Andrea silently followed Bible back through the lobby and outside the building. She weighed her options as they walked down the stairs single file. He had thrown her into the deep end. She had sunk like a rock with an anvil chained around its neck. She was only a few hours into her real job and she was already failing.
Bible stopped on the sidewalk. “So?”
There was no way around the truth. The instructors had drilled it into them twenty-four/seven that the first thing they had to do was establish authority. If Andrea couldn’t grab a small-town cop’s respect, she’d never be able to do it with a bad guy.
Andrea told Bible, “I screwed up. I let him get to me when I could’ve worked to bring him on side. We might need him one day.”
“What’d he do to piss you off?”
“Called me sweetheart and made fun of my accent.”
Bible laughed. “Well, it’s a hell of a thing, Oliver. Freezing him out is one way to go. I’ve seen it work before. I’ve seen some gals, they lean into it, call him honey right back, maybe get a little flirty.”
Andrea didn’t know a hell of a lot, but she knew that flirting with a man in a work situation was never going to gain her any respect. “What’s the other way to go?”
“Marshal rule number sixteen: think of yourself as a thermometer. Look at what they’re putting out and adjust your temperature accordingly. The chief was running a little warm, so you should’a been a little warm. No need to freeze him out. Give it a try next time. Practice makes permanent.”
She nodded at the familiar refrain. Most of policing required fine-tuning your responses. Andrea was more used to extremes. “Okay.”
“Don’t sweat it too hard now. Put ol’ Cheese in your rearview. Probably the last time you’ll see him.”
Andrea gathered lesson time was over. Bible started back up the sidewalk.
“My car’s back at the library.” Bible could clearly tell she was lagging. “We’ll grab a bite to eat before we go to the judge’s house.”
The mention of food made her stomach growl. Andrea’s feet felt heavy as she trudged behind him. She looked down at the concrete. Every few yards, there was a small black box about the size of a shoebox. She recognized the traps from her own beach town. With tourists came rodents. She wondered if whoever had mailed the judge the dead rat had found it downtown. And then she put the question out of her mind because she was too exhausted to do anything but put one foot in front of the other.
“Diner’s up here.” Bible picked up the pace. “I called ahead and snagged us two seats at the counter. Hope that’s good by you?”
“That’s great.” Andrea hoped like hell that food would bring her second wind. Her stomach rumbled again as the scent of French fries filled the air. Ahead, the neon lights of RJ’s Eats cast a pink glow onto the sidewalk. MILKSHAKES-HAMBURGERS-OPEN TIL MIDNIGHT.
“Well whattaya know.” Bible grinned as he held open the door for a woman carrying armloads of take-out bags.
“Cat?” She sounded surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”
“Coach pulled me off the bench.” He made the introductions. “Judith, this is Andrea Oliver, my new partner in crime prevention.”
“Hi.” Judith stared at Andrea, waiting for a response.
“Uh—” Andrea had trouble finding her voice. “Huh-hey.”
“She don’t talk much. Lemma help with these.” Bible took the plastic bags and walked Judith the short distance to her car. A man waited behind the wheel. Andrea could see his Silver Star clipped to his belt.
Bible told Judith, “We’re gonna grab a bite. Tell the judge we’ll be there by five thirty so I can show my new partner the ropes.”
“Make it six so we’ve finished dinner. Granny has us all on the early bird special.” Judith opened the door and dropped her quilted saddlebag of a purse into the passenger’s seat. She took the bags of food from Bible. In the streetlight, she looked slightly older than Andrea, about forty. She was dressed in a colorful blouse with a flowing kind of sarong for a skirt. There was an earthy, artsy air about her, though the car she climbed into was a sleek silver Mercedes.
Bible waved, “See you in a bit.”
The door closed with a muted thunk. The engine purred to life.
Judith glanced out the closed window, giving Andrea a quizzical look. Andrea didn’t know what to do. She unzipped her backpack and rummaged inside as if she was searching for something of vital importance. Finally, the car pulled away, but the woman’s face was burned brightly into her memory.
Icy blue eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Slightly cleft chin.
Judith looked just like their father.
OCTOBER 17, 1981
Six months before prom
Emily shivered as a bitter wind sliced off the ocean. Her eyes closed against the sting of salt in the air. She felt teary and achy and tired but also weirdly awake. She had never had insomnia before, though her grandmother had told her it ran in the family. Maybe this was what it meant to be almost eighteen—almost an adult, almost a woman—the inability to shut off your brain so that you could rest.
College. An internship. A new town, new school, new friends.
Emily put a silent question mark behind the friends part.
She had grown up in Longbill Beach knowing the same people, places and things. She wasn’t quite sure that she remembered how to make new friends, nor was she certain she wanted to. While she had other school-specific acquaintances on the periphery, since first grade, the essence of her emotional life had orbited around only four people—Clay, Nardo, Blake and Ricky. They had happily called themselves the clique after Mr. Dawson, the elementary school principal, had warned Ricky that she was part of one.
For as long as Emily could remember, the clique had spent every weekend and a good many nights together. They took a lot of the same classes. They were all enrolled in the honors programs. All of them but Blake was in Mr. Wexler’s running club. They read amazing books and talked about politics, world events and French films. They were constantly jockeying to make each other more intellectually pure.
And this time next year, they would all be scattered to different places and Emily would be alone.
She took a left onto Beach Drive. The empty shops lining downtown cut the harsh gale from the sea. The maddening throngs of tourists were gone, which was a relief but also sad in its own way. Emily’s senior year had put so many things into perspective. She found it much easier to look back than to glance ahead into the unknown. Everywhere she turned she was hit with nostalgia. The park bench where Clay had confided in her about the car accident that had killed his mother. The tree she’d leaned against while Ricky put a Band-Aid on a scrape Emily had gotten from a stupid tumble down the two steps to the library. The alley between the taffy store and the hot dog stand where Blake, giddy after winning the county-wide debate competition two years ago, had tried to kiss her.
Emily heard shouts of boisterous laughter, and her heart did a little purrup like a kitten at the sight of the boys at the far end of the street. Clay walked alongside Nardo, both of them talking and enjoying the late afternoon sun on their windblown faces. Nardo was lean from running but his cheeks had always been plump, almost cherubic. Clay was taller, more serious and steady. His strong jaw cut through the air as he turned to look over his shoulder. As always, Blake trailed behind them, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his corduroys. He was looking down at the sidewalk so was taken unawares when Nardo came to an abrupt stop.