Shadow Ridge
Page 30
“Always giving me shit.”
Squint stepped forward. “I’m just happy you’ve given her another target.” He handed Quinn a small bouquet of wildflowers. “Congratulations.”
“Awww.” Quinn briefly placed her hand on Squint’s arm. “Thank you.” She turned to Jo. “Take notes.” Then she sobered. “I heard she finally accepted the deal.”
There was no need to ask who she meant. “Yesterday. The new DA took the death penalty off the table. No small concession, considering he’s a Baxter and she’s an Ambrose.” Mrs. Baxter’s grandson, Edwin, had proven himself to be an astute DA, but the two families were the Hatfields and the McCoys of Echo Valley.
“Rich people are fucking weird.” Quinn removed her cap, and her short hair bristled. The addition of the scar gave her an even edgier look. “How much time will she serve?”
Jo tilted her head. “If she’s convicted of first-degree murder, she’ll get life. If it gets dropped to a lesser offense, it’ll depend. But even the Ambrose name isn’t going to shave off much time. Sentencing is scheduled for the end of July.”
“You’ll email me? After it’s all done?”
“Sure you don’t want to stick around?” Jo teased.
“Seriously?” Quinn rolled her eyes.
For the first time, Jo noted the similarity between Quinn and Olivia. It wasn’t so much a look as an attitude. When Olivia performed in the church’s annual play, she’d never said a word as the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Be, but she owned that stage. They both had a slightly haunted vibe, but wind them up and they became two very determined, strong women.
Quinn shucked the graduation gown, revealing a white tank top, slouchy shorts, and Doc Martens. A new raven tattoo took flight along her collarbone.
“When are you leaving?” Jo asked.
“The car’s already packed. I start my internship Monday at the Letterman Digital Arts Center in the Presidio. It’ll be good to be back in San Francisco.”
“For what it’s worth. I think they’re lucky to have you.”
“That and a dollar will buy me a cup of coffee.”
“Only if you finally go to Hank’s with me.”
Quinn made a face. “I’d rather hit your partner up for a couple extra bucks and go to the Bean and get a real cup.” She stuck her nose in the bouquet and promptly sneezed. “Will there be justice?”
Justice was merely a word—and too often, a word conflated with vengeance. An eye for an eye, a pound-of-flesh philosophy that implied an equitable restitution. But that’s not how it worked. Justice was a goal. An ideal.
It couldn’t bring someone back.
But it offered hope.
Jo shrugged. “Depends on how you define it.”
They walked along the track, weaving among the other grads and attendees on their way to the parking lot.
Quinn pulled up short to allow a person in a wheelchair to cut in front of her. “How’s Olivia?”
The youngest Walsenberg was redeeming the Ambrose name. “She’s good. Getting her feet under her.” Jo said. “She asks about you all the time. Said to give you her congratulations.”
Quinn glanced down at her feet as if embarrassed, but a slight smile pulled at her lips and she started walking again. “I read online the department is getting a new chief.”
The rank and file had known about the chief’s departure for a few weeks, but the story had broken in yesterday’s morning edition. Everett Cloud had written the article. Happily, he hadn’t approached Jo for a quote.
“Chief Grimes is retiring next month,” she said. “Health issues.”
“His blood pressure, I believe.” Squint cupped his hands behind his back and rocked on the heels of his boots. “But Jo would probably know more about that than me.”
She flicked the brim of his Stetson. “Careful. Someday I might be your sergeant.”
He tipped the hat politely and drew it back into place. “I’m counting on it, ma’am.”
“Ma’am.” Quinn made a flourish with her hand. “Sounds like you should put in for chief. All the publicity you’re getting lately couldn’t hurt.”
Jo pulled a face. “One step at a time.”
Promotion didn’t seem like such a big deal anymore. She still planned on testing again for sergeant when Larson retired. But chief wasn’t even a blip on her radar. Not that a detective could jump to that level anyway—at least not without collecting a couple of intermediary ranks first. The city manager had four applicants already. Rumor had it one of the candidates was a woman. That would certainly spin Echo Valley on its head.
“In the meantime,” Jo added, “the computer forensic course I’m taking is pretty interesting. Intense.” She covered her face with her hands and laughed. “Oh my God, it’s complicated.”
“It gets easier,” Quinn said. “I promise.”
But life didn’t.
And that was okay too.
Since the night of Alice’s arrest, Jo had redeemed herself in the eyes of the department. Guys congratulated her on her tenacity. High-fived her. Asked her for advice when they got stuck. Once she might have basked in it. Taken it as validation. But that was before.
Quinn, Alice, Jo. They’d all learned lessons that night—hard lessons. But Jo had finished what she’d set out to do. And in the end, it didn’t matter who believed in her as long as she remembered to believe in herself.
At the edge of the parking lot, they stopped. The dilapidated Mini Cooper was on the end of the row. Quinn had hammered the major damage out with a ball peen, leaving it with the pockmarked rind of a giant lemon—but it ran. Squint’s truck was a few aisles farther down. Her own car was on the other side of the campus close to the widening in the road that served as an overlook.
Squint shook Quinn’s hand. “Safe travels.”
“Thanks. Watch over your partner for me. I won’t be there next time to bail her out.”
When Squint was out of earshot, Jo rounded on Quinn. “Bail me out? Since when is passing out and falling against someone’s back considered a tactical response?”
“It worked.” Quinn handed Jo the flowers. “Watch your six.”
“You too.”
Once Quinn got into her car, Jo strode toward the overlook.
The cerulean-blue sky of summer stretched into forever, and for now, the closest thing to snow was the cottonwood duff that swirled in mini dust devils along the river. She inhaled the intoxicating scent of cedar and earth and obligation that was Echo Valley. Winter would come again. The snow would fall. Jo had new boots in her locker.
She was ready.
ALSO AVAILABLE BY M. E. BROWNING
(writing as Micki Browning)
Beached
Adrift
Author Biography
Retired police captain M.E. Browning writes the Jo Wyatt Mysteries and the Agatha-nominated Mer Cavallo Mysteries (as Micki Browning) in addition to short stories and nonfiction. Her work has appeared in dive magazines, anthologies, mystery magazines, and textbooks. She lives in South Florida with her husband and a vast array of scuba equipment she uses for “research.”
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Margaret Felice
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-64385-535-6
ISBN (ebook): 978-1-64385-536-3
Cover design by Nicole Lecht
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
; Crooked Lane Books
34 West 27th St., 10th Floor
New York, NY 10001
First Edition: October 2020
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