Take Your Turn, Teddy by HALEY NEWLIN

Author:HALEY NEWLIN
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: New Degree Press
Published: 2020-12-04T21:46:14+00:00

5

Finch and Strode sat in a crappy diner drinking coffee that tasted as stale as the place smelled. Strode rolled his neck. The hotel he’d stayed in, one of only three in Three Oaks, didn’t grant him a good night’s sleep. It had offered the hardest, maybe dirtiest mattress he had ever slept on. Then again, he didn’t think he’d have slept any better in his own bed. Too much was on his mind. Too many questions that he couldn’t answer.

Burklow stood on what was left of the splitting sidewalk out front. He held a thick cigar between two fingers and was taking deep inhales, smiling after each one like a man celebrating his daughter’s wedding day.

Strode supposed some men woke up with a cup of coffee, others with a big fat cigar. He studied the oversized officer out front and wondered how much help he was really going to be in all this. Part of him wished Finch was older, and that he was, well, not thought of as a mental case. Then they could just handle it on their own.

Finch caught Strode watching Burklow and said, “He used to be good, you know. Burklow moved around from city to city, really whenever they needed him.”

Be present, more than a two-dimensional figure in the background.

Strode turned to Finch to show he was listening, but then she seemed to be the one floating away. She stared at Burklow. He was fat, thick-skulled, in Strode’s opinion, and he already saw him as more of an obstacle than any help.

Finch spoke without thought, as though the words themselves fell out of her mouth. “Burklow was a detective back in the day.”

Strode gave Burklow another look. He guessed he did look older than Strode initially thought. Certainly older than him and Finch. Burklow had strong lines across his forehead and a small bald spot on the top of his head that Strode hadn’t noticed before.

“A damn good detective too.”

Finch’s eyes pulled from the window but fell to the sticky table between her and Strode. “Now I’m stuck with him. It’s like having a child for a partner. I call him when he’s overslept after a long night with Mr. Daniels.”

Strode gave her a blank look.

Finch raised her hand and closed her fingers like they were hugging a glass. “You know, Mr. Daniels.”

Strode did know. Conversations like this, this one-on-one thing, weren’t his strong suit anymore. But still, he tried. “Well, then, if he was so great once, what happened?”

“His daughter. His only daughter. She got hurt. And Jack—Burklow, I mean—blames himself. I think he drinks himself to sleep every night because he can’t bear to be alone with his thoughts. Alone in a house that used to be full of love and laughter that now sits quietly.”

They both looked to Burklow outside to make sure he wasn’t coming in. The cigar between his fingers was only halfway gone. They still had a little time.

Finch went on. “They got into it one night. You see, Burklow’s wife died.

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