Parrots Prove Deadly by Clea Simon

Author:Clea Simon
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2013-02-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-six

Attraction is a funny thing. You’d think that having studied animals, I’d have some insight. Truth is, I barely get it: I know what I want, but I don’t always know why. Jim Creighton, for example. Sure, he’s good looking, in that healthy boy-next-door way. And there’s something about that short, light brown hair that begs to be touched. But he is a cop, through to the bone. And while I’d dated cops before, I’d never really spent time with a clean one. Not voluntarily. Tom, my ex from the city, barely counted. He’d been on the job when we hooked up, but giving me my switchblade, which he’d taken from some young thug, had been the least of his transgressions. Last time I’d seen him, he’d gone into the private sector. He’d also gone to seed. I’d let him go, thinking I’d seen the last of him. When I thought of Tom, it was of somebody far out to sea. He was going to sink, and I couldn’t help him.

Creighton, though, he was different. And as I sat in my car by the side of the road, I found the good-looking detective preying on my mind. Part of that was because of the time. Going on eight, there was a good chance he’d be dropping by the house soon. He’d probably have another pizza, or maybe a six-pack. He didn’t need an offering, though. We’d gotten into a good routine.

He wouldn’t find me at home tonight, though, not any time soon. I was waiting by the side of the road for Jerry Gaffney to leave work, and wondering why he hadn’t. There was something going on with the Evergreen Hills condos, that much was clear, and while I seemed to have developed a taste for a law and order man, my own methods were more direct. Then again, maybe that was why I liked Creighton. Contemplating what I was about to do wasn’t that far from ruffling his neat, short hair.

The thought was tempting, almost enough to make me give up and drive back home. Besides, my hand needed a proper bandaging, and I needed some aspirin and bourbon. As I reached for the key, however, I finally saw the headlights. Jerry Gaffney in that fancy truck pulled onto the main road and drove back toward town. I was ready to go.

While I’d waited, the storm had passed, and a bit of faint moonlight lit my way back up the condo road. Driving slowly—my engine can be loud—I bypassed the main office building and pulled in by that last building, a little back from where Jerry had parked. If anyone looked, I hoped the dark and the trees would keep my car from being obvious. At least in this light, the baby blue paint job wouldn’t be particularly noticeable. Before I got out, I reached into the glove compartment for my flashlight, and I was set.

My time with Tom had taught me a few things. One was that burglars could be stupid.

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