towel overkill, something I decided I wouldn’t tell Dad. My sheets would fit the bed in the second bedroom. They were feminine but far less flowery than the ones Mom bought. I therefore decided, when Mom and Dad left, to switch out the sheets and comforter in the second bedroom with mine and then put Mom’s back on when she and Dad were in town. I also decided to share this gesture with Colt, thinking it might bring me closer to a convertible Beetle which was the kind of idea I’d never had. I’d never owned a new car or a nice one nor ever really considered such a purchase. Now that the idea was planted in my head, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I was standing at the dining room table, staring at the half empty box with my journals in it, thoughts of Beetles swept away and thoughts of Denny clogging my brain, when Colt walked out.

I looked at him and saw his hair wet and curling around his neck. He had on what he’d worn earlier that morning, a long-sleeved, heathered blue henley thermal, jeans, a great belt and boots. His eyes were on my journal box.

“I haven’t written in my journal since –”

Colt’s arm came up, his hand sliding under my hair and around the back of my neck, this action cutting off my words before he said, “I know.”

I looked down at the box and muttered, “I don’t think I ever will again.”

His fingers gave me a squeeze and I looked at him.

“Isn’t this whole exercise ‘bout us livin’ our lives the way we want to live ‘em?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“So, you wanna write, write.”

I looked down at the box again, seeing mostly my older journals there, ones I’d written in when I was a kid, a pre-teen. Also, some from the last fifteen years.

Once I finished one, I never cracked it open again. I gave it the garbage in my brain hoping to release it. I’d been doing it forever but it was at that moment I realized that this never worked.

I stared in the box and whispered, “No. I don’t need to give my thoughts to a page when I can give them to you.”

His fingers tensed at my neck again, it wasn’t a squeeze this time, or not one he meant to give. This movement was reflexive and intense. Then he used his hand to curl me to his body.

My arms went around him as his other arm wrapped around me. I put my cheek to his chest and plastered my body to his.

“How much chance I got of you takin’ off a Saturday and spendin’ the rest of it alone with me?” he asked the top of my hair.

I thought this was a great idea. However, I part-owned a bar and Saturdays were our busiest days, not to mention these days we were even busier than normal. Already I was way late. I usually worked early on Saturdays so Morrie could have his game with Colt. Luckily, since Mom and Dad were here, they could hold down the bar while we had a lazy day. I could play on the emotional trauma Colt and me were living through to get the whole day off but it wouldn’t be right.

Again, I had to be mature and it sucked.

“Snowball in hell,” I said to his chest but I sounded as disappointed as I felt.

“That’s what I thought,” he replied before he kissed the top of my head and I tilted it back to look at him when he finished, “I gotta get to the Station anyway.”

“Can we get a Meems’s before we go our separate ways?” I asked.

“You wanna cookie for lunch?” he asked.

“No,” I answered, “carrot cake.”

He grinned but said, “Baby, I just played an hour of one-on-one. Carrot cake isn’t gonna cut it.”

“Mom bought enough deli meat and cheese to feed a battalion and we haven’t touched it yet.”

“You offerin’ to make me a sandwich?”

“I’ll make you two if you don’t argue about a convertible Beetle.”

His relaxed face became less relaxed.

I quickly offered an alternate choice, “Okay, I’ll amend the deal. I’ll make sandwiches if you take that journal box out to the garage and hide it in a place I won’t see it for about twenty years.”

I watched his face relax again before he said, “You’re on.”

He hefted up the box, I went to the kitchen.

My head was in the fridge and he was at the side door when I called, “So, ham and cheese?”

Colt stopped at the door, gave me a look and asked, “You want me to spank your ass?”

I considered this. Colt considered me as I did so. Then he laughed low and walked out the door.

I made him roast beef and swiss. I’d save the ham and cheese for when we both had a day off.

Colt and I walked into the bar. We both had our hands wrapped around the cardboard of a Meem’s white, takeaway cup and I had cream cheese from the carrot cake I’d hoovered through at the Coffee House on my lip.

I knew this because when I entered the bar Morrie shouted, “You got a Meems’s carrot cake and didn’t bring one for me?”

Morrie liked Meems’s carrot cake. It was his favorite. I didn’t get him one because the piece I had was the last slice of the day. Even though my favorite goodie in Meems’s inventory was her chocolate zucchini cake, I felt zero guilt about taking the last piece of carrot cake. Mainly because I had a psycho hacking up my ex-boyfriends and I was in a carrot cake mood. I figured the former meant I got dibs on the latter.

“It was the last piece,” I told Morrie after I’d licked my lip clean and while I walked down the bar.

“She have any chocolate zucchini left?” Morrie asked astutely.

“Nope,” I lied.

“Bullshit,” Morrie muttered and, as ever, I found it annoying I could never lie to my brother.

Colt followed me to the office where I stowed my purse in a drawer in the desk, sucked back the last of my Meems’s and tossed it in the trash.

When I straightened, I said to him, “Next time I have frosting on my mouth, tell me, will you?”

His arm shot out, hooked around my waist and he hauled me forward. Then he bent his head and licked my lip where the icing was.

My fingers curled into his thermal and they did this in an effort for me to remain standing because Colt’s tongue felt so nice it had a direct effect on the ability of my legs to keep me upright.

“Morrie ruined it,” Colt said when he lifted his head, “I was savin’ it for later.”

“Yeah, and I was walkin’ down the street with cream cheese on my lip,” I returned.

“How much you care about that?” he asked and he sounded weirdly curious.

Because he sounded curious, my eyes slid to the side as I mulled over his question.

Then my eyes came back and I answered, “Not much.”

He grinned.

I continued, “Then again, no one was on the street to see me and it’s only two doors down.”

“About fifteen cars passed us, baby.”

“Yeah, but they don’t count seein’ as I didn’t really notice them so in my head they don’t actually exist.”

He was still grinning when the door opened and Dad stood there. His expression was not good in a way that was really not good and both Colt and I got stiff simultaneously.

“Colt,” Dad said, “fuck, son, I’m sorry but I think you need to get out here.”

“What?” Colt asked and I watched Dad twist his neck, extending it in a way I’d seen before, not often but he did it when something happened he didn’t like, something that upset him or something that worried him.

His eyes hit Colt and he said, “Your Ma’s here.”

This was such a shock I felt my head move forward with a jerk as my eyes grew wide.

“His mother?” I asked.

Dad shook his head but said, “Yeah, darlin’.” Then he looked at Colt. “She’s askin’ for you and Jackie’s circlin’. Morrie and Dee’re tryin’ to get her to move on but she’s resistant and it’s workin’ Jackie up, I can see it, she’s gonna blow. We can’t get rid of Mary and we’re losin’ hold on keepin’ Jackie from goin’ ballistic. Sorry, Colt, wouldn’t ask you this if I didn’t have to, you know that, but I need you to come deal with your mother.”

I looked up at Colt and saw his face was blank but stony.

Although most things about Colt had been shielded from me by pretty much everyone, I knew a lot about what had happened with Ted and Mary Colton the last twenty-odd years. One of those things I knew was that Colt hadn’t seen his mother in years and never spoke to her.

Colt had attended my wedding to Pete because he was that kind of person, responsible, doing the right thing, even though I hated him being there as much as it was obvious he hated it and he left the reception before we cut the cake.

I hadn’t attended his wedding to Melanie even though Melanie sent me an invitation. This was because I was irresponsible and rarely did the right thing but also because I was weak and I knew deep down there was no way I could handle it. I sent them a wedding gift from their registry that cost more than I could afford at the time but I did it anyway thinking I was making some kind of idiot point that was probably lost on them.

I’d also heard from Mom, who was furious about it, that Mary Colton had showed at the wedding. She’d been trashed out of her gourd and started to make a scene, blathering on, apparently (this I heard not from Mom but from Jessie) about how the wedding was a farce and Colt was meant to marry me. She luckily didn’t make it into the church, she did this outside and then Colt, Dad, Morrie and Sully got rid of her with Jimbo driving her home. Colt had somehow shielded Melanie from it and, as far as I knew, she never heard a word about it happening. Even back then, thinking I had no right, when Mom called to tell me this happened, and Jessie augmented the information, the knowledge pissed me off to such an extreme that I was glad I wasn’t there because I knew there was no telling what I’d do if I was.

Before Colt and I broke up, but long after he’d moved out of his Mom and Dad’s house, Ted Colton hit two kids while drunk driving and killed them both. Colt and I knew the kids. They were good kids, never got into trouble. The girl was named Jenny and she won the Spirit of Junior Miss at the Junior Miss Pageant the fall before. The boy was named Mike and he was an ace shortstop for the high school team. They’d been dating for ages and were on their way back from a late movie at the mall. They were seniors in high school but I’d been in school with them both for two years before I graduated. Colt and I didn’t know them well, but we knew them.

