A Deeper Grave. Debra Webb

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       Two

      Montgomery, Alabama

      Thursday, October 20, 7:35 a.m.

      Detective Bobbie Gentry adjusted the temperature on the dash. Last week it had hit better than seventy degrees every single day. As if the weather gods suddenly woke up and realized it was fall, last night’s low abruptly dipped nearly to freezing. Football weather, her father had called it. Her husband, on the other hand, would have picked up their little boy and swung him around, announcing that the cooling temps and changing colors of the leaves meant it was time for the fair to come to town.

      Except those happy moments wouldn’t happen this year. James was dead. Their son, Jamie, was dead. And her folks had passed away years ago.

      Bobbie was alone.

      The good news was she had come to terms with the reality of her life...at least to some degree. Dying wasn’t her first thought when she woke up or whenever she thought of her little boy. Her heart no longer threatened to stop beating when she recalled her husband’s voice, or his touch or that sexy smile. At some point in the past few weeks she had stopped counting the days since her life, for all intents and purposes, had ended.

      She was alone, but she was learning to live with it.

      “I don’t need a babysitter.”

      She slowed for a traffic light and glanced at the detective in the passenger seat of her Challenger. “No one said you did, Bauer. Besides you’d do the same for me.”

      Asher Bauer stared out the window, refusing to meet her gaze. “I dunno where you get the idea that I’m a nice guy.”

      Bobbie tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. They’d had versions of this discussion numerous times before. Typically Bauer was a charming, keep-everybody-laughing kind of guy—unless he was in a mood. When he was in a mood, he considered himself the scum of the earth and wanted nothing to do with anyone. Like now.

      “Maybe I think you’re a nice guy because you brought me flowers every week when I was in the hospital and in rehab.” She sent him a knowing look. “That was a lot of flowers.”

      “Holt made me bring ’em.”

      “Yeah right. Holt had nothing to do with those flowers and we both know it.”

      Sergeant Lynette Holt wasn’t the type to suggest flowers. She barely remembered to order an arrangement for her wife when their baby was born. Bobbie wished she could turn off whatever switch had been tripped over the weekend. Last Friday Bauer had been psyched, looking forward to a trip to T-Town to watch the Crimson Tide play Texas A&M. It certainly hadn’t been the game. The Tide had crushed the Aggies. Maybe he and his date had a fight. Of course Bauer would deny he’d been on a date. Whether he called it a date or not he’d taken a female companion to the game in Tuscaloosa. They’d no doubt partied and fooled around. And, apparently, parted on less than amicable terms. He’d been in a mood since.

      “I get my Mustang back this afternoon,” Bauer said, totally ignoring the flower comment. “You and Holt don’t need to worry about picking me up after today.”

      “That’s great. You’ll feel like a free man with your wheels back.”

      Bauer grunted in response. Three weeks ago he’d left for work and barely made it a mile when another driver T-boned him. Beyond hefty damages to his beloved car, he’d sustained nothing more than a mild concussion. The fact that he hadn’t had a drink since around ten the night before ensured he was stone-cold sober at the time of the accident—another lucky break. Bauer had spent the required seventy-two hours on medical leave before returning to work and for whatever reason he’d chosen not to get a rental to use while his car was in the shop. Holt had told him to take one of the Crown Vics but he’d played off the suggestion.

      Bobbie wondered if he’d been afraid to get behind the wheel again so soon after the accident. Sometimes even people who took the most daring risks could get scared. She had asked him and he’d promptly disregarded the question in that same aloof manner he used to make people think he was arrogant. But he wasn’t. Bauer never talked down to anyone and he kept his troubles to himself. Case in point, even after two years Bobbie still didn’t know why his fiancée had committed suicide. Not that she could fault him for keeping certain things close.

      We all have our secrets. She had plenty of her own.

      “You make your meeting last night?” She braced for a sarcastic response. Asking an alcoholic if he’d gone to his AA meeting was tricky.

      “Has a cat got an ass?” He raked his fingers through his hair and then stretched his neck from side to side. “Holt said if I missed a meeting I was going on leave.”

      No cop wanted to be forced off the job, but Bobbie agreed with Holt’s edict. Bauer’s drinking had become more and more of a problem over the past year. He’d hit the wall a couple of months ago and started sneaking a drink at work when the pressure was on. Holt had ordered him to get his butt to Alcoholics Anonymous. He hadn’t argued. Apparently the accident had driven home the message that he needed to get his act together on and off the job. Bobbie figured he had realized that he might have avoided being hit if he’d been more alert rather than hungover. He hadn’t said as much, but a few of his СКАЧАТЬ