The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [43]
Libby regarded her. “Is Roelke going to be pissed at me if I say yes?”
“I can’t imagine that Roelke would be at all interested in our writers’ group meeting.”
Libby snorted with laughter. “Fair enough. Sure, go ahead and invite her. Just phrase it as a one-time thing, though, until we see how everyone gets along.”
Done, Chloe thought, as she headed back to her car. She didn’t need to wait for Roelke to decide if Dellyn’s problems were worth exploring. She could do some exploring on her own.
Roelke’s phone was ringing as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment that night. “Jesus,” he muttered, fumbling for his key. It was after midnight. One of the part-timers, a new kid, was on duty. If he’s asking for help on something stupid, Roelke thought, I will not be happy.
When he finally grabbed the receiver, though, a lazy voice greeted him. “Cow-boy!”
“You need new material,” Roelke told Rick Almirez. His oldest buddy from his Milwaukee PD days frequently chastised Roelke for trading in the city for cow country. “What’s up? And why the hell are you calling so late?”
“I’ve been trying for hours. Figured you’d get off shift sooner or later.” Rick didn’t sound even mildly chagrined. “Joe Dawson’s getting married. Third Saturday in September. He wants the band to play at the reception.”
“Our band?” Roelke loved playing blues and jazz with a few other cops. They called themselves The Blue Tones, and practiced every month. But honestly, they weren’t that good.
“Yes, our band, nimrod. Evidently Sharon is preggers. Thus the haste.”
“We should squeeze in some extra practice.”
“Oh, yeah. Can you make it next Saturday?” The question was punctuated with a faint woosh of expelled air.
Roelke pictured Rick, sitting at his old Formica-topped kitchen table, phone in one hand, cigarette in the other. A sudden twist of melancholy hit Roelke in the chest. “Um … Saturday might be a problem,” he said. “I’m on duty.”
“So, get somebody to switch with you.”
“I can’t.” Roelke sighed, knowing what was coming. “It’s Movie Night in Eagle.”
Brief silence. Then, “Movie Night?”
“Yeah. And it was kind of my idea, so I have to be there.”
“Movie Night,” Rick repeated, with a tone he might have used to say Hepatitis Night.
Well, Rick was an adrenaline junkie. No point in belaboring the topic. “See if the guys can do Sunday night,” Roelke said. “I could make that.”
“OK.” Another pause, another whoosh of expelled cigarette smoke. “One more thing. Joe’s leaving the force.”
“No shit?”
“Sharon’s folks offered him a job in the family business,” Rick said. “A lumberyard, I think. Up by Tomah.”
“Well, hunh.”
“You know what that means. There’s going to be a vacancy opening up.”
Roelke’s knee began to bounce up and down. Fast.
“I talked to the lieutenant about it,” Rick said. “Off the record. He can’t make any promises, but he did say he’d be pleased if you applied. Said he’d look for your application.”
“Rick—”
“Just think about it,” Rick said. “Everybody would welcome you back, McKenna. But the clock’s ticking. They want to move on this thing. Application deadline is end of the week.”
“Rick—”
“You might not get another chance like this!”
“A permanent position just opened up here. I’ve already put in for that.”
“Are you sure you’re going to get it?”
“No.”
“So, put in for the Milwaukee job too, all right? That’s all I’m sayin’.”
Roelke sighed. “All right,” he heard himself say. “I’ll think about it.”
After hanging up the phone, Roelke scrubbed his face with his palms. He didn’t want to go back to Milwaukee. But it felt good to be wanted.
The Eagle Police Department was only four years old. The officers all got along well enough. Usually, anyway. But they were a collection of mostly part-timers, some kids trying to break into police work, a couple of vets trying to ease into retirement, one detective from Waukesha who picked up stray patrol shifts in Eagle to earn extra cash. The person Roelke liked best was the chief. But the chief