By this time, Colt was far removed from Ted and Mary Colton. In all eyes, he was a bona fide member of the Owens clan and had been long before he moved into our house. Therefore, no one even looked at him askance when this happened.

Still, Colt knew their blood ran in his veins and his Dad killing two kids cut Colt to the quick. With me at his side, he attended both funerals and for weeks he slid into a darkness that I worried he’d never come out of. But he did when he applied to the Police Academy. He’d always known that was what he wanted for his future but his father’s mindless act of violence spurred Colt to doing it.

After the accident, Ted Colton was in pretty bad shape too, but he survived. Once he was healthy, he went to trial then he went to prison. Years later, he got out on parole and went back due to parole violation, which consisted of twice being hauled in for drunk and disorderly, once being pulled over for a DUI and then there was the small matter of him never showing at parole meetings.

When he did his time, he got out again only to go back in when he robbed a liquor store, not their money, a box of booze. The man behind the counter saw him, called the cops and instead of stopping, Ted led them on a fifteen minute high speed chase through the streets of town that ended with Colt’s Dad driving through someone’s yard and into their living room. Luckily he caused no bodily harm not even to himself. Stupidly, he got out of the car, drunk off his ass, resisted arrest and he did this with a knife. Making matters worse, he had borrowed his neighbor’s car without their knowledge, which meant they were pretty pissed when they found out it was used during a burglary and wrecked during the ensuing chase. Therefore, they were happy to report it as stolen.

Ted Colton had always been a mean drunk but I’d never thought he was a stupid one.

Back to prison he went, where, as far as I knew, he was still rotting.

His Mom, though, had moved to a trailer park in the next town and how she managed to keep her trailer and her vodka and pill habit when I’d never known her to work a day in my life, I had no clue. But I didn’t doubt she did.

Dad turned to walk out the door and Colt and I followed. I did this quickly because Colt was moving fast. I caught up with him when we hit the bar, coming to his side and grabbing his hand. His eyes never left the woman who was standing at the bar but his fingers curled around my hand so tight I worried he’d break my bones. It took effort but I didn’t make a peep at the pain.

The bar was nearly silent, no buzz of conversation, only the jukebox playing. It was usually set low for the day crowd. We turned it up at night.

I was shocked at the vision of Mary Colton. She didn’t look like I always remembered her looking, unkempt, clothes wrinkled and sometimes not clean, skin sallow, hair in disarray. She looked clean, her hair cut and tidied. She had makeup on. She was wearing jeans and a sweater, both of them washed and well-kept, her jeans even looked ironed.

None of this hid the years of hard drinking and internal abuse her body had endured. She was too thin, her hair, although tidy, looked bristly and there were steel gray roots exposed at her part, the rest of it a fake dark brown that was obviously a home dye job in dire need of a refresh. Her face was lined, her skin sagging, her hands were thin and deeply veined, the knuckles seemed huge, the bones were visible, all of this making her hands look like claws.

My Mom, not too far away and staring daggers at Mary, looked the picture of youth and vitality next to Colt’s Mom. They were close to the same age but Mom looked thirty years younger.

Mary turned to watch us walk up to her. I saw her take us both in, her eyes dropping to our linked hands and then they closed, slowly, almost like she was suffering some kind of internal pain.

Then she opened her eyes and Colt stopped us three feet away.

“Alec,” she said, her voice deep, rasping and unfeminine from years of chain smoking.

I felt my body give a jerk when I heard her call Colt that name and I swore, in his bed or out of it, I’d never call him that again. I finally understood why he hated it. Said by her, it was hideous.

“There something I can help you with, Ma?” Colt asked.

She hitched her purse up on her shoulder and shifted on her feet.

Then she said, “I been hearin’ some things.”

“Yeah?” Colt asked, even though this was a prompt, the way he said it communicated that he didn’t particularly want a response nor did he care what that would be.

She looked at me then tipped her head back to look at Colt and I noticed she’d shrunk, significantly. Both Ted and Mary had been tall, which was why Colt was tall. I stared at her, trying to see some beauty in her, racking my brain to remember her when she was younger, to remember Colt’s Dad, trying to figure out how this person and her husband made a man like Colt and I couldn’t see it.

“I heard you sorted things with Feb,” she said.

“I did,” Colt replied, his answer short, not initiating further discussion.

“I’m glad,” she told him but he didn’t respond so she looked at me and said, “For both of you.”

I didn’t know what to say but I thought I should say something so I muttered, “Thank you, Mrs. Colton.”

She nodded, I went quiet and Colt stayed silent.

“I heard other things too,” she went on, looking back to Colt.

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Colt told her and her brows twitched.

“You safe?” she asked.

“Yes,” Colt lied instantly.

Her head moved to the side, almost like Dad’s had done, her neck slowly twisting and extending. She knew he was lying.

Then she straightened her neck, took in a breath and announced, “Your father’s gettin’ outta prison.”

“Good for him,” Colt said but he didn’t sound pleased, he sounded courteous in that way people were courteous when they were in a position where they were forced to be polite but they really couldn’t care less.

“He’s dried out, Alec. We both have. For good this time. We found the church,” she told him.

“Good for you too,” Colt’s tone hadn’t changed.

She bit her bottom lip, exposing her teeth, not like Colt did when he was angry. She was anxious and Colt wasn’t giving her anything to go on.

Then she said, “I thought you might like to know, maybe you might like to –”

Mom cut her off by saying, “He wouldn’t.”

Mary turned to Mom, moving slowly still, cautious, uncertain and maybe even scared or perhaps shy and she said quietly, “Jackie.”

“You got a helluva nerve walkin’ in here, Mary Colton,” Mom told her and Dad moved closer to Mom.

“I’m tryin’ to do right,” Mary said to Mom.

Mom let out a short, breathy, angry laugh before she asked, “Do right?”

“Jackie,” Colt murmured.

But Mary said over him, “Yeah, Jackie, do right.”

“Well, you’re forty-four years too late,” Mom snapped.

“Jackie, darlin’, let’s you and me go to the office,” Dad said.

“Not leavin’ Colt in here with her,” Mom said back.

“Jackie, he’s –” Dad stopped talking because Mom gave him a look and it was the kind of look that would make anyone stop talking, even Dad. Then Dad’s gaze shifted to Colt and Mom’s shifted back to Mary.

I decided to wade in before Mom really let loose and I took a small step forward but didn’t let go of Colt’s hand.

“Mrs. Colton,” I called and she turned back to look at me, “it was nice of you to come by today and let us know about Mr. Colton. But how ‘bout you go on home and you give Colt a chance to think about all this. You want, you can come with me to the office, I’ll get your number. He wants to call, he’ll get in touch. That sound okay?”

Colt’s hand squeezed mine and I squeezed back. Through this Mary looked back and forth between Colt and me.

Then she said, “All right, Feb. That sounds fine.”

I gestured behind me with my head and said, “Let’s go.”

I released Colt’s hand but my eyes moved to his as I turned to the office. His face was still blank and stony, nothing there to read, giving nothing away. If he looked at his mother like that, it was a wonder she didn’t run out the door.

I walked to the office and Mary followed me. Standing by the desk, looking awkward and out of place, her hand clamped around her purse strap and clenching it convulsively, she gave me her phone number while I wrote it on a pad on the desk.

When I was done writing the number, I straightened but saw she was looking at the closed door.

Then she turned back to me and, hand still clenching and unclenching her purse strap, she said in a rush, “I heard you were interviewed by the FBI. I heard your ex-husband was killed in St. Louis. I heard the police were at your apartment. I heard Chip Judd’s been workin’ at Alec’s place, puttin’ in a system. I heard a lotta things, February.” Her eyes were getting bright and I could see the whites of her knuckles, she was clenching her purse strap so tight. “He lied to me out there, Alec did. You’re not safe.”

“We’re fine, Mrs. Colton.”

“You’re not safe.”

“We’re fine.”

She shook her head, the movements quick and erratic, then she stopped and said, “I done him wrong.”

She was right about that so I kept quiet.

“I know I did. I know. My boy,” she whispered the last two words, did those head shakes again and her eyes got brighter, “he always…” she started then stopped then started again. “You were… you meant the world to… he and you…” more head shakes and then she said, “he got you back and you’re not safe.”

“We’re just fine, Mrs. Colton.”

