Shadow Ridge

by M. E. Browning

  Quinn crossed her arms. “Why would you want to do that?”

  Tye. Ronny. Quinn.

  Of the three people Alice’s husband had linked to Derek, Quinn was the wild card. Her file was full of contradictions, and beyond those snippets of information, Alice knew nothing of the woman.

  Ronny Buck was different. The Buck and Walsenberg families shared the same social strata and had been close for years. Every summer the boys had run wild at the Ambroses’ high-country ranch or the Bucks’ cabin on the lake. Despite a three-year age gap, the boys were inseparable. Initially, Ronny’s influence over her son worried her, but Derek had either never joined Ronny on his criminal escapades or he’d had the good fortune of never getting caught.

  Then there was Tye. The dossier had given Alice the impression that Tye was the sun around which everyone else orbited. But he was gone now. That file was closed.

  After rereading the files, Alice had convinced herself that she needed to talk with this woman. Quinn had shared in her son’s last passion. Perhaps she could explain why that had become more important to him than life itself.

  Finally, she smiled. “If I feed you, I’m hoping you won’t be as grumpy when I offer you a job.”

  * * *

  The coffee bar in the Student Union Building served an assortment of pastries, soups, and paninis to pair with their bigger selection of coffees, teas, smoothies, chais, and espresso drinks that college kids needed to sustain their energy.

  Alice picked at her salad. It was Quinn who interested her, not the food, and at the moment, the object of her curiosity was indelicately cramming the corner of a grilled cheese sandwich into her mouth. The woman’s manners were every bit as delightful as her demeanor.

  “If you knew my son, you know he killed himself.”

  “I didn’t know he was your son until today.” She slurped her tomato soup.

  Alice’s fork clanked against her plate. No condolences. None of the usual niceties reserved for someone who’d just announced they’d lost a loved one. “Perhaps this is a mis—”

  “My mother was shot and killed by a drug dealer.” The declaration was delivered without emotion.

  Alice sat back in her chair. “I’m sor—”

  “Don’t be. You know nothing about my mother.”

  “I know she was shot and killed by a drug dealer. Isn’t that enough?”

  “For what?”

  “To want to offer comfort to a grieving daughter.”

  Quinn cocked her head. “That assumes I’m grieving.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “What if I told you my mother was a hype and she tried to double-cross her dealer?”

  Was Quinn testing her? “Who she was doesn’t change who you are.” It was a meaningless platitude. Then again, truths often were.

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  For the first time, Quinn smiled. It transformed her face. Gone was the wariness. Gone, too, was some of the tenseness that had practically turned her shoulders into earmuffs. Alice wanted to reassure her, but Quinn had made it abundantly clear that she was a woman who didn’t want to be perceived as weak.

  “Why are you going to school in Echo Valley?” Alice asked. “Why here?”

  “Scholarship.”

  “You’re a smart woman, then.”

  “Poor.”

  “You forget, I serve on the foundation. I know the criteria that must be met to be awarded one of our scholarships.”

  “Then you know nothing beats a good hard-luck story.”

  “So what’s your story?”

  “Told you.” Quinn spoke around a smaller, yet still impressive, bite of sandwich.

  “No, actually, you didn’t.”

  She swallowed. “I’m the daughter of a police officer killed in the line of duty. That sad fact, plus my financial situation and grades, resulted in an all-expense-paid ride to the middle of nowhere. Here I am.”

  “So your father—”

  “Mother,” Quinn corrected.

  Nothing in Zach’s files had mentioned that Quinn’s mother was a police officer—or that the woman had been murdered. Quinn’s face remained impassive, and it was impossible to tell what, if anything, she said was true.

  “Your mother wasn’t a drug addict.”

  “Obviously.”

  “But she was killed by a drug dealer.”

  “You mentioned a job.”

