Homicide My Own - Anne Argula [21]
“Well, whatever,” I said. “I know you’re busy, so…”
“You know what you should do? You should get out of that uniform, buy yourself something comfortable to wear.”
It’s not what I wanted to hear. More and more, with each year, he was saying things I didn’t want to here, and not saying the things I did want to hear.
“I will,” I said. “It is getting a little gamey by now, and while we’re waiting, we’re not on duty, not officially.”
“What are you going to do with yourself, stuck out there?”
“Beats me.”
“Get some rest. Take a one day vacation.”
“Sure. I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said.
He was sleeping with Esther. I was sure of it. He would sleep with her tonight.
I hung up with that little bit lost feeling, orphaned inside. I tried to shake it off. I hated that feeling. I’d rather be shot, which I was once, and it felt not near as bad.
Odd came out of the Jiffy Mart and we both walked to the car.
“How’s Connors?” he asked.
“Fine. Anything happen in the Jiffy Mart?”
“Like what?”
“Like you saw stuff that you knew.”
“Go into any Jiffy Mart, you’re gonna see stuff that you know.”
“Don’t get wise with me.”
“The place has only been here twelve years.”
“What difference would that make?”
“I seem to be going back further than that.”
“Like to the time of the murders?”
“I think so.”
We drove back to the white part of the island and found a horsey shop that also sold clothes. All I wanted was a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and something heavier against the chill that would come with evening. They had a draped off corner for a changing room, and we took turns in it. The jeans were all Wranglers, which I hadn’t seen since I was a kid back in Pennsylvania. My service shoes were black Rockports which went fine with the jeans. I got a t-shirt with a tribal bear on it and a hooded sweatshirt. I put it all on the Visa. I knew the Lieutenant would trash it as an expense item, but he was going to get it anyway. He could have the clothes too, if he wanted them. Odd also got jeans and a Shalish Island t-shirt and a light Eddie Bauer windbreaker that folded up into its own pocket. It was a great relief to get out of the uniforms, which we put on hangers and laid neatly in the trunk of the Lumina. We stashed our belts and pistols, flashlights and batons. I felt a ton lighter.
The cafe was across the street. I was thinking I might treat myself to pie. Odd was two steps behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw him taking it in, the cafe, in his dreamy way of having seen it all before. It wasn’t much to look at. Exposed to the salt air, it needed paint, like most of the structures we’d seen. There were a couple old-timey soda signs in the windows, like, “Moxie.”
Going into that cafe, we looked like mother and son in spanking new jeans, mom with a hooded sweatshirt. Which I quickly pulled off because the place was overheated. The T-shirt tried to come off with it, exposing my belly, and suddenly a dozen limp dicks at the counter were interested. Da frick. Half of them were old Indians, the other half maybe fishermen who didn’t go out that day.
Free of the sweatshirt, I saw Odd sitting down at a booth at the window. I followed him. We sat on opposite sides of the table. He gripped the edge of it and leaned toward me and whispered, “You’re not going to believe this, Quinn.”
“I’m ready to believe anything.”
“I’ve been here before.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Yes, I have.”
“On the island?”
“In this cafe, in this booth.”
My nipples popped again. Sweat trickled down my cleavage.