“I’m hopeful,” I said. “The other times I’ve had growths like this removed, they’ve all turned out to be benign.”
“Yeah, benign, but still forcing you to get gutted like a goddamn chicken. And I hope you like chicken, ’cause that’s what we’re having.”
And then, in a quiet moment, and before she lowered my T-shirt, Diane gave a gentle kiss to my back.
I tried to help in the kitchen but she shooed me away, although she did notice my walking implement.
“Good God, where in hell did you get that cane from? The estate of H. P. Lovecraft?”
“No,” I said, at least laying out silverware and dishes. “It’s a gift from Felix Tinios. It belonged to an uncle of his.”
She peered at the wolf’s head at the top of the cane. “The uncle the mob shooter, or the uncle the exorcist?”
“The uncle with the bum leg or hip.”
As promised, dinner was a roasted chicken, with carrots, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and homemade gravy, and it tasted damn fine. We had glasses of ice water, and since Diane belongs to the same wine club I do—red goes with everything—we made do with a nice pinot noir from New Zealand.
When there was a pause in the meal, I asked, “Wedding plans still on for June?”
“They are, and you better be one healthy bastard to walk me down the aisle. So get going on that healing process.”
“Doing the best I can,” I said. “Funny … last year I thought you’d be going down the aisle in a wheelchair, and this year I thought it was my turn. Make sure Kara doesn’t piss off any gods or goddesses related to medicine.”
Diane smiled. “I’ll pass that along to her. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”
We ate some more and I sensed something was troubling Diane—besides having the homicide investigation taken away from her and given to the state police—and since I’ve known her for quite some time, as she scooped up the last of the stuffing, I said, “All right, give.”
“What? More gravy?”
“No, what’s bugging you. Besides the state police and the charming and too-cool Camden Martin, assistant AG, complicating your life?”
Her chin scar whitened just a bit, meaning that emotions were now coursing through her, and a part of me thought, Dummy, you should have just asked her if she wanted chocolate or strawberry ice cream for dessert.
Then the scar went back to its normal color, and she said, “The deputy chief has announced his retirement.”
“Okay.”
“I’m thinking about applying for the job.”
“Why not?” I said. “I think you’d be good at it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
I quickly didn’t like where this was going. “Um, because you’re good at everything you do.”
“Hah,” she said. “What do you think the deputy chief does?”
“Fill in for the chief when he’s absent?”
“No,” she said, “and I hope this doesn’t burn your tender ears, but the deputy chief is the chief’s bitch.”
I struggled to keep my face expressionless.
It didn’t work.
“Lucky for you we’re having this discussion now, and not before dinner,” Diane said. “Otherwise, I would have taken your meal away.”
“What do you expect?” I asked. “I don’t know much about softball, but I think you just tossed a big fat slow one right over the plate.”
“Hah.”
“All right,” I said. “The chief’s bitch. Details, please.”
She shrugged. “Lots of scrut work. Doing financial research on budgets, wages, health-care costs. Being the bad-ass disciplinarian when the need arises. Representing the chief at certain civic functions. Pretty much any task that the chief doesn’t want to do.”
I took that in and said, “Doesn’t sound much like police work.”
“God, no,” she said. “And I’d have to wear a uniform every day. Have you seen that thing? Ugly color not seen in nature, makes my ass look huge—no, I wouldn’t like that. Plus, yeah, no more real police work. Investigations, helping people out, tracking down the scum that need to be put away. It can be a grind, it can be a pain in the ass, but it also gives me a real sense of satisfaction at the end of the day.”
“I see what you mean. I can’t see you feeling so satisfied by balancing a budget or disciplining a cop for using naughty language in front of grandma.”
“Yep.”
I wiped my fingers on my napkin. “Lots of negatives you’re putting out there. But you are still considering applying for it?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, help me out, then.”
Diane leaned back on her stool. “Because … because I’ve been in the department long enough, and it’s considered bad form not to seek advancement. Like you’re not taking your job or the department seriously enough. If I don’t apply, then some folks will see that as a weakness, and I don’t like being thought of as weak.”
“Especially with what just happened with the Maggie Branch homicide.”
“Exactly,” she said. “So I’ll probably apply for the job and hope I don’t get it, and if I don’t get it, I’ll manage to soldier on.”
“But suppose you do get the job?”
“Bite your tongue, son,” she said. “I don’t want you jinxing anything. But at least I’m not up in Porter.”
“What’s going on up in Porter?”
Diane frowned. “The police chief up there is a good man, a fine man, and there’s a witch hunt after him for something that happened in his department long before he became chief. Fools. They’ll end up running him out of town and God knows how long it’ll take for them to get a permanent chief to replace him.”
I did my best to help clean up, Diane did her best not to bump into me, and as we were wrapping up, the door opened and Paula Quinn came in. Diane and Paula nodded at each other and I said cheerfully, “Dear me, my favorite fantasy comes true. Diane and Paula, under the same roof, at the same time.”
Paula stuck her tongue out at me and Diane tossed a napkin at my head. Diane picked up her cooler and as she went out the door, she had a brief conversation with Paula,
