Northern Blue by Tracey Richardson

Author:Tracey Richardson [Richardson, Tracey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781562801182
Amazon: 156280118X
Goodreads: 3100043
Publisher: Naiad Pr
Published: 1996-02-29T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

When Miranda returned to Hooperstown, she immersed herself in her work. Even on her days off, she was at the office perfecting her paperwork or reading court transcripts to prepare for upcoming trials where she’d have to testify. She went to any lengths to avoid thinking of Miki or her one-night stand with Maggie.

At the same time, she avoided Ken. She couldn’t be around him right now. Would he be able to see it in her face? Or hear it in her voice? She couldn’t maintain the facade, not after reliving her past and having made love with a woman again.

Work excuses kept him at bay, though she couldn’t put him off forever, she told herself as she absently steered the police cruiser down a narrow alley. How long before Ken starts demanding answers, before he senses something’s wrong?

Maybe she could ease her way out of this relationship. If she could get out of it quietly and tactfully, maybe it wouldn’t hurt her career. Single people were promotable too, as long as they came across as stable and weren’t promiscuous. Maybe if Ken got the idea that something’s wrong, it wouldn’t be so bad after all!

Boxes and garbage bags were piled high outside the back doors of the row of downtown businesses. It was early yet. The dashboard’s digital clock blinked seven forty-five. The storeowners hadn’t arrived yet to get ready for another day’s business. Miranda liked to start her twelve-hour day-shifts by cruising alleys behind the stores checking for open doors, broken windows, or any other signs of overnight break-ins.

She shook herself from her brooding, forcing her attention to the windows and doors. Get with the game Miranda!

Everything looked in order, even the sleeping, blanketed heap behind a large brown garbage bin she knew would be Max Detweiler, one of the city’s homeless drunks.

Easing the large Caprice to a stop, Miranda got out and stretched, taking her time. It was going to be another warm day. With luck, maybe Indian summer was here. Maybe she’d even get the chance to hit the golf course soon and whack her frustrations away. Filling her lungs with the garbage-tinged air, Miranda felt like smiling. A new sense of freedom, of hope, felt closer than it had in a while.

Squatting, Miranda tapped the blanketed mound. When it didn’t stir, she firmly shook it.

“Max, hey wake up, Max!”

Finally a low groan emerged from deep inside the curled up, motionless heap.

Miranda shook her head at the sight of the empty bottle of cheap Scotch whisky lying beside him.

“C’mon Max, I haven’t got all day. Wake up!”

Miranda rarely bothered the few homeless who roamed the streets and slept behind trash bins or under bridges unless someone — a taxpayer, that is — complained about them. But she knew Max was routinely up with the sun, and the fact that he wasn’t worried her a little.

After another minute, a tousled gray mop and unshaven face poked out from the thinning, wool blanket. Squinting and blinking, Max tried to focus on the face and the uniform leaning over him.

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