The tears hit her eyes but didn’t spill over, just shuddered at her lower lids, the overhead lights illuminating them so much they shone, and she stared at me, her eyes never leaving mine.

Then she whispered, “You’re lyin’ too.”

I had no response because she was already turned and walking to the door. I followed her out and she walked to Colt. She didn’t do it quickly, she did it hesitantly, guarded, like she was ready to bolt if he made a lunge.

“I hope you call, Alec,” she told him and quickly looked at Mom, not wanting to give Colt the chance to respond, knowing if he did what he’d say she wouldn’t like then she said softly, “I’m sorry, Jackie. You’re right, I know, I have a nerve and I know you won’t believe this but I was just worried about your girl and my boy.” Then before Mom could speak, she scurried quickly out the door, still clutching her purse.

The minute the door closed, a murmur of conversation hit the bar and I looked up to Colt to see he was staring at the door.

I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “You okay?”

He looked down at me and gave my hand a tug, bringing me closer. “This happens from time to time.”

“It does?”

“You okay, dude?” Morrie asked from behind the bar.

“Yeah, Morrie,” Colt replied to my brother but his eyes were on my mother. I looked to her and she still appeared fit to be tied.

“She knows you got trouble, she even said it, and she still waltzes in here –” Mom groused.

“Jackie, darlin’, leave it be,” Dad cut her off.

“Jackie, you know this isn’t a big deal,” Colt told Mom but he was lying, if it wasn’t a big deal, his hand would not nearly have broken mine. Twenty-eight years he’d been separated from his parents and that time had not diminished their power over his emotions.

Mom gave Colt a good long look, then her neck snapped around and she looked at Dee. “Delilah, make me a G and T and use a heavy hand.”

“I’ve never done a G and T,” Dee whispered to Morrie as Mom bellied up to the bar.

“Ain’t hard, babe,” Morrie said, turning toward the back wall filled with mirror-backed shelves of liquor and Dee’s eyes came to Colt and me.

“I don’t even know what a G and T is.”

“Gin and tonic, Dee,” I told her.

She nodded, lifted a hand and muttered, “Got it. I can do that, heavy hand,” and she turned to Morrie.

I looked back at Colt and prompted, “This happens from time to time?”

His hand came to my hip and brought me even closer as he leaned his back into the bar. “Last few years, every once in awhile. She’s been tryin’ to dry out.”

This was news.

“Tryin’?” I asked.

“She falls off the wagon a lot,” I nodded and he continued. “She’d come to the house.”

I put my hand to his chest and whispered, “Sorry, babe.”

“She usually needs money.”

“You give it to her?”

“Did in the beginning, or Melanie did. Melanie left, I kept up a coupla times, then quit.”

My eyes slid to the side, Mom was about five stools down, two of those taken by patrons who were pretending, badly, not to listen, but Mom also had Mom Hearing so I shifted to Colt’s side, my back to Mom and the customers and whispered low, “Mom know about this?”

“Nope,” Colt answered.

“She didn’t ask for money this time.”

“Nope.”

I got closer. “You really okay?”

“Nope.”

I dropped his hand, lifted mine, slid my fingers around his ear before they glided down to curl around his neck and I murmured, “Baby.”

He bent his head so his face was closer to mine and he murmured back, “Better now.”

God, I loved him.

To communicate this, I went up on my toes, touched my nose briefly to his and then rocked back.

“You gonna see your Dad?” I asked.

“My Dad’s standin’ in this room,” Colt answered and my chest got tight, not in a bad way, just that I was glad he found a good replacement.

“Colt –”

“Ma’s annoyin’ but I can handle it. The man whose seed made me doesn’t exist in my world.”

“Colt –”

“Beat the shit outta Ma, beat me, killed two kids, he doesn’t exist.”

I gave his neck a squeeze and for his sake, let it go. “Okay, baby.”

Colt looked to the door then back to me. “She loves you, you know.”

“What?”

“Ma, even when I was with ‘em and she was drunk, she used to talk about you all the time. Said you reminded her of her.” I fought my lip curling but he caught it and his arms slid around me pulling me close. “She used to be somethin’, Feb, would get smashed and show me pictures. You wouldn’t believe it unless you saw it but, honest to God, she used to be somethin’.”

More evidence that I’d made the right decision to pull my shit together before it was too late.

I nodded and said, “This sucks, we were havin’ a good day.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

I smiled at him. “But day’s not done and tomorrow’s Sunday.”

Colt smiled back and repeated, “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry about Costa’s tonight. Come here, Dee’s on, Jessie’s watchin’ the kids. We’ll have family night at J&J’s.”

“Sounds good.”

I pressed into him and said, “I’ll pick a better song, one we can dance to.”

“I don’t dance, honey.”

This was true, he didn’t. He preferred to watch when I did it. I knew he could move though, because he would dance to a slow song. He was a great lead, his hips would sway, taking mine with them, and he had fantastic rhythm. If I’d had any experience at the time, I would have realized this prophesied good things to come.

Thinking about it, I said, “We’ll put some music on when we get home.”

He grinned and said, “Anything you want, baby, but when we dance at home, we’ll be horizontal.”

I grinned back and replied, “That works for me.”

Colt went to the Station to find out what was happening with the robbery investigation and I took over letting Dee shadow me at the bar. Making drinks and making change wasn’t rocket science but we were relatively busy and when it got busy you had to have a good memory and be able to multitask.

I saw George Markham, the head honcho of Markham and Sons Funeral Home, walk in still wearing a suit from funeral duties. He slid in beside Joe-Bob, caught Dad’s eye and Dad moved down to his end of the bar.

There were two funeral homes in town but most folk chose Markham and Sons. This was mostly because it was on the main drag. Therefore, if you had a funeral to host, you’d get maximum attention from people driving by, counting the mourners standing outside chatting or having a smoke. The location of Markham and Sons allowed the all-important assessment of the post-mortem popularity of the deceased.

Amy was quiet but young and well-liked and just the young part would draw people out because that kind of tragedy had a way of doing that. She was a bank teller so a lot of people knew her even though they didn’t really know her. When Colt and I walked through the milling crowd outside Amy’s viewing, she had to hit three and a half out of five on the popularity scale. This was saying something considering Colt told me Amy had no real friends left when she died.

I knew George. He was the kind of man you knew in town because no one could escape spending some time at his business. I knew him but he rarely came into J&J’s. He liked to golf and would drink at the clubhouse. Though, when Dad was running J&J’s, George would come in from time to time to shoot the shit.

Therefore George being there, and looking like he was coming direct from a funeral, meant something was up.

I sidled down to George and Dee followed me. Dad felt us coming, started to turn and George and Joe-Bob’s eyes came to us as we got close.

“Feb, darlin’,” Dad said, “before the crowd hits for the night, maybe you should show Dee how to restock.”

“I already know that,” Dee replied, obviously wanting to know why George was there too. “Feb taught me last Sunday.”

Dad looked at Dee wanting to say something but biting his tongue.

I looked at George.

“Ain’t no secret, Jack,” George said to my Dad.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Joe-Bob shifted on his chair. I saw it out of the corner of my eye but I kept my gaze on George.

“Got Angie at the home, had her for awhile. Talked to her parents twice, they say they got no money for a funeral. I don’t find someone who’ll help, Angie’ll be buried –”

“I’ll pay,” I said instantly, cutting him off and kissing that kickass vacation good-bye.

I knew why he was there. Firstly, Angie spent a lot of time in J&J’s but secondly, and more importantly, Dad had a way. Years ago, the town had a little league team that was so good they made it to some championships that meant the entire team had to fly to Japan. Problem was half the kids on the team didn’t have parents who could afford to send their kids to Japan to play baseball. Therefore Dad fleeced every customer out of a donation to help the kids go and gave a hefty donation himself besides. Same with Whitey West when he lost his insurance and couldn’t afford his chemo treatments. Same with Michaela Bowman, who used to work at J&J’s, when her juvenile delinquent son fell asleep in bed smoking pot and burned out half the inside of her house luckily escaping before he got too injured himself, but insurance wouldn’t pay so Dad collected.

“Feb,” Dad said.

“Morrie and I’ll kick in too,” Dee said.

Dad turned his attention to her. “Delilah, darlin’, you and Morrie got two mouths to feed.”

“So?” Dee asked Dad.

“Don’t got much but I could give you a little,” Joe-Bob put in.

“What’s this about?” Lanie Gilbert, a stool down from Joe-Bob, asked.

“Lookin’ for money to help pay for Angie Maroni’s burial,” Dee informed her.

