by Clara Nipper
At this point, I knew the questions to be rhetorical so I didn’t try to answer.
“I mean, really, what is this hot horseshit about you having some harebrained notion with possessiveness? Jill, grow up! And another thing—” Sophie’s head started weaving from side to side and she waved a finger in my face. “Don’t you ever come to my house with a nasty attitude. If you embarrass me again, you’ll regret it. Do you understand?”
Sophie stepped out on the stoop to continue her tirade. I backed up, slipping a little. I got the feeling Sophie mastered the impulse to shove me down the stairs. “Just what sort of game did you expect me to play with you? After you snuck out of town without a word like a coward, I’m supposed to stay in the house with my legs closed? I figured I would never see you again. Did you hope my life just stopped?” Sophie acted like she was sniffing me. “God knows yours didn’t. Did you care for me at all or am I just a port in your lust storm and you’re in between docks right now?”
I stumbled back a step. Alistair dashed to Sophie. “Easy, easy, come on in the house.” He turned her and they went inside.
The click of the door closing was the worst sound ever. “Ah, fuck,” I said. I sat on the step and felt my hope about this place disintegrate. I pulled out my Zippo and clicked it open and closed over and over. Where I had been solid was crumbling to dust. I had not realized how much I had counted on Sophie being mine. I had been biding my time, getting settled in my house, my new job, waiting for the perfect time to present myself. I began shivering, from cold or disappointment; I didn’t know and didn’t care. My head was pounding. I touched my forehead and felt half a golf ball under my skin. I just wanted to take a minute to gather myself before facing the sheriff. Click open, click closed, click open, click closed.
Behind me, I heard the front door open, and in that uncontrollable split second, my mind pictured Sophie running outside and embracing me, saying all that had been a bad dream and she was crazy about me and that Alistair was her long-lost brother who had been away in England for many years.
Instead, I felt something hot and wet hit my neck. “And clean yourself up! You look like a thug,” Sophie said, her voice cracking. I heard Alistair soothing her away from the door, their muffled voices blending before the door shut me in silence again. Just me, the Zippo, the ice, and the collapsing trees.
I lifted the sodden wad of paper towels off my neck—Sophie was a good shot—and I daubed my face and neck. The towels turned red, and I debated about leaving it right where I sat. But that was childish and not the way to a woman’s heart. I stood and approached the door, my shoulders slumped, my bravado gone. I knocked.
Alistair opened the door. I handed him the bloody towels, which he graciously accepted.
“Got any aspirin?” I said, then added, “please?”
“Sure, of course. One minute. I can’t invite you in because I think she’s actually rabid, you understand.” He left the door cracked.
I rubbed my hands together and considered my pitiful self. How many new lows could I endure? Waiting on the winter street for my crush’s lover to bring aspirin after having been rejected and humiliated and yelled at had to be a fine, fresh low.
“Here you go, old boy. And I’m sorry about it.” Alistair handed me a bottle and shut the door.
I dropped six in my mouth and said loudly to the door, “Got any beer?”
This time, Sophie opened the door, her mouth pinched into a line, her face closed, and her eyes flat. “That’s all we have. Take care.” She handed me a bottle of Guinness.
I should be accustomed to the door shutting in my face, but I wasn’t. That impersonal “take care” cut deep. My mouth full of pills, I shouted “Thanks!” at the house. I took a huge swallow and coughed and choked. “Shit! That shit is nasty! Shit!” I shook my head and eased myself back to my car and started driving downtown. I kept the Guinness close.
I parked at the courthouse and found the sheriff’s entrance unlocked and took the Guinness inside with me. “Sheriff Perryman? It’s Rogers. You here?” My shouts echoed down the long, cold, dark hallway.
I crept cautiously down the hall, cursing myself for not having a flashlight. The Zippo was handy but not bright. Just like you. Sophie’s voice echoed in my head. “I think I’m hitting all the steps of stupid on the way down. I’m not missing a single one,” I said to myself.
“Who’s there?” A voice over my right shoulder startled me. I gasped, grabbed my heart, and whirled around. A bit of my Guinness splattered on the wall. “Goddammit, it’s me. Who did you think?”
