Obsidian Butterfly - Laurell K. Hamilton [35]
“The name’s Anita, not ma’am.”
That earned me a smile, but he shook his head and fought it off. “Just following orders. That’s what I do.”
There was something just a touch bitter about that last. Officer Norton was on the down side of fifty or looked it. He was close to putting in his thirty years, and he was still a uniform sitting in a car outside a crime scene following orders. If he’d ever had dreams of more, they were gone. He was a man who had accepted reality, but he didn’t like it.
The door opened, and a man came through with his tie at half-mast, the white sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up over dark forearms. His skin was a dark solid brown, and it didn’t look like a tan. Hispanic or Indian or maybe a little of both. The hair was cut very short, not for style, but as if it were easier that way. There was a gun on his hip and a gold shield clipped to the waistband of his pants.
“I’m Detective Ramirez. Sorry I’m late.” He smiled when he said it, and there seemed to be genuine cheerfulness, but I didn’t trust it. I’d seen too many cops go from cheerful to hardcore up in your face too many times. Ramirez would try to catch his flies with honey instead of vinegar, but I knew the vinegar was there. You didn’t get to be a plainclothes detective without that streak of sourness. Or maybe a loss of innocence was a better phrase for it. Whatever you called it, it would be there. It was only a matter of how far under the surface it was.
But I smiled and held my hand out, and he took it. The handshake was firm, the smile still in place, but his eyes were cool and noticed everything. I knew that if I left the room now he’d be able to describe me in detail down to my gun, or maybe up from my gun.
Officer Norton was still behind me like a pudgy bridesmaid. Detective Ramirez’ eyes flicked to him, and the smile wilted just a touch. “Thank you, Officer Norton. I’ll take it from here.”
The look Norton gave him was not friendly. Maybe Officer Norton didn’t like anybody. Or maybe he was white and Ramirez wasn’t. He was old and Ramirez was young. He was going to end his career in uniform and Ramirez was already in plainclothes. Prejudice and jealousy are often close kin. Or maybe Norton was just in a bad mood.
Whatever it was, Norton went out like he’d been told, shutting the door behind him. Ramirez’ smile went up a notch as he turned to me. I realized that he was cute in a young guy sort of way, and he knew it. Not in an egomaniac way, but I was a female, and he was cute, and he was hoping that that would cut him some slack with me. Boy, was he shopping in the wrong aisle.
I shook my head, but smiled back.
“Is something wrong?” he asked. Even the slight frown was sort of boyish and endearing. He must practice it in the mirror.
“No, Detective, nothing’s wrong.”
“Please call me Hernando.”
That made me smile more. “I’m Anita.”
The smile flashed bright and wide. “Anita, pretty name.”
“No,” I said, “it’s not, and we’re investigating a crime, not out on a blind date. You can tone the charm down just a touch, and I’ll still like you, Detective Ramirez. I’ll even share clues with you, honest.”
“Hernando,” he said.
It made me laugh. “Hernando. Fine, but really, you don’t have to work this hard to win me over. I don’t know you well enough to dislike you yet.”
That made him laugh. “Was it that transparent?”
“You make a good good-cop, and the little boy charm is great, but like I said, it’s not necessary.”
“Okay, Anita.” The smile went down a watt or two, but he was still open and cheerful somehow. It made me nervous. “Have you seen the entire house yet?”
“Not yet. Officer Norton was trailing a little too close for comfort. Made it hard to walk.”
The smile closed down, but the look in the eyes was real. “You’re a woman and with that black hair probably part something darker than the rest of you looks.”
“My mother was Mexican, but most people don’t spot it.”
“You’re in a section of the country where there’s a lot of mixing going on.” He didn’t smile when he said it. He looked serious and a little