In Full Force: Badges of Becker County

by Kathy Altman

  “Sheila and I are moving to the city,” Dix said. “I have a month left with the department.”

  Mo’s jaw went slack. “Didn’t see that one coming,” he said finally. “Didn’t see that one coming at all.” He ran his palm over his face. “Your wife is one lucky woman.”

  “Gee, Morrissey, I didn’t know you cared.”

  “Fuck you.”

  They all went quiet as Big Mike delivered their food.

  “I hate change,” Mo muttered.

  “Speaking of which.” Charity grimaced. “We need to talk about Oliver Bloom.”

  “No, we don’t,” said Dix, jaw as hard as the table beneath their elbows. Charity hesitated and glanced at Mo, who aimed a defiant glower across the table, as if daring Dix to crack a smile. Yes. Good. No wallowing allowed. There’d be plenty of time for that later.

  Charity told them about her encounter with Oliver Bloom outside the courthouse. Ten minutes after that, she and Morrissey were laughing their asses off. Dix, on the other hand, remained stone-faced.

  “Bet he can quote Pretty Woman, too.” Mo saw their faces and flushed. “Hey, if watching ninety minutes of a chick flick means my dick will see some action, I’m all for it.” He shook his head at Charity. “But Oliver Bloom? A little old for you, isn’t he?”

  “Father figure,” Dix muttered into his whiskey.

  “You still here?” Charity glared. “I thought you were leaving.”

  “I would like to finish my sandwich first.”

  “I’m sure Big Mike would be happy to wrap it to go.” She picked at her turkey sub. “Sorry, Dix. I didn’t mean to make this about me. But Mo, I need to let you know. If Bloom wins the election, you’re on your own.”

  Mo choked on a fry. “What does that mean?”

  “Means I can’t work with the guy.”

  He took a deep pull of his beer and held the mug aloft, staring morosely at the few inches of liquid left inside. “Where does that leave me?”

  “Easy enough.” Dix pushed away his empty glass. “Pull your head out of Bloom’s ass and help her win.”

  Charity stiffened. “You’re backing Bloom?”

  Mo’s face flamed so fiercely she half expected to see steam coming out of his ears. “It’s not personal. Bloom’s older, has military experience, and was a state trooper for more than twenty years. He’s better qualified.”

  “He’s also an asshole,” gritted Charity.

  “No argument there.”

  “But you’d feel more comfortable working for him.”

  “Not for him. With him.”

  Gaze traveling to the curved bar that on Friday night would be stacked three customers deep, Charity lifted her tea and pretended to drink. Hurt, heavy and cold, crawled into her chest and pressed on her lungs as she automatically scanned the half-dozen barflies, cataloging their clothes, expressions, body language.

  She knew she wasn’t the popular choice for sheriff. She simply hadn’t expected any of her own team to vote against her.

  A loud clack and a rattle as on the other side of the bar someone started a fresh pool game with an overzealous break shot. Tea sloshed as Charity jerked in response.

  A masculine chuckle sounded over her shoulder. “Jumpy, much?”

  She shifted in her seat and looked up at Cal Brennan, the firefighter she’d been thinking about moments ago, and couldn’t keep her face from heating. He gave her a wink and nodded at Mo and Dix. It didn’t take him long to register the somber mood at the table, and his smile dimmed.

  “Sorry for interrupting,” he said. “You’re probably discussing Sarah’s case. We were all shocked to hear what happened.”

  His partner Nina Morales moved up behind him, tugging at the cuffs of her long-sleeved uniform shirt. “Sarah sold me my house when I moved here,” she said. “If there’s anything we can do, please let us know.”

  “Hey.” Mo spoke in a loud and suggestive drawl, drowning out Charity’s thank-you. “What have you two been up to?” He gestured at their wrinkled navy uniforms and tousled hair.

  Instantly Nina’s hands flew to her thick, dark ponytail and the band that seemed determined to escape it, while Cal scrubbed his fingers through his own short sandy hair.

  “Screw you, Deputy,” Cal said cheerfully. “I’ll have you know we just survived four hazardous duty hours as the after-school special. And we’re not even on shift today.”