“Who’s there?” Perryman squinted. “All I can see is teeth.”
“You bitch. What do you want?”
“Come into my office.” Perryman turned and went back to her desk.
“Where it’s warm and light?” I said.
“Butt in chair, Rogers,” Perryman said. She had propped a flashlight on its end inside a ceramic coffee mug, and it flooded the room with eerie, weak light. I heard a bell ringing and an enormous orange tabby cat jumped onto Perryman’s desk.
“Fuck!” I said, clutching my chest. “What is that?”
“You’re a detective; can’t you deduce that he’s a cat?” Perryman said.
“Why is it here?”
“Not it. He. His name is Jonathan Bennett and he’s here because I like the company.”
“Were you raised in a barn? Does the sheriff’s office need a good mouser?” The cat swatted his tail with astonishing accuracy and knocked a cup of pencils to the floor.
“All right, enough,” Perryman told me. She stroked Jonathan’s back. He arched and purred.
“Want me to go milk the cows, Elsie?” I said.
“Knock it off.” Perryman glared at me. Jonathan ran across the desk, scattering papers and watching them flutter to the floor. At last, the cat settled on top of Perryman’s laptop, tail still swishing and slashing.
“What’s that around its, I mean, his neck?” I reached for what looked roughly like a flat, black globe about two inches across. Jonathan raised a warning paw the size of a tangerine. I drew back.
“That’s a cat cam,” Perryman said. “It takes photos while he wears it. I can program it to take them every few seconds or every few minutes. Then I plug it into my computer and see the world from Jonathan’s viewpoint. It’s really fascinating to see where he goes and what he does.”
I laughed derisively. “Oh, I’m sure.”
“Sit down. Let’s talk business.”
I groaned as I eased myself into a chair and propped my feet on her desk. I was glad to be away from Sophie and the pizza of rejection and somewhere more manageable. “What are your turn-ons and turn-offs?”
“That’s quite a knot on your head. You talk to somebody besides me today?”
“Lay off.”
“Well, I called you here because Jim Harrison is on his way.”
I let my booted feet fall to the floor with a thud. “And you needed me here for backup?”
“Looky here what I found by the emergency exit!” A deputy entered with an LED lantern. “Whaddya know about that?” He set it on the desk and waited for responses.
“Thanks, Adams.”
“Hey, puddy tat!” Adams stroked Jonathan. “I tell you what, people sure are dumb, you know that?” Adams seated himself next to me and put a pinch of snuff in his cheek. Then he dug through Perryman’s trash for a spit cup. He spoke while he sorted through the garbage. “Got a call yesterday. This ole boy has a prize pig and this ole gal who lives next door to him wants to file a protective order against that pig. Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh.” Adams sat back, a Styrofoam coffee cup in his hand. “Hey, Peevyhouse, come on in here, boy.”
Another deputy entered and leaned against the doorjamb.
“Why the long face, Peeve? Your mama stop puttin’ out?” Adams said.
“No, yours did,” Peevyhouse said. “Morning, Chief. Hey, kitty, kitty. Who’s this guy?”
I assumed he was addressing m
e rather than Jonathan. “Rogers.” Without rising, I shook the deputies’ hands. I chose not to correct them about my gender. It really didn’t matter. Jonathan, stretching on his side, kicked several files to the floor. His tail flapped madly, almost creating wind.
“Rogers?” Adams spat into his cup. “Rogers with Homicide? You have a rep-you-tation.”
I laughed. “Aw, shucks, I just chase people for a living.”
“Our jobs are far more involved than that,” Perryman said.
“It’s actually less so,” I said. “Come on, Dana. You know we mostly just sit around and wait for a lucky break. We hang out hoping for tips. That’s how cases get solved.”
“Don’t you dare—” Perryman said.
“I heard you was Injun,” Adams interrupted, drooling into his cup. “You don’t look Injun. How much Injun are ya?”
“You don’t look white. How much white are you?”
Adams guffawed. “I only ask cause I’m part Injun too. One of my ancestors was a full-blood princess.”