  The abrupt change in the conversation threw Alice, but for whatever reason, it lent Quinn credibility. Her defensiveness certainly made more sense. She was wounded. Angry. In a way, they were kindred spirits, although she’d probably not appreciate the comparison. But they’d both had someone they loved torn from them.

  It cemented Alice’s belief that Quinn would be perfect for the position. Now it was just a matter of letting her come to the same conclusion. “I did, but after our conversation, I’m no longer certain it’s a good fit for you.”

  “I guess we’re through here, then.” Quinn crushed more saltines into her soup and pressed them under the surface with the back of her spoon.

  Alice had been privy to Quinn’s bank account, and the minuscule balance was inversely proportional to the woman’s current nonchalance. Time to call her bluff.

  Alice pulled money from her wallet for a tip the waitress would probably never see. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Wait.” Quinn dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin—a flash of decorum that vanished when she crumpled the brown bit of paper and dropped it into her soup bowl. She stretched out her legs and crossed her hands over her belly. “You never said what the job was.”

  “I’ve formed the Echo Valley Alliance for Life, a suicide awareness program. I’m looking for a student advocate to act as my liaison with the campus social groups.”

  “Why me?”

  “You’ve been touched by death. You’ve seen things.” Alice decided to lay everything on the table. “I recently learned that Tye belonged to the LGBTQ group on campus. Members of that community are at greater risk for suicide than any other population—on or off campus. Echo Valley is a small city, and tolerance isn’t the first word that comes to mind when I think about the people from around here. Don’t get me wrong. The vast majority are God-fearing.”

  “That’s part of the problem.”

  “Perhaps.” Alice gathered her purse. “You knew Tye. You’d have credibility. No one wants to listen to me—I sound too much like their mothers. You’re one of them.”

  “How much does it pay?”

  Alice wanted her to accept the position, and she added a bit more than she’d originally intended to offer. Her motives were less than pure. She wanted Quinn close. Wanted to learn who this woman had been to her son and to hold on to what little bits of Derek she remembered. She might have been telling the truth about her mother, but Alice felt certain Quinn knew more than she was letting on about Derek. After all, there were three files. “Twenty dollars an hour.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “Carrying the Alliance’s message to the campus groups and assisting me. I understand you’re a student. Coursework comes first. We can work around your schedule, and all told, I figure it’s about fifteen hours a week.”

  “I thought I wasn’t a good fit.” Her words were a challenge.

  “How about this. The executive board meets tomorrow morning at the resort, and then I’ll be spending the afternoon putting the final touches on the fund raiser we’re hosting tomorrow night. Help me set up. Commit to the evening. See what we’re all about. I’ll arrange a room for you. If nothing else, enjoy the banquet. They’ve got fabulous food, and the resort is amazing.”

  “And if I decide it’s not for me?”

  “I’ll cut you a check for your time. We go our separate ways.”

  Quinn worried the cuticle on her thumb. “I’m not a touchy-feely kind of person.”

  The candor surprised Alice. “Maybe not, but you’re a survivor.”

 
; 21

  Jo entered the police department lobby through the double glass doors in the front. Three bullet holes marred the wall, courtesy of a disgruntled customer. The cavities had been patched, but the impressions remained. Even a police building wasn’t always safe.

  Small and utilitarian, the lobby contained a single pew, discreetly bolted to the floor. The few people who wandered in for assistance faced a counter where, depending on the day, they spoke to either Young Sarah or Simply Sarah, the mother-daughter team who had been doling out records and generally riding roughshod over Echo Valley’s finest since water first flowed down the Animas.

  “Cutting it close, aren’t you?” Simply Sarah remarked from the window.

  Jo stomped the snow off her boots on the doormat. “Plenty of time.”

  “One-Point-Five is looking for you.” She pressed the buzzer to unlock the door to the inner sanctum. “She predicted you’d be a no-show.”