  “Can’t tell you how many times we got in and out of our bunker gear.” Nina offered a wry smile. “The kids insisted on timing us.”

  Dix grunted. “Middle schoolers?”

  “They’re brutal.” Nina exaggerated a shudder.

  “We’ll let you get back to your meal.” Cal pulled out his wallet. “This is on me. Everyone at the station appreciates what you’re doing for Sarah.”

  Nina shot him a questioning look while Mo popped up and gave him a knuckle-bump.

  Cal set some bills on the table and slid them toward Charity. “You look good, Char.” His tone was sincere, and mostly free of flirtation. “Still living on coffee and Pop-Tarts?”

  “You’re one to talk. The slightest whiff of chocolate and you’re reduced to a quivering, drooling mess. Am I right?” She looked to Nina for confirmation and that’s when she caught it. The combination of envy and hurt that flared on the female firefighter’s face.

  Charity bit her lip. Crap. Nina Morales was in love with her partner. A man who could barely commit to the contents of his grocery cart before making it to the checkout counter. That had worked fine for Charity, but she could tell Nina was a different story. And her feelings were obvious, to anyone paying attention.

  No one was paying attention.

  Especially not Cal, who was craning his neck so he could catch the action at the pool table. Dix was frowning down into his empty glass, no doubt considering a refill, and Mo was checking out his sideburns in the chrome-plated napkin holder.

  “I just spotted Sunny with Cass.” Cal jabbed a brotherly elbow into Nina’s ribs. “C’mon, partner. Let’s go show them a thing or two about wielding a cue.”

  Charity watched them go, the acceptance on Nina’s face a miserable thing to see, now that Charity knew what was behind it. Suddenly Cal whipped back around.

  “Hey, congrats on the sheriff thing,” he called. “You can count on my vote.” With a grin he turned away again and followed Nina to the pool table.

  Silence descended. Mo poked his beer mug. Dix muttered something in Cree.

  More silence.

  When Charity’s cell jangled Brenda June’s ringtone, her eyes burned with relief. Sixty seconds and a murmured conversation later, she was able to face her coworkers without crying like a baby.

  “That was Brenda June, passing on a message from the ME. Sarah died roughly between ten and eleven p.m.”

  Mo pulled a face. “Doesn’t help our case against Drew Langford.”

  Charity swallowed a smug retort. “We also have her phone records now, and Dispatch verified the timestamp on the text Sarah sent to Drew. Eight twelve p.m.”

  Mo sat up. “So Sarah did send the text.”

  “Or whoever has her phone did,” Charity said.

  Dix eased his elbows back and stretched. “No luck locating it?”

  “Couldn’t ping it. It’s either dead, or whoever has it knew enough to take the battery out. And I’ve had no luck recreating her day.” She sighed. “Drew wasn’t with her, and her coworkers haven’t been much help.”

  She really needed to know where Scott Langford had been Wednesday night. Kate, too. She also needed to set up an interview with Keith Tarrant and the ever-popular Lawyer Quinn.

  As if she didn’t already have enough paperwork.

  “The service is Tuesday.” Mo signaled for the bill. “Want to bet how many of Sarah’s ex-lovers show up?”

  “At least one,” Charity said softly.

  Mo looked away. “It could get ugly.”

  “I hope it does.” Dix reached for his walle
t. “We could use some fresh leads.”

  * * *

  Grady backed away from the doorway of the upstairs den, where Matt and Drew were playing video games. His shoulder ached—he’d been leaning against the jamb for a while, watching what looked like World War II tanks take on some kind of Ninja zombies. All he knew was, he was way out of his league. What had ever happened to Mario Brothers?

  On his way back to his room, he pulled his cell from his pocket. He’d been fighting the urge to call Charity since Drew had walked through the front door. Might as well give in to the impulse. Whether or not she’d pick up was another story.

  She picked up.

  He sank down onto the foot of the bed. His sweatpants were slick on the navy-and-maroon-striped comforter and he almost fell on his ass. “Hey,” he said, thighs straining as he struggled back onto the bed. “It’s nice to have my nephew home where he belongs.”

