“You haven’t forgotten have you? The Hurricanes?
You and me?”
“Is that tonight?”
“It is. Jessie and Emma are going to pick Cal up after
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MARGARET MARON
school and keep him till we get home, so no getting
sidetracked, okay? You’ve got good people, darling.
Trust them. What’s the point of being a boss if you’re
going to roll out for every call?”
I finished my drink and stood to go. He stood, too.
“Wait, there’s a spot of chili on your tie.”
I tipped the carafe on his desk to wet a napkin and
sponged it off before it had a chance to stain.
“I’ll be finished by five or five-thirty,” I said. “That
gives you an extra ninety minutes. My car or your
truck?”
“You’ll come in early with me tomorrow?”
“Sure.” I laced my hands behind his neck and pulled
him down to my level. He smelled of mustard and chili
and Old Spice. “I’d come to Madagascar with you.”
“What’s in Madagascar?”
“Who cares? You want to go, I’ll go with you. As long
as you come with me to tonight’s game.”
He laughed and kissed me. “My truck. Five-thirty.
And don’t forget to find me that divorce date.”
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C H A P T E R
17
Mayleen Richards
Monday Afternoon, March 6
% On the drive out to the farmhouse that Buck Harris
had inherited from his maternal grandfather, Jack
Jamison was unusually silent. Normally, the chubby-faced
detective would be throwing out a dozen theories, cheer-
fully speculating as to what they would find at the house,
formulating possible motives. For the last few days
though, he had seemed a million miles away and worry
lines had begun to settle between his eyebrows.
“Everything okay at home?” Mayleen Richards asked
him.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Baby okay?”
As a rule, the mere mention of Jack Junior, now called
Jay, was enough to get her colleague talking non-stop.