  Jo caught herself before she made an unladylike snort. The chief’s radio designation was Echo One. Harriet Landeau was the chief’s administrative assistant. She didn’t have a call sign, but that didn’t stop the officers from making one up—and using it out of earshot. There wasn’t a single thing that occurred in the station that Harriet didn’t somehow orchestrate. Chiefs came and went, but she held the real power.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Although Jo had been ready to jump on any call that went out over the radio to have a valid excuse not to be here.

  “That’s what I told her.”

  Jo double-timed it through the empty hallways. Maybe she was later than she’d thought. She rounded the corner and slid into the back of the crowded briefing room. The clock showed exactly 1630 hours.

  Cop shows on television always had spiffy briefing rooms. Maybe it was because they usually called it a squad room. It elevated the purpose.

  Magnetic whiteboards hung on three walls in the EVPD briefing room. The one on the back wall always displayed the shift rosters so the sergeant could read it from the front of the room. The board behind the sergeant’s table contained current issues plaguing the city and usually had Ronny Buck’s name on it somewhere.

  The last one was affectionately dubbed the bullshit board, a six-by-four receptacle of off-color jokes, photoshopped pictures, red-pen-edited newspapers articles correcting factual inaccuracies, and transcripts of things officers shouldn’t say on the radio—even at 03:30. Harriet removed the offending items at least once a day, but no matter how many memos came out about workplace propriety, it always held the most interesting info.

  Cameron stood by the lectern at the front of the room and winked at Jo as she leaned against the back wall. Officers and admin folks vied for chairs and collected in clusters. Her father and some of the other retirees sat up front. The overlap between swing-shift officers reporting on duty and the day-shift officers calling off guaranteed an audience. Squint stood next to the award case. She wanted to sidle over to him to update him on the latest about Tye’s relationship status, but Chief Grimes arrived and wove his way toward the front.

  Dakota slid in next to Jo and whispered, “You doing okay?”

  She refused to look at her best friend. “Aren’t you supposed to be dispatching?”

  A reporter from the Valley Courier craned around in his chair, using his pen to conduct a head count. He nodded at Jo.

  Chief Grimes cleared his throat, and the chatter subsided. “Today we’re gathered to honor one of our own with a new badge, a new title, and most importantly new responsibilities.”

  “What, is this a wedding?” Dakota’s hushed southern drawl almost made it sound like a legitimate question.

  Jo tried to keep a straight face.

  “Cameron Finch,” Chief Grimes intoned. “Please step forward.”

  Cameron moved closer to the chief. He wore his Class A uniform. It looked odd without a badge.

  “Officer Finch joined us six years ago. It’s said that every story has a woman.” He picked Jo out of the room and smiled. “And we have Detective Wyatt to thank for enticing Cameron to our community.”

  Heat traveled up Jo’s neck. She adjusted her scarf to hide the blush.

  “In the short time that Cameron has been here,” the chief continued, “he’s forged strong relationships with his peers.”

  Dakota elbowed Jo and whispered, “Brownnosed his superiors.”

  “Established bonds with the community.”

  “And broke those with his wife,” she continued.

  “And earned a well-justified reputation with the district attorney’s office.”

  “Not good, just well justified,” she clarified.

  “It is my honor to promote Officer Cameron Finch to sergeant. Sergeant Finch, is there someone you would like to help you with your badge?”

  Cameron locked eyes with Jo.

  She gave the slightest nod.

  Cameron faced the chief. “Yes, sir. My wife.”

  His wife. No name, just a title. She’d think about that later.

  The crowd parted. Jo hadn’t told anyone other than Squint and Dakota that she and Cameron had split, but it was hard to keep secrets from people who investigated crimes for a living, and the murmurs and dipped heads told her that most people in the room knew. She concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other and walked the gauntlet of curious faces that included her father’s. One more thing she’d survive.

  Chief Grimes handed her the oval shield. Badges were symbols of the office, a representation of the public trust bestowed on the wearer. Every element of the design was imbued with meaning. This badge was the same weight as her own, but the word Sergeant engraved on the blue banner under her city’s name gave this badge more heft. Gravitas. She unclasped the catch and extended the long, thick pin.

