Bone Harvest - Mary Logue [78]
“I tried to call,” she whispered. “You weren’t home.” There was no hesitation. She kissed him.
He apologized for his beery breath. “I’ve been at the Fort. Had a coupla beers.”
“You want another one?” she asked, and led him into the house.
He tried to figure out what she was wearing. Her outfit looked like clothes he had left at her house—an old no-sleeved T-shirt that was very revealing and a pair of his boxer shorts.
“Cute pajamas,” he told her.
“I needed you in bed with me. Didn’t think I’d get you in the flesh.”
She walked to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of Leinenkugel’s and twisted off the tops. She sat on the edge of the table and he stood in front of her. They tapped beer bottles.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Nuts. We’ve got a psycho man loose in the county. A chopped-off finger was just delivered to the sheriff’s office. Fresh. That means there’s someone in the county missing a digit. Who knows what he’ll do next. He’s probably lived here all his life and this anniversary of the Schuler killings has set him off.” She tilted her beer bottle up and drank a good swallow. He could feel she was shaking.
“Are you cold?”
“Not really. Exhausted to the bone. Can’t sleep. I needed you to come over. I’m glad you got my mental message.”
“I wasn’t sure you would want to see me.”
She touched his nose. “Why ever not?”
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”
“Well, that’d make two of us.” She leaned in and kissed him on the neck.
“I shouldn’t have surprised you with the ring.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I mean, we probably should have talked about it.”
“I suppose, but it was fine the way you did it.”
“You cried.”
“I do that.”
“Have you been thinking about it?” he asked. He knew he shouldn’t ask any more, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“In the few minuscule moments when I’m not trying to save our county from disaster, I have thought about it.”
“You want to share your thoughts with me?”
“Are you sure this is the right time?”
“No, I’m sure it isn’t, but it’s driving me crazy not to know.”
She nudged him with her knee. “I like driving you crazy.”
“I know.” He nudged her back.
“What do you think about getting married again?” she asked. She looked him straight in the eyes.
“I’d do it.”
“Enthusiastic,” she commented.
“Most of it I liked, but not the divorce part.”
“We could skip that.”
He nodded.
“And we could skip the getting married part.”
He wasn’t sure what to say.
She leaned in and kissed him hard, a kiss that reached way down into his groin. “Can’t we try something else? Maybe we should try living together for a while. Forming a partnership. You cover my back; I’ll cover yours.”
“Cop talk for being there for each other?”
“Yeah. Hey, I am a cop. I get to talk like one.”
“I’ll cover your back anytime.” He pulled her close to him and felt her wrap her legs around his waist.
“Take me to bed,” she whispered in his ear, and he followed orders.
Claire fell asleep hard and woke up two hours later. Her head was smashed into Rich’s back and he was snoring. The snoring wasn’t what had awakened her. She felt deeply uneasy. She had dreamed about fingers, long, bony fingers coming into her room, climbing into bed with her, touching her while she was sleeping.
She straightened herself out in bed and tried to manage her breathing: deep and slow, deep and slow. From the belly, her psychiatrist had told her. If you breathe from the belly it will calm you. Unfortunately it seemed to invigorate her. She kept thinking about what she would do when she got up, all that she had to do, and finally she decided to get up and start doing it.
When she crawled out of bed it was about three-thirty. She wasn’t supposed to show up at work until six, but she doubted they’d be anything but glad to see her come in a little early.
She started up her coffeemaker, putting in a little more than her usual ration of freshly ground beans. Then she dug a couple of caramel rolls from the bakery out of the freezer. She turned on the oven and put