“I’m in,” Lanie said and I stared at her. Lanie came into J&J’s a lot, not to get trashed mostly because she was social and liked the selections on the jukebox. Though I’d never seen her spend time with Angie, in fact, like most women, she gave Angie a wide berth.

Before any of them could have second thoughts, I asked George, “How you wanna play this?”

George glanced around and said, “Anyone wants to contribute, they just bring it down to the home and the boys and I’ll sort it.”

“What about her headstone?” Lanie asked.

“We’ll figure somethin’ out,” George told her.

Lanie got up from her stool. “I’ll come down, got my checkbook with me, and I’ll look at some catalogues of headstones.”

I had no idea if there was such a thing as headstone catalogues and I looked at Dee who was pressing her lips together. She caught my eye and shrugged her answer to my non-verbalized question.

“We’ll get the word out, George,” Dad said as George moved toward Lanie who was moving toward the door.

“‘Preciate it, Jack,” he said. “Angie, she was…” he trailed off then said, “no matter what, town should take care of their own.”

“Yeah,” Dad replied, George nodded, gave a little wave and followed Lanie out the door.

George was so right; a town should take care of their own. And they would, Dad would see to that.

I looked at Dee and asked, “Bud draft is gettin’ low. You wanna learn how to change out a keg?”

“Highlight of my day, hon,” she replied, though this was a lie. We both knew her highlight of the day was watching Morrie play basketball, even if he lost. For me, watching Colt play was the bottom of three top highlights for my day and, we danced horizontal tonight, it’d be kicked down to four.

On that thought, I grinned at Dad then at Joe-Bob and then Dee and I changed out a keg.

As he walked from the bar down to the Station, Colt’s phone rang. He pulled it out of the back pocket of his jeans, looked at the display, flipped it open and put it to his ear.

“Yeah, Sully.”

“You close to the Station?”

“Walkin’ there from J&J’s now.”

“Double time, man, Evelyn and Norman Lowe just showed with a big, ole box. We put ‘em into interrogation one and we’re gettin’ ‘em some coffee.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“Good, but not waitin’, man, want them fresh. I’m goin’ in.”

Colt flipped his phone shut and shoved it in his pocket. He was one hundred percent certain he did not want to know what was in the box that Denny Lowe’s parents had brought to the Station. He still hoofed it double time.

He hit the Station and it was strangely quiet. This was because it was Saturday, a weekend, so the day would be relaxed. It’d get busy in the night.

This was also because a serial killer’s parents were on the premises carrying with them a box and it was likely the observation room next to interrogation one was shoulder to shoulder.

Colt’s eyes hit Connie through the windows in dispatch and she was watching him. She was talking into the microphone that curved around to her mouth but she also pointed to the ceiling, pumping her hand twice then she gave him a thumbs up.

Sully was already in with the Lowes.

Colt took the stairs two at a time, dumped the cup with the dregs of his Meems’s in the trash and hit the observation room.

He was right, it was packed. Without a word, everyone shifted aside so he could have a bird’s eye view.

“You understand this is difficult,” Colt heard Norm Lowe say when he hit the one-way window.

Norm was standing behind and beside his wife’s chair, his hand on her shoulder. Evelyn Lowe was seated, handkerchief sandwiched between both her hands and her face, her neck was bent, her shoulders shaking.

Looking at the man he hadn’t seen in years, a memory struck Colt.

It was when Colt had been young, seven, maybe eight, and ill. Colt didn’t get sick often but he was then, so sick he didn’t go to school, which he’d always liked, even as a kid, it was an escape from home. He didn’t even go over to Morrie’s which meant he had to be really sick because he always preferred to be at the Owens’s, not to mention he knew even then Jackie was a helluva lot better at taking care of a sick kid than Colt’s Mom was. In fact, he was so sick his mother braved the world she didn’t often go out into unless it was to hit a liquor store and she took him to see Doc. Then later, with no one to watch him, even though she was half-snockered, she put him in her car and took him to Norm Lowe’s pharmacy to pick up Colt’s prescription.

Colt remembered Norm looking down at his mother from the raised station, the white shelves of medicine behind him, wearing a crisp white labcoat with his name embroidered in cursive with blue thread over the coat pocket, the filled prescription bag in his hand, the bag held back from Colt’s mother, and saying, “Now, Mary, we both know this wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Colt remembered it clearly, like it happened the moment before, but until that second he’d buried it. He’d buried it because, that day long ago there were people in line behind his mother. Everyone knew Norm’s meaning, refusing his mother Colt’s medications. He was intimating that she’d take them herself. Even Colt knew it, at his age, and he’d been humiliated, mainly because Norm Lowe was probably right.

His mother didn’t fight it. She grabbed Colt’s hand, ducked her head and walked as straight a line as she could muster right out of the store. She took him back to Doc and Doc saw them right away. Handing her the prescription from his cabinet, Doc said to Colt’s Mom, “Next time we’ll remember this, Mary. You got somethin’ you need for Alec, you’ll get it direct from me.”

Colt couldn’t remember if his mother ever gave him the drugs and it was the only time he remembered ever needing any.

He did remember, years ago a new chain store pharmacy was put in at the edge of town and he’d talked Melanie into moving her prescriptions to the chain, though he never could understand why he wanted her to do this. Most of the folks on insurance or Medicare didn’t have a choice but to go to the chain. If they did, they’d go to Norm just because he was a local. Not Colt.

Since Colt was seven to the time that chain opened, he never stepped foot in Norm Lowe’s pharmacy, partly because he had no need, partly because that buried memory kept him back.

Now, staring at him, Norm’s back ramrod straight, his face looking carved from a rock, his wife a mess in front of him, his son on the road carrying out a violent rampage, Colt found he could call up no empathy for the man.

He would soon understand why.

“We’ll give you some time,” Sully, seated by Evelyn, said quietly.

Everyone waited for Evelyn to pull herself together and Colt watched as Norm squeezed her shoulder. Colt didn’t know why but this gesture looked to him less like a show of support and more like a demand for his wife to get control. It was then Colt knew Norm Lowe was not the kind of man who would allow his wife to walk down the street with frosting on her lip. Not because of how this would reflect on her, but because of how it would reflect on him.

Evelyn nodded her head and lifted it, wiping the tears from her face and swiping under her nose.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Sullivan,” she whispered.

“You okay to talk now, Mrs. Lowe?” Sully asked and she nodded again but it wasn’t her who talked.

“We found that,” Norm announced, dipping his head toward the medium-sized box on the table beside two untouched Styrofoam cups of coffee, “in the house.”

“And what is that, Mr. Lowe?” Sully asked and Evelyn made a noise that sounded painful, a choked sob, a sob Norm ignored.

“Dennis asked his mother to hold some things at the house. She did. Never told me. I knew about that, well…” he let that hang and Colt watched Evelyn’s face blank so much it was void. One second, she was tearful, the next, her face was a clear slate. She was so good, it only took a second. A defense mechanism, a practiced one. It was then Colt knew Evelyn Lowe lived under a tyrant.

As had Denny.

“I never looked in the box either,” she said quietly. “I just thought it was stuff he and Marie couldn’t hold in their house.”

This earned her another shoulder squeeze from her husband as he reminded her at the same time telling Sully that his wife was an idiot and he himself had not one thing to do with that box or what was going on with his son. “They got five bedrooms in that house, Ehv.”

“Yes, yes, I didn’t think. Stupid of me,” she said quickly.

“After we heard of the goings-on, Evelyn remembered the box,” Norm stated and Colt thought his choice of the words “goings-on” to describe a killing spree was both interesting and sickening, more the last than the first, far more. “She pulled it out, opened it up and showed it to me. That was less than an hour ago. We brought it right here.”

In other words, my son is a psychopathic killer but I’m a decent citizen here to help.

“May I look in the box?” Sully asked and Evelyn pressed her lips together. Norm nodded curtly.

Sully got up and pulled back the flaps to the box. The room went wired as he looked inside. He dipped in his hand and it didn’t have to go very far. Colt could see from his vantage point the box was filled with photos and he knew what they showed. Colt had no reaction to this. It wasn’t surprising and he was finding it was better to store up his reactions for shit that was worth it.

Sully pulled out only a handful. He managed to keep his expression neutral as he flipped through them. Then he put them down on the table and turned to the Lowes.

“That’s a lotta pictures of Feb Owens and Alec Colton,” he remarked.

“Box’s full of ‘em,” Norm agreed amicably.

“Denny take these?” Sully asked.

“I’ve no idea,” Norm answered.

Sully looked down at the box, dug his hand in and pulled out more from the middle, flipping through them he said, “Looks like someone’s been takin’ pictures of Feb and Colt for years.”