  “Hey, Finch, you wearing your vest?”

  Laughter filled the room. Leave it to Estes.

  Jo drew a steadying breath. Once before she and Cameron had faced each other with a symbol of trust between them. She hoped this one remained unbroken. “Ready?”

  He looked deep into her eyes. “Are you?” he asked softly.

  She slid her hand under the vee of his uniform shirt and stabbed the pin through the reinforced badge tab, pricking her finger. She pressed the pin into the groove. Twisted the catch. Done. She smoothed his shirt.

  Cameron grabbed her hand. “Thank you.”

  “Congratulations, Sergeant,” she said. And she meant it. She’d been honored yesterday when he asked her if she would pin his badge. Try as she might, she couldn’t help but read into the request, but what it meant eluded her.

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Whispered in her ear. “When did it become a competition?”

  “It never was,” she said.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the chief said. “May I present Sergeant Finch.”

  The room erupted into applause. From this point forward, Cameron’s word meant more than hers. Perhaps it had always been that way.

  The chief shook Cameron’s hand, and the crowd surged forward to congratulate him. She was trapped. Awash in a wave of adulation meant for someone else, she could only wait it out.

  Dakota materialized at her side and pulled her toward the door. “I need a drink.”

  * * *

  The cold air hit them as soon as they walked outside.

  “Elks Club or somewhere else?” Jo asked.

  Dakota stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Her blonde hair framed her face in a demented halo of static electricity, and she whipped the hood of her pink parka up. “Seriously? Haven’t you had enough of the good ol’ boys for one day?”

  Jo shoved her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. “Finnegan’s it is.”

  Tourists on a quest for good food and drink rarely wandered beyond Main Street. Locals ventured a little farther afield. Three bars catered to the disparate personalities of the Valley, and none of them were on the main drag. Cowboys drank Coors at the Hitching Post. Bikers raised their ta
nkards in Valhalla. Cops relaxed at Finnegan’s Irish Pub. Full of cozy nooks, good whiskey, and Guinness imported from Dublin, it had the added benefit of being two blocks from the station.

  They walked quickly and remained silent until they reached the dark doors of the pub.

  The place was empty except for Merlyn, the only cowboy in the county who hated Coors. The Australian cattle dog under the table lifted his head but decided the ladies didn’t need herding and went back to sleep. Merlyn tipped his pint glass in greeting and went back to his careful study of the foam.

  Sully pulled a Guinness behind the bar. He was a bear of a man, but whether that was a grizzly or a teddy bear depended on how a person held his liquor.

  “Well, now if the two of you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.” He set the pint glass aside to settle and wiped his hands on a bar rag. “A Smitty’s for you today, Jo?”

  “Please.”

  Dakota perused the bottles of spirits behind him. “I don’t suppose you can make a cosmo?”

  The crinkles around Sully’s Wedgwood-blue eyes deepened. “I can, but it’s going to taste a good deal like Jameson.”

  “I’ll stick to a Strongbow.”

  “A fine choice.”

  Jo pointed to a table by the fireplace. “Anyone have dibs?”

  “All yours,” Sully replied. “Go thaw yourselves out. I’ll bring your drinks around in a moment.”

  Jo peeled her jacket off as she walked toward the inviting corner. “Since when do you drink cosmos?” she asked Dakota.

  “I just binge-watched two seasons of Sex and the City. I’d be wearing four-inch Manolo Blahniks if it weren’t for the snow.”

  “I’d settle for a new pair of Vasque hiking boots.” Jo sat with her back to the wall.

  Sully followed a minute later and set the Irish ale in front of Jo and the cider in front of Dakota. “You ladies interested in food or just solving the world’s problems tonight?”

  Jo reached for her pint. “It’s a troubled world, Sully.”

  “I’ll keep ’em coming, then.”

  She lifted the glass in a toast. “You’re a good man.”