“You don’t say!” Peevyhouse said. “You can’t swing a dead cat without hittin’ Injuns round here. All of ’em drunks with free government handouts. I wish—”
“That’s enough!” Perryman barked.
“Did you just come off patrol?” Adams asked Peevyhouse.
“Yeah,” Peevyhouse said, removed his hat, brushed it off, and replaced it. “Had to arrest a guy for domestic A&B. Just now dropped him at the jail.”
“County has power?” Perryman asked.
“Yeah, they got that emergency generator. They’ll be good for a few days,” Adams said then chuckled. “Course, I guess we’ll have to let them all go free if the power’s out for very long.”
“That’s nonsense, Adams,” Perryman said.
“Hey, that perp told me a story. Y’all like good stories? Here goes—you know what all battered women have in common?” Adams said.
“They just won’t,” Peevyhouse began and then he and Adams finished in unison, “listen!” Then they both laughed. Jonathan sat up and gave us the stink eye.
“Hey, you know what all deputies have in common?” I said.
“Rogers!” Perryman’s voice was like a whip crack. “Shut up and I mean it.”
“Looks like you in trouble, boy,” Adams said.
“Sheriff? I’ve gotta be somewhere. What did you need?” I asked.
“I have to discuss that case with you. Just give me a minute,” Perryman said.
“You hear about the rodeo?” Peevyhouse said.
“They cancelled it cause of the weather, didn’t they?” Adams said.
“Yep. I was all set to do my bronc bustin’, but they’re skipping the whole thing this year.”
“Well, you get ice like that outside, you can’t transport the bulls. You know what I mean?”
“Boys!” Perryman said. “Ya’ll hungry?” I sensed an affected accent had crept into her speech.
“Yes, ma’am, we surely are,” Adams said.
“I ain’t had no breakfast. You know why?” Peevyhouse said.
“Why?” I said.
“Well, like everything else, my reefer’s dead, so I put everything outside so it would stay froze and my hound dogs got loose and ate all my food off my front porch.”
“The hell you say!” Adams said. “Them would be some dead dogs if ya ask me.”
“They ate my brown and serve sausages, my French toast sticks, my Blue ’n Gold bacon, and a loaf a bread,” Peevyhouse said. “I almost ate dog food, but then I thought somebody would have donuts here, but nobody’s here and all the donut shops are closed.”
“Weeeeelll, that’s about as helpful as hen shit on a pump handle, ain’t it?” Adams said.
“Mind if I smoke?” I asked.
“Smoke ’em if ya got ’em,” Adams said.
“Here’s an ashtray.” Peevyhouse reached across Perryman’s desk and set an object close to me.
“Don’t!” Perryman said and tried to grab the ashtray.
“What’s this?” I said, lifting the object. “You’ll have to develop more skills to be quicker than I, Sheriff.” I smiled as if my teeth were coated in mint oil.
“It’s not mine,” Perryman said. She busied herself giving Jonathan some crunchy treats.
“It was a gift!” Peevyhouse said.
The ashtray was a miniature model of an outhouse. Above the toilet seat was a sign that read: Put yer butts here. “Oh, that’s darling.” I grinned at Perryman. “Cigarette?” I extended my Camels to her.
“You got any Pell Mells?” Peevyhouse asked. “Them’s my favorite.”
I shook my head and offered my pack. Peevyhouse waved them away.
“You got any hand-rolled?” Adams said, his cheek bulging with sodden tobacco.
“Naw, but it still smokes good,” I said.
“Smoking is against state law. All of you know that,” Perryman said.
“Smokin’! This ain’t smokin’! This is just a conference between colleagues,” Peevyhouse said, raising his eyebrows on the big words.
“I can wait.” I closed my pack and settled myself, clicking my Zippo. With no Sophie to run to, I had all the time in the world.
“Y’all hear about Bo and Skeet?” Peevyhouse stretched, his leather equipment belt creaking agreeably.
“What?” Adams spat into his cup. “About their assignment to the hospital?”
“Yep,” Peevyhouse said. “Say, Sheriff, why’d you do that?”
“My decision, Peeve. Better fit,” Perryman said coldly.