“Looks like,” Norm replied.

“You have any idea why Denny would have these?”

Evelyn Lowe made a high-pitched sound in the back of her throat but Norm talked over her, saying, “No idea.”

Sully looked to the woman. “Mrs. Lowe?”

She got another squeeze from her husband, therefore she repeated, “No idea.”

Sully’s face got tight and his eyes rested on Norm’s hand on Evelyn’s shoulder a brief moment before he looked at Denny’s father.

“You think I could talk to your wife in private?”

“No. I. Do. Not,” Norm answered, enunciating each word clearly, helpful citizen a memory in a flash.

“Norm,” Evelyn whispered.

“We’re not suspects in this situation,” Norm told his wife.

“No one said you were,” Sully put in.

It was then Norm drew the line in the sand, showing directly where he and his wife stood and the fact that their son stood on the other side and that was exactly how everyone, including the police, should view it.

He did this by saying, “And we won’t be treated as such.”

“I’m sorry if you feel I’m treatin’ you that way,” Sully sat back down, letting Norm have the dominant position. “Not my intention at all. Just tryin’ to get to the bottom of things.”

“We have no involvement in this,” Norm stated firmly. “Dennis brought the box to the house. We kept it there for him not knowing what it contained. Evelyn says she thinks he brought it over just over a year ago.”

When Feb was back in town. It could be he brought it over because Marie could discover the box and run into Feb or, for that matter, Colt. It was more likely he brought it over because he was making plans to set up even more thorough surveillance of Colt and Feb. With video, he didn’t have to flip through photos nor did he have to court getting caught taking them.

“Can we keep the contents of this box for the investigation?” Sully asked politely.

“Why would we need it?” Norm asked back, happy to be rid of it.

“Thank you, we appreciate you bringing it down,” Sully’s tone had a finality to it.

“Shit,” Sean, one of the newer detectives, said from beside Colt, “he’s lettin’ the mother off the hook.”

“She’s got somethin’,” Mike Haines, another more experienced detective in the unit, muttered from the other side of Sean. “Sul won’t let it go.”

Norm helped his wife out of her seat and Sully rose from his.

As they turned to the door, Sully used a conversational tone that smacked so contradictorily against the words he said that they struck the room with a force that couldn’t be ignored. “You have heard, of course, that Denny attacked another one of Feb Owens’s friends last night. Blade of a hatchet cut into his shoulder, it took forty stitches to close him,” Sully was looking in the box, the Lowes were silent because, of course, they hadn’t heard, and Sully continued as if in afterthought. “Oh, and two unidentified bodies have been found, one man killed early this mornin’ in Oklahoma, appears to be in a rage, not much left of him. The other’s been dead awhile, just discovered this mornin’ in Pueblo, Colorado. He’s got a face left so they’re siftin’ through missing persons.”

“What?” Colt whispered, not having heard this.

“News just came in ‘bout ten minutes before the Lowes showed,” Garrett “Merry” Merrick, another veteran detective, murmured.

Evelyn had frozen, Norm’s face turned from rock to ice.

“‘Course, odds are, we’ll catch him as he’s told us he’s comin’ up here to do the same to Colt. Still, we reckon he’s pretty angry, seein’ as he didn’t get to dispatch his intended victim in Texas. So, we don’t get hold of him beforehand, we suspect the bodies’ll pile up from Oklahoma to here. Takes a coupla days to make that ride, you take time out to murder people. We figure couple more bodies at least. Maybe fathers, maybe brothers, maybe husbands.” Sully shrugged like it didn’t matter much to him. “You see it all in this job, gotta find a way to shut it down.”

“Ehv, let’s get you home,” Norm said to his wife with false courtesy but he didn’t take his glacial gaze from Sully. He knew the game Sully was playing.

Sully was throwing the photos back into the box and flipping back the flaps, muttering, “Helps, sometimes, knowin’ what drives ‘em. Not all the time, mind, but sometimes.”

Colt’s eyes went to Evelyn. She was cracking, plain to see.

Norm’s hand was firm on his frozen wife’s arm. He’d slipped up, bringing her to the Station. She’d either demanded to come, which was unlikely, or she’d been so undone by the news, and thus so fragile, Norm didn’t know what to do with her and he’d made the mistake of allowing her to come, thinking he could keep her under control.

Then again, a mother’s love, even if her son had gone bad, was hard to control. Colt’d seen it over and over. Pete Hollister’s mother was a prime example. That woman knew what her son did to Feb, putting Feb in the hospital, and she stood by Pete, badmouthing Feb along the way.

Sully knew this too and he was going to play it.

Norm saw his wife breaking and his voice was a warning when he said, “Evelyn.”

“Also helps us,” Sully cut in, “if we know, to figure a way to bring ‘em in, you know, safe like. Get ‘em help.”

“You don’t want to help my son,” Norm accused, casting doubt on Sully, hoping Evelyn would rise to the bait.

Sully looked at him and asked good-naturedly, “You know me, sir?”

“I –” Norm started but Sully cut him off.

Good-natured gone, colder than steel and firmer than concrete in its place, Sully said, “You don’t know me, Mr. Lowe, so you can’t say that about me.”

“He was touched,” Evelyn whispered and the observation room went electric.

“Evelyn,” Norm snapped.

Sully turned fully to her, she had his complete attention. “Touched?”

“Touched.”

“Evelyn!” Norm’s voice was sharper and his hand on her arm gave her a quick but vicious shake.

“Mr. Lowe, due respect, but I’m thinkin’ you shouldn’t handle your woman like that in front of a cop,” Sully warned quietly, but quiet or not, that steel was still in his tone.

Norm instantly dropped his wife’s arm but declared, “We’re leaving.”

“When he was a little boy. Norman’s brother,” Evelyn said softly.

“Quiet now, Evelyn,” Norm hissed at his wife, leaning toward her. “You don’t know that.”

She turned her head to him, still talking softly, finding her way, uncertain of her footing and downright scared, she whispered, “I know it.”

“You don’t.”

“Denny told me.”

Norm threw out a dismissive hand. “I think it’s clear by his behavior that Denny tellin’ you anything can be taken with a grain of salt.”

Still soft, Evelyn said, “Not then, not then, Norman.”

“Ehv.”

“He was five,” she whispered and Colt closed his eyes.

“Jesus, sick, fuck, Christ,” Sean muttered and Colt opened his eyes.

Evelyn looked back at Sully, squared her shoulders and sucked in oxygen through her nose, counting on it giving her strength. “Far as I reckon, it’d been happenin’ since he was a baby.”

“No, now it’s Jesus, sick, fuck, Christ,” Mike remarked.

“Evelyn, you be quiet, you hear?” Norman warned.

She didn’t take her eyes off Sully when she replied, “Been bein’ quiet a long time.”

“No use dredgin’ this up,” Norm told her.

For some reason those words were Norm’s mistake. Evelyn’s body visibly locked but her eyes sliced to her husband.

“No use dredgin’ it up.” Her voice was still soft but it held an angry hiss. “No use takin’ him to see a psychologist when he had those dreams, would draw those pictures. No use havin’ him talk to someone when he killed our dog,” Evelyn returned, building her backbone with every word.

“Holy fuck,” Merry muttered.

“Classic case. Christ,” Mike noted.

Norm looked at Sully and declared, “Denny didn’t kill our dog.” “So, Sparky fell on a hatchet?” Evelyn asked, unpracticed sarcasm in her tone but still, it worked.

“Evelyn, I hardly think –” Norm started but Evelyn interrupted him.

She looked back to Sully and said on a rush, “Norm’s brother liked babysitting. He did it for us a lot. A lot. Kept tellin’ us to go to movies, out to dinner, have a break from our boy. Felix had no wife, no girlfriends, no interest, never did, but he liked babies, he liked little boys, he liked them a lot. Used to go to the park just to watch them. I’d take Denny on the weekend, he’d always be there to come with me. I thought it strange, thought he was a bit peculiar, but it was more than a bit peculiar.”

“Denny told you he touched him?” Sully asked.

“Told me, yes, told me how too,” Evelyn answered.

“Dennis couldn’t know –” Norm started but stopped when Evelyn looked at him again.

“If he didn’t know, if you didn’t know, why’d you send Felix away?”

“He got a position out of state,” Norm reminded her.

“You arranged for him to get a position out of state.”

Norm dismissed his wife and looked at Sully. “This is ridiculous. Felix died of leukemia five years ago. He can’t even speak for himself.

