Tradition of Deceit Read Free Page A

I-94 ramp. “They make a good pair.”
    â€œSo … the woman who came up on stage and sang is a sergeant?”
    â€œBliss? Yeah. She was a year ahead of us at the academy, but we all worked the same district. She’s sung with us a couple of times before.”
    â€œI could tell.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œNothing!” Chloe folded her arms, hoping that was true. The thought of becoming a jealous lady friend was repugnant.
    Roelke didn’t respond. Chloe lapsed into silence as well, watching lights go by, bummed that the evening was ending on a down note. Roelke had loved playing tonight, but something was bugging him. She knew that some of his buds still chided him for leaving Milwaukee. Maybe Roelke was entertaining regrets.
    She also knew that he’d been reproaching himself for two months about a complicated murder case. Roelke was not a detective, but he’d become involved in the investigation—and failed, in his opinion, to identify the killer. Sometimes Chloe thought he’d put it behind him … and then she’d spot him staring into the distance, jaw muscles tight, and knew he had not.
    The drive to Palmyra took over an hour. Roelke pulled into the parking lot behind his walk-up apartment in the village. “I’m going back to my place,” Chloe said.
    â€œI thought you were staying over.”
    â€œI was,” she said, “but this doesn’t seem to be a good night for that. Besides, I’m driving to the Twin Cities in the morning, remember? I want to get an early start.”
    â€œChloe, I … ” He stared out the windshield. “Never mind. Thanks for coming. Drive safe tomorrow.”
    â€œI will. And I’ll call you from my friend’s place.” She leaned over, gave him a quick kiss, and got out of the truck.

    I can be a real jerk, Roelke thought an hour later, lying lonely in his bed. Honestly, he didn’t blame Chloe for leaving. The last thing Rick had said to him that night was, “We’ve both found good women. I’m hanging on to Jody. You better hang on to Chloe too, dumbass.”
    Roelke stared into the darkness, trying to figure out why he’d picked a fight with Chloe. Tonight at the reception he’d been conscious of every off-color joke, every crass comment about some recently-arrested asshole. Such talk had never bothered him before. Hell, he was part of it.
    Chloe, however, was not. She’d once told him that they were too different to make a good couple. Other people had hinted at the same thing. Now they were a couple, and doing just fine all in all, thanks very much. But obviously, Roelke thought, the whole idea of our differences still bugs me.
    Well, he’d apologize, first chance he got. He wished she wasn’t going away for the rest of the weekend, visiting some friend.
    Some museum friend. From her grad school days.
    Roelke punched his pillow, ordered himself to quit stewing, and tried to get some sleep.

    When the phone rang, Roelke jerked awake and grabbed it. “Mc­Kenna here.” The clock read 5:10 a.m. Maybe Chloe was calling to say good-bye before she hit the road. No, probably not. Her definition of “hitting the road early” was still several hours away.
    He realized that too many seconds had ticked by. “This is Roel­ke McKenna.”
    â€œR-Roelke? I’m sorry to—I—it’s Jody.”
    Roelke felt every sensory detail sharpen: the smooth plastic against his palm, the illuminated clock’s glow, the whisper of Jody’s irregular breathing in his ear, the infinitesimal quiver of every hair standing erect from his skin.
    â€œWhat’s wrong? Where’s Rick?”
    â€œRick … He … Somebody shot him.”
    Roelke grabbed the pencil on his nightstand. “Where’d they take him? How bad is he hurt?”
    Jody’s words squeezed out between sobs. “He’s