Part 7 (1/2)
”I'm hungry this morning. Thought a latte would take care of it.”
”A decaf latte,” Alvarez reminded her. ”Aren't you the same woman who drinks yesterday's Diet c.o.ke when you find it in your Jeep's cup holder and orders double or triple espresso shots if your morning gears aren't revved?”
”Sometimes.”
”All times. 'Coffee and a cigarette-a working woman's breakfast,' to quote you not so long ago.”
”A loooong time ago,” Pescoli disagreed as cash and cups were exchanged. ”I'm jazzed enough today, okay?” She handed Alvarez her cup and placed her latte into the drink holder of the console.
Alvarez took an experimental sip. ”Just wondered if you were feeling okay. Or coming down with something, considering that you lost your lunch.”
”Weird that, huh? Guess all the changes in the department have gotten to me.” Pescoli cringed inwardly, uncomfortable using Grayson's death as an excuse. But it was true enough, and she wasn't willing to admit to Alvarez just yet that she was pregnant. First, she told herself, I have to give Santana the news. She owed him that much. Then, when she felt the time was right, she'd explain it all to her partner.
But not now.
Though the snow was still coming down, it seemed lighter, the winds.h.i.+eld wipers keeping up with the flakes. The interior of the Jeep smelled of coffee, the police band crackled.
”The department's never going to be the same,” Pescoli observed, keeping emotion out of her voice with an effort as they drove past snow-crusted fields. ”I mean, without Grayson.”
Alvarez sighed, frowning into her cup as she obviously struggled with a wave of grief. Then, as if she'd convinced herself that she had to face the inevitable, she took a deep breath and said, ”We'll all just have to adjust. It'll be difficult, but that's the way it is.”
”It sucks.”
”Amen.”
Pescoli drove onto a curving bridge, a semi heading in the opposite direction. ”I was thinking about cutting back on my hours anyway and since we've got Grayson's killer in custody, I'll probably put in a request. See what happens.”
”Today?”
”Probably in the summer,” she said.
Alvarez was looking through the pa.s.senger window. She nodded as if she'd expected this conversation. ”You sure that's what you want?”
”My kids need me.”
”Okay, but they're nearly grown.”
”Then there's Santana.”
”You're marrying him. Is that a reason to be semiretired? You're not even forty, for G.o.d's sake.”
”I'm not talking retirement. Just cutting back a little.”
”What're you going to do? Take up knitting? Join a wine club? Try out new Crock-Pot recipes?”
”Give me a break.”
”Then what? Racquetball? Save mankind by joining some cause for world peace?”
Pescoli actually laughed. ”Yeah, that's it.”
”You'd miss it. Whether you know it or not, Pescoli, you live for this. Being a cop's in your blood.”
”Now you sound like some B movie from the seventies.”
”I'm serious, d.a.m.n it.”
”So that's it? You think we're destined to be together, riding in these Jeeps in the snow and ice, chasing bad guys, risking our lives and bowing to the likes of Hooper Blackwater?” She finally took a sip of her latte and scowled. ”Jesus! People really drink this stuff?” The milky-sweet coffee hit her stomach and seemed to curdle. Dropping the cup back into its holder she added, ”I don't need working eighty hours plus some weeks in my life.”
Alvarez sent her a sharp look. ”This is all about Blackwater and we both know it.” When Pescoli didn't respond, she added tautly, ”I don't like the new sheriff either, but he's what we're stuck with. For now. You're not the only one missing Dan Grayson.”
Pescoli should have left it alone, but she was too raw, too bothered. ”Yeah, well, I didn't fancy myself in love with him, either,” she snapped and saw her partner's lips tighten. ”What the h.e.l.l was that all about?”
”Nothing.”
”Oh, come on.” She hit the gas and sped around a tractor inching down the highway, the driver huddled against the elements in a thick jacket and hat with ear flaps. ”Jesus. Why the h.e.l.l would you pull your John Deere out in this weather?” she grumbled.
Alvarez, obviously stung, didn't answer. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and turned her attention to her e-mail and texts, scanning them quickly ”Got reports from the O'Halleran neighbors. The Zukovs, Ed and Tilly, who live on one side of the O'Halleran spread. They told the deputy they saw nothing, were inside all day because of the blizzard.”
”Smart.”
”Same with the Foxxes, who are on the other side of the Zukovs. The husband ventured out to his barn, but took care of his cattle and that was it. Haven't heard from the ranch across the road or the one on the other side of the O'Hallerans yet.” She tucked her phone into her pocket.
”I'm thinking whoever did it came in from the back,” Pescoli said.
”A team checked the nearest access road.”
”Tracks?” She felt a little ray of hope.
”Some. Maybe hunters.”
”In this?” Pescoli said, staring out the winds.h.i.+eld.
”Or cross-country skiers or snowsh.o.e.rs. People don't necessarily stay inside just because it's cold or snowing.”
”Then they're idiots.”
Alvarez gave her a long look. ”What's going on with you?”
Oh, s.h.i.+t. She'd hoped that since the conversation had turned to the case at hand it wouldn't circle back to her. ”What do you mean?”
”Don't play dumb. You're even more out of sorts than usual.”
”Nice,” she said, gripping the wheel more tightly as the farmland gave way to the outskirts of Missoula, but she silently admitted Alvarez had a point. Pescoli's emotions were all over the place. Since there wasn't much she could do about them, she shut up. Alvarez again buried herself in the information flowing through her phone and they drove the short distance to the hospital in uncomfortable silence.
Each lost in her own thoughts, they parked, hurried inside, and took the elevator down to the morgue. Pescoli tried not to dwell on the fact that Dan Grayson had given up his tenuous grip on the world, because, like it or not, that part of her life was over.
Ryder's breakfast consisted of black coffee from the machine in the motel's lobby and a burrito of sorts from a vending machine in the mini-mart located at the intersection half a block from the River View's front entrance. Even with the addition of hot sauce from a couple free packets he'd gotten at the store, the meal was tasteless, but he didn't much care. Along with the burrito, he'd picked up a newspaper, a bag of chips, a packet of jerky, and a six-pack of Bud, which he'd tucked into the tiny insulated cabinet the River View's management had optimistically dubbed a refrigerator.