  On the other end of the phone, keys jingled, and a door opened and shut. A thud shortly after had him picturing Charity dropping her purse on the small table by her front door.

  “I hope you didn’t call to thank me,” she said. “We didn’t have enough evidence to charge him.”

  “I still want to help.”

  “I still have to say no.”

  He got to his feet and wandered over to the window. He pushed the drapes aside and stared out at the side yard, dimly lit from the spillover of the spotlights out front. “Rough day?”

  “How did you know?”

  The wary surprise in her voice made his lips twitch. “Something about your tone. Plus I was there when my son gave you a hard time, remember?”

  “That was one of the nicer things that happened to me today.” She sighed. “I found out Dix is leaving.”

  He let go of the drapes. Soundlessly they shifted back into place. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I was, too.” Bottles rattled and something thumped. She’d opened and shut her fridge. “I’ll miss him.”

  He thought of the photos on her wall. “How much?”

  “Don’t you have some spreadsheets to update or stocks to annualize?”

  With a chuckle, he turned and sat on the window sill. The curtain rod squeaked as the drapes pulled tight. “What do you know about annualizing?”

  “Not a thing. I must have heard it on TV.”

  “I was wondering about something.”

  Moments passed. A gurgling sound—she was pouring herself a glass of something. Orange juice, probably.

  “You do realize,” she said dryly, “that you have me wondering what you’re wondering?”

  “Did you ever get a dog?”

  Her refrigerator opened and shut again. “My hours aren’t pet friendly.”

  He waited.

  She made a little humming sound of resignation. “How about you?”

  “Yeah.” He stood, and began to pace. “Zeus. He’s a mix, but he has a lot of black Lab in him. Matt’s babysitter has him until we get back.”

  “I doubt Matt appreciates the word ‘babysitter.’”

  “He wouldn’t appreciate her no matter what I called her. She’s our neighbor, Mrs. Karpinski. Matt’s always complaining she smells like salami.”

  Charity’s throaty laugh rippled through him. “Does she?”

  “She kind of does. Hey.” He turned left at the door and paced toward the closet. The hand holding his phone was starting to get sweaty. “You know one of the things I’ve missed most about you? Your voice. It’s like soft, warm sand. Naughty sand. Sand on a nudist’s beach.” He groaned. “Jesus, never mind.”

  Charity sputtered. “I didn’t know sand had a sound, let alone a naughty one.”

  He grinned at the inside of the mostly empty closet, wondering when the hell he’d opened the door. “We’ll be sure to hit the beach when you come to see us in Seattle.”

  She didn’t respond to that. He hadn’t expected her to, but still he lost the urge to grin.

  “Tell me about it,” she said brightly. “Seattle.”

  He shut the closet door and paced on toward the bathroom, which was bigger than his master bath back home. “It’s a beautiful city.” He flicked on the light, scowled into the mirror and gave his reflection the loser sign. “Crowded, though. Traffic can be a nightmare, which is one reason I work from home. The cost of living keeps getting higher.” He turned off the light and backed out of the room. “But the parks are great, and there’s lots of waterfront. If Matt and I aren’t out on the water, we’re kicking the soccer ball around.”

  “Do you have a house there?” Charity asked.

  “Condo. We’ve done some house hunting off and on, but nothing’s spoken to us yet.”

  “Matt seems like a good kid,” she said, tentatively.

  “He is.” Grady finished his circuit of the room, and dropped back down onto the foot of the bed. He propped a hand on his thigh. “He’s firmly in the rebellious stage, but I’m not going to give up hope that he’ll eventually run out of reasons to resent me.”

  “I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that you’re a father.”

  “There are days I struggle with that myself.” He switched the phone to his other hand and dried his palm on his thigh. “Tell me something. What did you resent most about your mother?”

  Charity inhaled and exhaled. “Grady, what are we doing?”

  “Catching up.”

  “Because?”

  “This time when I leave, I’d like for us to at least be on speaking terms.”

  She blurted an uneven laugh. “How am I supposed to argue with that?”

  Grady heard a clattering sound, and Charity said something from a distance. More muffled sounds, followed by her voice back in his ear.