“What, a couple of miscreants got shunned to pull the crazy criminal guard at Bush Memorial?” I said.
“Why don’t ya’ll go get some chicken fried steak? I’ll buy.” Perryman peeled some bills off a roll she had in a drawer. Jonathan immediately tried to fit his great bulk into the open drawer.
“That’s mighty white of you,” Peevyhouse said, “but no place is open!”
“I bet the grill is open over there by the Y,” Adams said. “You ever been there?” he asked me.
“No, is it good?”
“Is it good!” Adams repeated. “It’s so good you need a trough and a bib. If you walk away clean, you ain’t doin’ it right.”
“That applies to women as well,” I said.
There was silence for two beats and then the deputies howled. Perryman stood and thundered, “Get out! Go to lunch, go on patrol, I don’t care. I’m in a meeting.”
Adams stood. “Oh, in a meeting, huh? Well, excuuuuuuuuse us.” The pair left, laughing.
“Now whatcha got?” I said.
“We wait for him.” Perryman shrugged, stroking her cat.
Chapter Seven
“I’m telling you, that woman was murdered!” Sheriff Perryman said after Jim had arrived and sat on the desk, towering over us. Perryman hoped to convince him to file charges on the freeway hit-and-run. I played idly with my lighter, letting her take the lead.
“Why are you even here today, Sheriff?” Jim said. “And what is that animal doing here? You should be at home with your family. Don’t worry about such things now. Worry about keeping your kids warm and fed. And keeping filthy animals outside where they belong.”
Perryman slapped the top of her desk as she bolted to her feet and put her finger in the DA’s face. “Why are you stonewalling me on this?” Jonathan dropped into Perryman’s vacated warm and soft chair. He kneaded his claws in the material and I swear it looked as if he were smiling.
“The deputies on the scene say it was just an unfortunate accident.” Jim glanced at me and his lip curled. I winked.
“I say it was homicide!” Perryman said.
“You’ve been sheriff for what,” Jim looked at his watch, “five minutes now. If you like this job, try to fit in. Don’t make waves. Election time will come eventually, and it can be brutal.”
Perryman flung Jonathan to the floor and dropped back into her chair, deflated. “You don’t want to prosecute this case.”
>
Jim grinned and shrugged, holding out his hands. Jonathan rubbed against his legs, leaving fur all over his slacks. Jim shoved the cat away with a grimace and slapped at his pants legs. “What case? There’s no case.”
“I have my sources who swear it is murder.”
Jim laughed. “Sources? Who, this prick?” He jerked his thumb at me.
Perryman blinked. “I thought she was the best.”
“I am,” I said, but no one was listening. This was Perryman’s bullfight.
Jim shrugged again. “She does some good work occasionally. But she makes a lot of mistakes. Rogers is okay if I keep my thumb on her. Otherwise, she runs amok with bizarre conspiracies and amateur theories.”
“The hell you say!” I said, but neither of them responded. I decided to pet Jonathan.
“Listen, the husband has no alibi. I know Detective Rogers is right.”
“Sheriff, my office is at caseload capacity. We’re not equipped to file murder charges based on female intuition.”
“You file dog cases all the time! You clog up the court dockets with shit that dead defenders can get dismissed merely to train your newbies. The judges hate you because you waste everyone’s time and resources with cases that are tissue thin without probable cause!”
“That’s a fact,” I said, lighting a cigarette.
“Drop it.” Jim reached across Perryman’s desk and picked up the lantern. “Accidents happen. I’ll see myself out.” The light wavered and shadows slid crazily over the walls as he exited, leaving us in the dark.
“Election time will come for you too, asshole!” Perryman called. Then she fell as if dead into her chair. “What now?” Jonathan abandoned my amateur hand and jumped into Perryman’s lap.
“You know what,” I said.
“We build a case?”
“Bingo.”
Chapter Eight
I sat in my idling car with the heat on high, holding my icy Guinness to one of the vents with one hand and smoking with the other. My portable emergency weather radio stated the ice storm had stalled over Oklahoma and that more than an inch of ice had been deposited so far. Trees and power lines were coming down; driving was treacherous; go to one of the local shelters and stay there.
