Monday Mourning

Guilt over my failure to spot the cut marks before Bergeron pointed them out.

How could I have missed those marks? Yes, I’d been interrupted many times. Yes, I’d been working on different aspects of the case. Yes, the marks were almost invisible. Yes, at least one skull was fragmented. But how could something that important have escaped my attention?

Failure, failure everywhere and not a drop to drink.

Failure with Anne.

Failure with Ryan.

“Ryan,” I snorted.

“Yes?”

My eyes flew open.

Ryan was standing in the doorway, coat finger-hooked over one shoulder.

Ryan raised his free hand, palm out.

“I know. What are you doing here? Right?”

I started to speak. Ryan cut me off.

“I work downstairs.” Ryan grinned. “I’m a cop.”

I sat forward and tucked my hair behind my ears.

“Do you have news on Louise Parent?”

“No.”

“Have you found Rose Fisher?”

The grin evaporated. “No. It doesn’t look good.”

“You think she’s dead?”

“She’s sixty-four.

“What kind of mutant murders elderly women?”

Ryan took my question as rhetorical. “Is the extra surveillance still on your place?”

“Yes.” If you came to visit you’d know. “Are you suggesting I’m elderly?”

“I want you to keep your eyes open, Tempe.”

“They’re rarely closed these days, Andy.”

Ryan ignored that.

“I’m going to swing by Fisher’s house. Thought you might like to ride along.”

I did.

I waved a hand in the direction of the skeletons.

“They’re not going anywhere.” Another boyish grin."

"Again the debate. Confrontation? Avoidance?

I decided on vague. Give Ryan the opening. Let him tackle or dodge.

“Do you ever ask yourself questions, Ryan?”

“Sure. What ever happened to Alice Cooper?”

“Important questions?”

“What was Alice Cooper?”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m serious, too.” Ryan’s voice was calm and quiet. “Do you want to ride along?”

The hell with relationships. The hell with Ryan. Cauterize the pain.

Stripping off my lab coat, I jammed my keys into my purse and jerked my coat from its hook.

“Let’s go.”

Ryan and I crawled through rush-hour traffic, the atmosphere in the car as relaxed as a coiled snake. Conversation was nonexistent.

Familiar images galloped through my brain. Ryan at the beach. Ryan and me in Guatemala. Ryan in my bed.

Ryan and his prom queen.

At one point Ryan’s hand brushed my knee. A missile rocketed straight to my libido.