good.
The chief returned his attention to her. "Call came in about you today. I thought it was a mistake."
Chris saw something she didn't like at all behind those experienced eyes.
"A call?"
As if it had been choreographed, his walkie-talkie sputtered to life.
"Dispatch to the chief, come in."
With an apologetic look at Chris, he unclipped the small mike from his shirt pocket and answered. "MacNamara here."
Chris saw Eloise lean over a little to hear better. Eloise had a police scanner at home and watched every true crime show on television. Chris knew it was because she'd never experienced violence firsthand that the little woman found it so fascinating secondhand. For Chris's part, she could only hold onto her fraying patience as tightly as she did the cooling mug of coffee in her hand.
"Wilson just called in, sir," Tina Elcorn's voice rasped from the receiver on the chief's belt. "He walked into a fight up at the Tip A Few."
MacNamara only allowed a brief tightening of his features to betray his irritation. "Well, tell him to handle it."
"There are ten of them and one of him."
Down went the cup. "On my way. Get the sheriff to back him up."
He reclipped the mike and turned back for the front door.
"I thought it was going to be quiet here," he groused, raking a hand through his hair before resettling his cap as he stalked past the wide-eyed Eloise.
Chris followed right on his heels. "You must have us confused with Utopia," she offered dryly. "It's a couple of counties over."
MacNamara turned to her with the closest thing he seemed to have to a smile. "Mayor Sullins told me the town went weeks without anything happening."
"He's talking about real estate, not stupidity."
Chris lasted until MacNamara opened the front door. Maybe he was already thinking about something else, but she wasn't.
"Chief MacNamara."
A chilly evening breeze snaked in. MacNamara turned just shy of leaving. "Oh, yeah," he said, stopping, his body already geared up for whatever waited for him up across the tracks. "I'm sorry. The call. Seems there's a homicide detective from St. Louis looking to talk to you."
Chris fought to hold onto the cup in her suddenly cold hands. "Homicide?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral, the dread exploding straight into panic.
He nodded. "Name of Lawson. Seems to think somebody up there copycatted one of your books. "
Chris wasn't sure what she'd been expecting him to say. Any number of things, actually. There was so much out there he could have brought to her. That one, though, was probably the single problem she hadn't expected. It froze her into incredulity.
"Copycatting?" she demanded, struggling to catch up. "Like murder?"
"Like murder. She'd appreciate a call as soon as you can so she can compare notes."
He didn't even bother to say good-bye, just loped on down the sidewalk to where his unit was parked. Watching him go from the open doorway, Chris was left with a feeling of stunned disbelief.
"Son of a bitch," she breathed, wedging the coffee cup against a chest that was suddenly tight with surprise. Shutting the door, she slumped against it and gave a little laugh, and was embarrassed to admit it was from relief.
Chapter 2
The High School basketball team lost that evening, so Pyrite went to bed early. By eleven the only traffic consisted of an occasional parent looking for a late teen, and by one o'clock, it was just Curtis Marshall's police cruiser crisscrossing the empty streets when he wasn't parked over in the Baptist church lot dozing in between calls. Only street lamps illuminated the silent square, and even the Tip a Few was closed and darkened, the earlier contestants either home or nestled down in the county jail down behind the sheriffs office. Most everyone except the sheriff's dispatcher and the night man at the Sleep Well Motel out on Highway V was asleep. Everyone, that is, except Chris Jackson.
By now the town was used to seeing her lights on all night
The chief returned his attention to her. "Call came in about you today. I thought it was a mistake."
Chris saw something she didn't like at all behind those experienced eyes.
"A call?"
As if it had been choreographed, his walkie-talkie sputtered to life.
"Dispatch to the chief, come in."
With an apologetic look at Chris, he unclipped the small mike from his shirt pocket and answered. "MacNamara here."
Chris saw Eloise lean over a little to hear better. Eloise had a police scanner at home and watched every true crime show on television. Chris knew it was because she'd never experienced violence firsthand that the little woman found it so fascinating secondhand. For Chris's part, she could only hold onto her fraying patience as tightly as she did the cooling mug of coffee in her hand.
"Wilson just called in, sir," Tina Elcorn's voice rasped from the receiver on the chief's belt. "He walked into a fight up at the Tip A Few."
MacNamara only allowed a brief tightening of his features to betray his irritation. "Well, tell him to handle it."
"There are ten of them and one of him."
Down went the cup. "On my way. Get the sheriff to back him up."
He reclipped the mike and turned back for the front door.
"I thought it was going to be quiet here," he groused, raking a hand through his hair before resettling his cap as he stalked past the wide-eyed Eloise.
Chris followed right on his heels. "You must have us confused with Utopia," she offered dryly. "It's a couple of counties over."
MacNamara turned to her with the closest thing he seemed to have to a smile. "Mayor Sullins told me the town went weeks without anything happening."
"He's talking about real estate, not stupidity."
Chris lasted until MacNamara opened the front door. Maybe he was already thinking about something else, but she wasn't.
"Chief MacNamara."
A chilly evening breeze snaked in. MacNamara turned just shy of leaving. "Oh, yeah," he said, stopping, his body already geared up for whatever waited for him up across the tracks. "I'm sorry. The call. Seems there's a homicide detective from St. Louis looking to talk to you."
Chris fought to hold onto the cup in her suddenly cold hands. "Homicide?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral, the dread exploding straight into panic.
He nodded. "Name of Lawson. Seems to think somebody up there copycatted one of your books. "
Chris wasn't sure what she'd been expecting him to say. Any number of things, actually. There was so much out there he could have brought to her. That one, though, was probably the single problem she hadn't expected. It froze her into incredulity.
"Copycatting?" she demanded, struggling to catch up. "Like murder?"
"Like murder. She'd appreciate a call as soon as you can so she can compare notes."
He didn't even bother to say good-bye, just loped on down the sidewalk to where his unit was parked. Watching him go from the open doorway, Chris was left with a feeling of stunned disbelief.
"Son of a bitch," she breathed, wedging the coffee cup against a chest that was suddenly tight with surprise. Shutting the door, she slumped against it and gave a little laugh, and was embarrassed to admit it was from relief.
Chapter 2
The High School basketball team lost that evening, so Pyrite went to bed early. By eleven the only traffic consisted of an occasional parent looking for a late teen, and by one o'clock, it was just Curtis Marshall's police cruiser crisscrossing the empty streets when he wasn't parked over in the Baptist church lot dozing in between calls. Only street lamps illuminated the silent square, and even the Tip a Few was closed and darkened, the earlier contestants either home or nestled down in the county jail down behind the sheriffs office. Most everyone except the sheriff's dispatcher and the night man at the Sleep Well Motel out on Highway V was asleep. Everyone, that is, except Chris Jackson.
By now the town was used to seeing her lights on all night
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