True Crime Fiction by Michael Lister

Author:Michael Lister [Lister, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781947606029
Publisher: Pulpwood Press
Published: 2019-02-25T22:00:00+00:00

163

The moon is low and directly above Lake Julia behind our house, its pale beam shimmering on the dark surface of the water like sunshine on the Gulf in late afternoon.

The February night is clear and cold, and Anna and I are in our hot tub on the back porch of our home beneath a billion brilliant stars.

Steam rises up from the bubbling water and from our mouths as we talk. I am leaning back on the side of the tub, Anna sitting between my legs is leaning back on me. All but our heads and the tops of our shoulders are submerged in the warm water.

A nearby chair holds two towels, her robe, and both baby monitors—one for Taylor and one for Sam.

“How’d it go today?” she asks.

“What’s that?”

“Resigning.”

“Funny thing happened on the way to turn in my resignation,” I say with a smile she can’t see, but can probably hear.

“You didn’t do it.”

“I talked to Ida, Kathryn, and Acqwon instead.”

She nods. “But it’s not like you really wanted to resign anyway.”

“True. But I can’t keep this up.”

Though the truth is I’m not sure how we’ll be able to afford everything—including child support for Johanna and Sam’s care—if I have only one job.

“I know,” she says. “It’s too much on you. And I want to see you more.”

“That’s the main reason I’m doing it.”

“But you’re going to look into Qwon’s case for Ida first.”

“Is that okay?” I ask.

“Of course. I think he may well be innocent.”

“Good possibility. Fascinating case. Can’t wait to dig down deeper into it.”

“I’d like to help.”

“Planned on asking you to. Merrill, too, if he can.”

“If what Kathryn says is true, and I have no reason to believe that it’s not, he couldn’t’ve done it, and he certainly didn’t get a fair trial.”

I nod.

Anna’s head is leaning back on my shoulder so we feel, rather than see, each other’s nods.

As usual, as we talk in the hot tub, my hands are all over her body, caressing, touching, exploring—both on and under her bathing suit. And as usual, she doesn’t rebuff my wandering hands, something I’m extremely grateful for. There’s no way I can be this close to her in this situation with this level of relative nudity and not touch her in the way that, out of the seven-and-a-half-billion people on the planet, only I can.

“You still feel like you owe Miss Ida, don’t you?” she says.

I think about it before responding, eventually nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“You found her son’s killer,” she says. “Did what no one else could or would. How can you blame yourself for who it was and what happened?”

“I don’t. Not for who did it. But . . . I . . . the way it all . . . I could’ve . . . people died because I didn’t figure things out fast enough, didn’t act fast enough once I did.”

She turns around to face me.

“I wish you didn’t walk around with that,” she says.

“I don’t. But when I think of it or am reminded about it .

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