“And thank goodness. Thank goodness. Thank goodness for that,” Evelyn said. It had built up for years and she’d been holding it back, or Norm had been crushing it down, but now she let it go. There was a force of feeling behind her words so strong it was a wonder her husband didn’t go back on a foot. Hell, she’d been holding this back so long, it was actually a wonder she herself didn’t implode.

“That’s my brother you’re talkin’ about, Ehv.”

“That’s the man who drove our boy into madness, Norm.”

Sully cut in. “You know how he links to Feb and Colt?”

“Yes,” Evelyn said.

“Absolutely not,” Norm said at the same time.

Evelyn turned to him. “We do,” then she looked back to Sully, “or, I do.”

Norm was losing it, his face getting read, his eyes already blistering hot, if she didn’t find alternate accommodation that night, she’d catch it.

“Evelyn,” he bit off.

She ignored him and kept looking at Sully, taking a deep breath, she said, “Sometimes he’d talk to me. Not much, sometimes. I wanted him to talk to someone else…” her head twitched in her husband’s direction, it wasn’t much but her accusation was clear, “but we couldn’t do that so I thought it would be good if Denny would talk to me.”

“So he told you about Feb and Colt,” Sully prompted.

“Once, each,” she nodded and went on, “February stood up for him, something at school,” her eyes slid to the side, taking in her husband a moment then they went back to Sully, “not long after, Alec Colton beat up his father and went to live with the Owenses.”

“He say why this meant somethin’ to him?” Sully asked.

“No, but I reckon in February’s case, no one stood up for him, not in his whole life, and he had some demons he was battlin’, he didn’t need the likes of Devon Shepherd’s uppity daughter makin’ his life a livin’ hell at school.”

“Colt?” Sully pressed.

“Hero worship, I guess. I suspect, beatin’ up his Dad like that and endin’ up with the Owenses, Alec Colton did somethin’ Denny wanted to do. Then, of course, there was the fact that Alec had Feb.”

“I don’t believe this,” Norm muttered.

“You were hard on him,” Evelyn told Norm.

“I’m his father!” Norm’s voice was rising.

“You were too hard on him,” Evelyn shot back.

“He was a difficult boy to raise,” Norm returned.

“Yes, he was and there was a reason for that, wasn’t there, Norm? A reason you ignored.”

“He needed a firm hand.”

“He needed understanding and professional help.”

“Right,” Norm blew out that one word dismissively.

“Right,” she whispered back and then threw out her hand to indicate the room. “Look where you are. Can you still stand there and say, yet again, Denny didn’t need professional help?”

“She’s got a point there,” Mike muttered.

“Will this help you?” Evelyn asked, now looking at Sully.

“Yes, Mrs. Lowe, it’ll help a great deal,” Sully answered.

She took in another breath through her nose and then she asked, “Will it help Denny?”

“Denny?” Sully asked back.

“You knowin’ this, will it mean you’ll understand, get him some help?”

There it was. A mother’s love.

Even knowing this, Sully didn’t understand, Colt knew that, but Sully didn’t let on and said firmly, “Absolutely.”

She nodded, sucked in more breath, lifted her head then asked, “Can I use your phone? I want to call my sister to come to pick me up.”

“Thank God for that,” Sean whispered, “the old man’s itchin’ to lay into her.”

“What’s this now?” Norm asked, not about to be denied the chance to pull her back down where he wanted her, right under his thumb.

Evelyn looked at him and stated, “I think I need some alone time.”

“Hopefully, the next twenty years,” Merry put in.

“You stay in here, Mrs. Lowe, then we’ll get you to a phone,” Sully said quickly then turned to Norm. “Mr. Lowe, I’ll show you out.”

“But –” Norm began.

“This way,” Sully pushed.

“My wife –”

“Needs some alone time,” Sully’s voice was back to steel and he used it and his body to guide Norm to the door.

Unwilling to lose face, Norm scowled at Evelyn but followed Sully. Evelyn lifted her hand and smoothed it across her hair which was neatly pulled back into a bun. Her hand was shaking. Looking toward the floor, she sat down with her back to the door and to her husband.

Sully opened the door and Norm walked out.

The show over, people in the room were shifting, quietly moving out.

Mike moved toward Colt.

“More news in, Colt,” he said, “not just the bodies but the hatchet is also the same brand as what Skipp sold Denny and he ditched Cheryl Sheckle’s car. They don’t know what he’s drivin’ but they found her car about three blocks away from this mornin’s body.”

Well at least they knew where he was headed even if they didn’t know anymore what he was driving to get there.

“What news on the bodies?” Colt asked.

“This mornin’, pure rage. Reports say the remains of the victim looked like Marie. They even had trouble figurin’ out if it was a man or a woman.”

“Christ,” Colt muttered.

“The other body, done on the way from Idaho Springs to Taos. He was hacked like Angie, Pete and Butch, ‘cept he got him by cavin’ in the back of his head while he was runnin’ on some path. Likely a surprise attack. They found the body off the path, it’d been there awhile and the animals had gotten to it. Still, enough of him left to match a photo. We suspect somethin’ to come through soon.”

“Six,” Colt said, counting victims, or at least the dead, human ones.

“That we know of,” Mike replied, looking less than happy to say these words.

“What I wanna know is,” Sean turned to them, jerking his head to the window, “don’t these people pay attention? Cop shows? Movies? News? Fuck, their son is killin’ dogs and drawin’ unhealthy pictures and what? Nothin’? It’s fuckin’ textbook.”

“Denial can be crippling,” Merry, who’d also joined them, told Sean.

“Nope,” Sean replied, tipping his head to the interrogation room. “She knew. Just think that guy’s an assclown. Get my prescriptions there,” Sean said, “at his place. Got allergies. Definitely feelin’ a change comin’ on.”

“‘Spect Norm Lowe’ll lose a bit of business,” Mike noted and Colt’s eyes went to the interrogation room.

Norm and Sully were gone. Evelyn was still sitting down but now staring at the box. Even unmoving, she looked like she was lost in a way she’d never be found. Then again, Evelyn Lowe had likely been lost a long time.

“Think it might be a good idea, Norm Lowe retires,” Colt muttered.

“And moves,” Mike added.

“You’re up next,” Merry noted carefully, his eyes on Colt, “you takin’ precautions?”

Colt looked at him. “Yeah.”

“Creepy shit, Colt,” Mike remarked and Colt looked at Mike.

“Yeah,” he repeated.

Mike grinned. “Still, even creepy, I could see it would make it easier for a man to handle, he goes home to the knowledge he can play a game of pool with February.”

Sean grinned too. “Yeah, Feb playin’ pool in your own den, wearin’ that choker, a pair of her jeans. Fuck. That’d seriously make it easier.”

Garrett Merrick didn’t comment, he just smiled at Colt.

“Hear you only let her have a game,” Mike noted and Colt was slightly annoyed, slightly impressed, that the gossip was so accurate. “Was me, I’d let her take ‘em all.”

“It isn’t you,” Colt reminded him and was extremely glad he was in the position to do it.

Mike’s grin got bigger before he muttered, “Damn shame.”

One good thing about the conversation was that it was different to the conversations he’d overheard since Feb came back to town. Feb being in his bed meant he wouldn’t have to listen to the men discussing jacking off to her anymore and he had to admit that was a relief.

Of the many plusses of having her back in his life, that was one of them. A small one but in the current circumstances he was hanging on to all the positives he could get.

With a low wave to Sean, Merry and Mike, Colt exited the interrogation room and he managed to do it without again looking at the broken Evelyn Lowe.

And he did this because Sully was right. The job they had, the things they heard and saw, you had to find a way to shut it down.

Colt was closing down his computer, preparing to leave the Station and get to his J&J’s family night, a night where he suspected Feb would be in the mood for music, when Sully came up to his desk.

“Got a sec?” Sully asked.

Colt watched his screen go blank then he looked at Sully. “This gonna creep me out, piss me off or both?”

“Just fillin’ you in.”

Colt sat back and Sully took that as his cue to sit down at his desk opposite Colt.

“Colorado body identified. Man’s name’s Jayden Whelan. Wife reported him missin’ four days ago. Got two kids and owned a roofin’ business. On Sundays, he’d run trails. Left, didn’t come back.”

Colt twisted his head as he closed his eyes, trying not to think of two kids without a Dad and a woman without her man living for days wondering where he was and now having to live a lifetime knowing he was never coming back. Colt tried not to think of this, to shut it down, and he failed.

When Colt opened his eyes, he was staring at the floor. He did this for awhile before he looked back at Sully.

“Why the fuck’s Lowe huntin’ trails?”