  “Sorry about that,” she said. “I dropped the phone.” She cleared her throat. “Okay, here goes. When I was Matt’s age, I suppose I resented not having a father. I used to fantasize that if he were still around, he’d always side with me, and raise the odds to two against three.”

  “You have the resources to find him now,” Grady said. He bent forward, staring at his socked feet as he swept them apart and together, apart and together over the plush carpeting that was so clean, it looked brand new.

  Hell, knowing his mother’s fondness for redecorating, it probably was brand new. “You were never tempted to track him down?”

  “He left when I was four, and not once has he contacted us. He made it clear he was done.”

  “You haven’t talked to me in twelve years. And no, leaving a voicemail saying you forgive me but please don’t call again doesn’t count.” Regret almost shoved the words back down his throat. “Does that mean you’re done with me?”

  “Hold on while I get rid of my rig.” A pair of thunks as she put down first her phone then her duty belt. Seconds later, she was back. “We live completely separate lives hundreds of miles apart. We were done with each other, until you came back to help Justine.”

  “So when the investigation is over, that’s it?”

  “What about all those girlfriends back in Seattle?” she teased.

  “Char.”

  She let out a breath. “I promise not to avoid you the next time you come to town.”

  Grady gritted his teeth. Thanks a whole hell of a lot.

  “So what about you?” The double thud of her boots hitting the floor and the rustling on her end made it pretty obvious she was readjusting pillows and settling back against her headboard. “What did you resent most about your parents?”

  “When I was Matt’s age?” Grady tucked his cell between his ear and his shoulder and scooted backwards, his socked feet digging into the comforter until his spine rested against his own headboard. “I guess I’d have to say the expectation that I’d be the best at everything. School, soccer, swimming, Scouts, even tending bar for all those booze-fests they called fundraisers.”

  She inhaled sharply. “You never told me about that.”

  He shrugged, though she couldn’t see it.
“You and I had a pact. We agreed we’d never touch the stuff. I didn’t want you to know I wasn’t holding up my end.”

  “You weren’t drinking, you were mixing. And they’re your parents, so it’s not like you had much of a choice. Though I can’t believe no one reported them for having a minor mix their cocktails.”

  Grady grabbed a round throw pillow, tossed it up into the air and caught it again. “You should have seen my father’s face when I told him I had no intention of going to medical school. His cheeks were the color of grenadine.”

  Charity snorted. “You should have seen my mother’s face when I told her about the police academy. Her cheeks were the color of crème de menthe.”

  “You sound like you know your liqueur.”

  “I had a boyfriend who was a bartender.”

  Grady chuckled. “I miss this.”

  “I have to go.”

  He closed his eyes. “I know.”

  “Good night, Grady.”

  “Good night, Char.” He ended the call and hurled the pillow across the room.

  * * *

  The following afternoon, Charity’s fingers shook as she scrolled through her recent calls. When she landed on Grady’s number, she jabbed at the Send button and slapped the phone to her ear.

  This conversation would be nowhere near as civil as the one they’d shared last night.

  Two and a half days. Two and a half days since Drew Langford had discovered Sarah Huffman’s body in a public parking lot, and Charity was no closer to finding the killer than she was to calling it quits with coffee.

  Hence the jumbo-sized takeout cup currently warming the insides of her thighs.

  She banged the side of her fist against the steering wheel. She’d expected sadness. Curiosity. Wariness. Maybe even a little resentment for the badge and the questions it gave her the right to ask. What she hadn’t expected from the people of Becker County? Hostility. If they didn’t believe she wanted to clear Drew so she could get back together with Grady, they believed she was trying to frame Drew to punish Grady for the breakup.

  They could remember prehistoric teenage drama but couldn’t remember the stop sign at the corner of Springfield and Butternut?

  Her anger had started out as annoyance when Sarah Huffman’s banker, hair stylist, and mechanic had all refused to answer her questions. It had turned into full-fledged fury after she’d stomped out of Scott Langford’s townhouse not ten minutes earlier. It kept her sitting in her SUV in front of said townhouse because she knew better than to drive. Lord only knew how many stop signs she’d take out before she worked the bitterness out of her system.