“You ask me?” Sully answered. “It’s ‘cause Jayden Whelan was forty-one years old, he was six foot three, had dark brown hair, light brown eyes and pictures we got show he looked a fuckuva lot like you. I reckon somewhere along the line, Jayden caught Denny’s eye and he likely followed him”

“That’s not fillin’ me in, Sully,” Colt told him, “that’s creepin’ me out and pissin’ me off.”

Sully nodded understandingly but said, “Brace, man, we have no ID on today’s victim but odds are, more of the same.”

Colt didn’t reply because there was nothing to say. Sully was probably right.

“The highways and byways between here and Oklahoma are crawlin’ with Feds, cops and highway patrol. Everyone’s got a picture, everyone’s knows the mission. Be a miracle, Denny makin’ it to town.”

“He made it to Reece and he escaped him too,” Colt pointed out.

“Yeah, he did,” Sully agreed eyeing Colt closely. “You and Feb think about protective custody?”

What Colt was thinking at that moment was that the jury was no longer out on if it was stupid or not they didn’t let the Feds take them in.

Still, for the life of him he couldn’t bring himself to take away what February wanted not only because of why she wanted it but because of what it was.

“Feb wants to live a normal life,” Colt told him and Sully took in breath, ready to say something so Colt went on quietly. “I know, Sul. But she has her reasons and I have my reasons for givin’ into those reasons.”

“He gets through the heat, Colt –”

“Then we’re prepared for him. We got a man in plainclothes in the bar all the time, patrols front and alley all day, all night, as often as possible. Feb and me are home at night, same for the house.”

“Wanna park a guy outside,” Sully said.

“You got the manpower, do it,” Colt invited.

Sully gave him a hard look then said, “Feb’s got her reasons, you got yours but I’ll say this once, even though I know you know it. We got a man out there in a rage. He’s missed out on a target and he’s been cut off cold turkey from his drug of choice, video of you and Feb. I spent about ten minutes, Colt, siftin’ through that box of photos and he’s been lurkin’ in your and her life for years and neither of you knew it. No matter what I promised Evelyn Lowe, I don’t see a happy end to this shit, not for Denny. What I want to avoid if at all possible is you or Feb gettin’ caught in the crossfire.”

“That’s my goal too, Sully.”

“Then talk to her again about protection.”

Colt pulled in breath through his nose.

Then he promised, “I’ll talk to her.”

Sully’s body relaxed into his chair but Colt didn’t make his promise solely to make Sully feel better. He did it because his partner was right. He wanted Feb not to miss a second of the life they should be leading and he didn’t want to miss it either. But the end was near; they could sacrifice a few days in order to keep themselves safe.

The phone rang on his desk; he saw the name come up on the display, leaned forward and pulled the handset out of the receiver.

“Yeah, Betsy?” he said into the phone.

Betsy worked front desk on weekends, some nights. Betsy retired early; she was Catholic and had approximately thirty children and grandchildren, all living in town. She took the job so she could still afford Christmas presents and because every single one of them thought her being retired meant she was designated nanny, chauffer, errand runner and maid. They were wearing her out. Weekend shifts and three to elevens a couple of nights a week at the front desk was her refuge.

“I figure you been through the mill, Colt, so you know how sorry I am to tell you Monica Merriweather is here to see you.”

Colt could picture Betsy at the front desk and Monica Merriweather standing right in front of her. Betsy would tell it like it was, even in front of Monica. Betsy might be a pushover for her family because she loved them but she’d learned to hold her own and was known as a woman who voiced her opinion. Further, she worked at a Police Station. Pushovers didn’t last long at a Police Station.

“Tell her I’ll be right down,” Colt told Betsy.

“Other things I’d prefer to tell her but I’ll tell her that,” Betsy replied and then put down the phone.

“Monica,” Colt told Sully.

Sully grinned and said, “Go get her, tiger.”

Colt grabbed his blazer and shrugged it on while he took the stairs. When he saw Monica, his eyes never left her.

She had a bob of dyed red hair that didn’t suit her coloring or the shape of her face. She was hitting middle age badly, was short and the last couple of years had put on a little pudge mostly due to regular flybys at Mimi’s and a summertime habit of stopping at Fulsham’s Frozen Custard Stand.

Her position as top reporter for the Gazette gave her importance in town, people wanted her attention, wanted their name or event in print. Monica had elevated that importance on her own and the last five years or so, her self-conceived power had led to her getting nosier than she should, even given her profession. Her decades of consistent but thwarted attempts to get on staff at the Indianapolis Star saw her writing turn gossipy and sometimes nasty, something which was not only unnecessary for a small town weekly but also not popular. The real power she held, the power of the printed word, meant she could get away with it and people still showed her respect. They might have done it but behind her back she was widely disliked and, by some, even hated.

She’d never married, likely because she carried the triple curse of being unattractive, unlikeable and giving up the status of being a woman to be known only as a reporter.

“Colt,” she said with a false ingratiating smile when he approached her.

He stopped well away and greeted, “Monica.” And as he knew she would, she moved into his space so he quickly asked, “What can I do for you?”

She tipped her head to the side and said, “Figure Sully talked to you?”

“Yeah.”

“Feds are here,” she went on.

“Yeah,” Colt agreed.

“Somethin’ goin’ on that the people should know about?” she asked.

She didn’t want to do a service to the citizens of the town. She wanted a juicy story she could break and show the editors of The Star.

“Figure they know already what they should know,” Colt told her.

“What I hear, there’s more to it,” Monica returned.

“Yeah? What’d you hear?” Colt asked and she grinned again and put her hand on his arm, touching him briefly then pulling away before he could.

“Now wouldn’t be good for me to tell you that, would it?” she asked.

Colt played dumb. “Why not?”

She just grinned again.

Colt wanted to be at the bar, not talking to Monica, so he got down to it. “My advice, Monica? You should leave this alone.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“At this point, it’s far less interesting than you think,” Colt lied, she got closer and it took everything Colt had not to step back.

“What I hear, it’s very interesting,” she whispered.

Colt played a card. “You tell me what that is, maybe I could confirm or deny it. You don’t, and you run with it now, you’d be all kinds of fool.”

He gave her confidence a hit, she was unsure. She knew talk was talk and things could get embellished along the way. She moved too soon, no matter how miniscule, any dreams she had left of being at The Star would be lost. She tried to hide it but he saw it in her face.

Colt kept going, dangling the carrot. “You work with us on this we give you an exclusive after it plays out.”

“An exclusive to a weekly?” she asked, eyebrows up, disbelief in her tone.

“Town’s paper, who else?” Colt returned but she knew what he was saying. He wasn’t offering the Gazette an exclusive; he was offering it to Monica.

She studied him before wheedling, “Worth my while to wait?”

Colt wasn’t giving her that. “Sorry, Monica, you’ll have to wait and see, just like us.”

Her hand came back to his arm but this time she kept it there and again Colt fought the urge to pull away. “Colt, the Feds are here. There are four dead bodies in three states. Same MO.”

“Not the same.” That, at least, was the truth, or it was in Marie’s case.

“Close enough,” she returned.

“Monica, trust me, I’m givin’ you good advice on this one.”

“You’re tryin’ to gag the press.”

That pissed Colt off. Sure, that’s exactly what he was doing but he hadn’t put up with her shit and played her game for years to have her call him on something she had to know was important.

His voice dipped lower when he said, “You pay attention, you’ll see I’m tryin’ to give you somethin’. You don’t play, this ends, you got nothin’.” Her interest was even more piqued, he saw that too.

“You want this, you gotta give me more,” she pushed him, the greedy bitch.

“More than exclusive?” he asked.

“You gotta give me Cal Johnson.”

“Old news, Monica, you reported on that this week.”

“Not with an interview with the cop who got him to roll over.”

Colt couldn’t see it as news, just her way of taking his time, something she liked to do.

“No one’s interested in that shit.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said agreeably. “So, instead, I’ll take you and Feb.”

Colt swallowed a growl. She had that all along. She knew the murders were linked with him and Feb and she wanted it all.

She squeezed his arm, getting excited. “High school sweethearts, brought back together by murder and mayhem,” she leaned in, “hell, this could be a book.”

“It’s not gonna happen,” Colt told her.

She squeezed his arm again. “That’s my offer. I lay low until this busts and then you give me the real exclusive.”

“You don’t lay low, you don’t get jack shit,” he returned.

She dropped his arm, leaned back and grinned again, thinking she was calling his bluff. “I could live with that.”

Colt shook his head but smiled, leaning back himself, calling hers. “Nope, Monica, run it and for the next forty years you’ll kick yourself.”

Her head jerked and her lips parted before she gave it away. “We’re not talkin’ The Star here, are we?”

Colt knew reporters would soon be crawling all over town. This shit was going to be big news and national and Monica wasn’t wrong, it was worthy of a book and probably some hotshot would even make a movie out of it. If it had to be someone might as well be one of their own but even so, Colt had no intention of handing her him and Feb. And given the fact she’d made a lot of enemies in that town, folk wouldn’t care Monica was one of their own. They’d talk to anyone about what they knew about Feb and Colt before they’d spill to Monica. She’d fucked herself.

Therefore Colt bit back a smile before he replied, “Book tours.”

Greed suffused her face and her grin turned to a smile.

“Exclusive?” she pressed his promise.

“I’ll talk to Sully.” And he would talk to Sully and maybe Sully would give it to her, if he felt generous but that was doubtful. Colt wasn’t going to go after the Feds. They might talk, they might not. They wanted to seal their retirement by resigning and making their own deals, he wasn’t going to hand them to Monica.

Luckily, she didn’t think to pursue that.

“I’ll be expecting your call to confirm,” she said.

“Don’t. I won’t call. This is trust or we got nothin’.” Sully might screw her, Colt knew, and he had no problem with that since he intended to do it himself.

“You think I’ll leave with that?” she asked.

“Life is risk, what I’m tellin’ you, this one is worth takin’.”

She stared at him longer than was comfortable but Colt withstood it. Then she reached out and clutched his arm one more time before turning and walking away.

Colt had no idea if he’d contained her or not but he hoped he did. It was Saturday, the Gazette didn’t run until Wednesday. Denny would probably be caught by then, God willing. She shopped this to The Star, it was likely they’d screw her and hand it to someone on staff. They had far better resources than Monica and the Gazette. They wouldn’t give her access to those, no way they’d work with her and she likely knew it. She was fucked if she tipped it now.

“Need to call the janitor, mop up the slime trail she left,” Betsy commented from beside him, Colt turned and grinned at her.

“Tell him to prepare, Bets, another coupla days we’ll be drippin’ with it.”

“Can’t wait,” she muttered.

Colt laughed quietly then said, “Later.”

She turned to him and her annoyance fled, light hitting her eyes before she said, “Have fun with Feb.”

Colt shook his head, waved at Betsy, put Monica out of his mind and headed to the door which would lead him to J&J’s.

Colt sat on his stool, Jack and Morrie in front of him behind the bar, all of them sipping bourbon through their smiles.

Dee was at the middle of the bar with Jackie. Dee was cat calling, Jackie slamming her palms on the top of the bar like everyone else who sat or stood the length of it. The rest of the bar was clapping, whooping, whistling, stomping or some combination of the four.

All eyes were at the floor space in the middle of the bar where Feb was being swung around to Bob Seger’s “Betty Lou’s Gettin’ Out Tonight” by none other than fucking Joe-Bob.

Colt had known Joe-Bob a good long while and he’d only ever seen the man sway to the bathroom, lurch out the door or stumble down the sidewalk.

Now he was moving like he did it for a living, he loved his job and he was damn good at it. Feb’s hair was flying out everywhere and she was laughing out loud, trying to keep up with Joe-Bob as he twisted her, twirled her and spun her around. The old guy knew what he was doing and he was loving it just as much as Feb. His body jumping and jerking with the rhythm, totally in control of Feb and he was grinning like a fool, having the time of his life.

Seger was pulling out the stops and so was Joe-Bob just as Jack shouted loud, “That’s my girl!”

Feb threw a bright smile their way before Joe-Bob gave her a jerk of the arm, whirled her in then sent her back out flying before he spun her with one hand over head, the other hand catching her hip to keep her going and going. Then he pulled her to a stop, yanked her in his arms and twirled them both round and round before stopping with Feb in his arms and he held on tight as the piano gave its final flourish. Feb held him back, cheek to cheek, giving him a big hug.

Jack had closed down the jukebox in order to play Seger’s crowd pleasing “Nine Tonight Live” and Bob and the Silver Bullet Band went straight into “We’ve Got Tonight”. Joe-Bob immediately began swaying with Feb in his arms as she held on tight.

Colt watched this for approximately half a second. He knew he should give Joe-Bob his moment but Joe-Bob could have another moment another night. Tonight was Alexander Colton’s night to slow dance with February Owens.

He put down his bourbon and headed toward the couple. As he moved, all eyes came to him. By this time, Colt was used to it, he couldn’t give a fuck and he kept right on walking.

Joe-Bob saw him, lifted his chin then pushed Feb out for another, slower twirl, stopping her facing Colt then giving her a gentle shove in Colt’s direction.

She didn’t need any prompting. She moved into his arms with a small smile over her shoulder at Joe-Bob and a bigger one for Colt when she turned back to him. Colt slid his hands around her waist, crossing them at the back, resting them at opposite hips, gaining full body contact. She curled both her arms around his shoulders, the fingers of one hand going into his hair as her hips found his rhythm. Colt bent his neck so his temple was pressed against her hair and she tilted her head so her cheek was pressed to his jaw.

They didn’t speak, they just moved. Colt found himself marveling at the fact that she fit him so perfectly, fell into his rhythm like it was the most natural thing in the world, as if she was born to slow dance in his arms.

Then again, that had always been the way with Colt and Feb. Always.

Her hand slid through his hair to curl around his neck, she tipped her head back and in his ear, she whispered, “Since I was three, there’s never been a day when I wasn’t in love with you.”

Colt didn’t answer. He just closed his eyes, held her closer and kept swaying.

And he didn’t stop, didn’t let her go, not even when Seger started singing “Night Moves”.

But he did let Darryl have her for “Rock and Roll Never Forgets” and Colt went back of the bar because Morrie was also now swinging Delilah around. Colt watched and saw that Darryl was nowhere near as good as Joe-Bob but he was also no slouch. Morrie had always liked dancing to anything, he was a natural and it was obvious, with practice borne from time, Dee knew his moves. But Jack and Jackie had also joined them and it wasn’t hard to see where Morrie and Feb got their talent. Jack and Jackie could fucking cut a rug.

Colt heard a call and saw that Ruthie was busy but Tony Mancetti was at the bar and had a bill folded lengthwise in his hand. Colt got Tony a beer, Ruthie got him change and Colt’s eyes went back to the dancers in the middle of the floor just as Feb’s laughter pierced the air in a direct trajectory, the sound stabbing him in the chest. It was painful, but it was a beautiful pain.

He’d been right the day before. Twenty-two years of her laughter, her smile, her body, her jewelry on his kitchen counter, he might have gotten used to it and moments like this would have been lost on him.

Now he knew that he’d never miss these moments and he’d always feel that beautiful pain because he’d always understand how precious they were.

They were in bed in the dark, Feb pressed to his side, Wilson draped over their ankles.

She was drawing mindless patterns on the skin of his chest, her hand moving slower and slower as her body settled into his.

“Feb,” he called and wished he didn’t have to do it.

“Yeah, babe?” Her voice was quiet, tired. It was passed three in the morning and she’d worked and partied all night, both hard.

“Tomorrow, I want us to go into protective custody.”

The weight of her body changed and he knew the relaxation of impending sleep had disappeared.

She lifted her head to look at his face in the dark. “I thought we –”

“Found out today that it’s highly probable that Denny killed two more people.” He heard her pull in breath through her nose and he continued. “No one you know, unless you know a man named Jayden Whelan.”

He saw the shadow of her head shake in a “no”.

“Random victims, baby, he’s getting out of control and we’re pretty sure he’s headed up here.”

“But –”

“Feb, they’ll get him.”

“But –”

“And I want you safe until they do.”

“You can keep me safe.”

“Yeah, I can, by talkin’ you into protective custody.”

She looked away then back and said, “I don’t want him to have any more of my life.”

“And I don’t want him to have all of it.”

“Colt.”

He gave her a squeeze with the arm he had around her waist, lifted his other hand and hooked it around the back of her neck, bringing her face closer before he whispered, “Baby, I’m askin’ you to do this for me. Will you do it for me?”

She hesitated only a second before she whispered back, “I’ll do it for you.”

No argument. There it was. That was his girl.

He brought her mouth to his for a short kiss and he let her go. She settled back in, head to his shoulder and started to draw her patterns on his chest. Colt stayed awake until her hand stopped and her weight became heavy against his side.

Then he fell asleep at about the time Chris Renicki, sitting in an unmarked car on the street one house down from Colt’s, poured his second cup of coffee out of the thermos he’d brought.

Chris took a sip then glanced into the night surrounding Colt’s neighborhood, doing a scan for about the fiftieth time since he got there, seeing nothing.