Page 27 of Always Murder

“You never, huh?”he asked as he climbed into bed next to me.

“Never ever,” I said.I had to pause while he kissed me again, and I wondered if this was some sort of mind game—if so, I was into it.“How dare you?”

His answer was to scoot both of us around until we were lying down together, my back pressed to his chest.He did a little more wiggling.He made this sound of pure contentment that, I had to admit, raised certain ideas again.

“You had a long day,” I said, and I brought his hand to my mouth and kissed his knuckles.

“I’m going to turn into one of those hunched-over old men if I keep sitting in that cruiser,” Bobby said.“I think I need to see a chiropractor.”

“Want to go tomorrow?”

“Can’t.”A yawn interrupted him.“Salk is sick.”

I tried not to groan or moan or protest that this wasn’t fair.It wasn’t fair to Bobby.It wasn’t fair to anybody in the sheriff’s office, who were all pulling extra shifts.But the part I was particularly emotional about was that it wasn’t fair to me.

Keep your mouth shut, I told myself.Be supportive, I told myself.The last thing Bobby needs is someone nagging him about how much time he spends at work.And it’s not like hewantsto do this.

“I know you were busy,” I said, “but did you get a chance to submit your application for the detective position?”

Bobby made a sleepy sound.“Didn’t have time.”

“When’s the deadline?”

Another, even sleepier noise.

“Bobby?”

Several seconds passed before, a little too clearly, he said, “What?”

“When’s the deadline to apply?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“That’s what I said.”

It was such a strange, un-Bobby-like thing to say.With a strange, un-Bobby-like edge.I thought I could feel the tension in his body, but then I realized I couldn’t tell becauseIwas so tense.

“I don’t understand,” I said.“I thought you wanted to apply.”

Bobby’s breathing changed.After several seconds, he rolled onto his back and adjusted his pillow.Finally, he said, “Yeah.”And then, in that same tight voice, “Can I turn off the light?”

I nodded.He must have seen the movement, because a moment later, darkness swallowed us.

It felt like a long time before his hand slid across my stomach in a silent question.I laced our fingers together and squeezed, and he squeezed back, and his breathing softened into sleep.

But I was awake for a long time.

Chapter 9

The next morning, I woke up stiff, cranky, and miserable.Then I stayed in bed too long, which only made me feel worse, and when I finally dragged myself into the shower, all the little things began: I dropped my bottle of body wash, and the cap broke.I slipped in the tub and banged my knee.We were down to the little bit of toothpaste at the end of the tube, and for some reason, the thought of trying to squeeze it out filled me with near-murderous levels of rage.

By the time I made it downstairs, my disposition could be generously described assour.

Indira had already gone to the holiday market, but she’d left a crock pot full of steel-cut oats on the kitchen counter.I added maple syrup and brown sugar (the best oatmeal-flavoring combo except possibly brown sugar and cinnamon), ate, and thought.

It was hard not to think about last night.About Bobby.How much he was working.And how distant he seemed.The last time things had been like this, it had been after Bobby’s breakup with West.Bobby had been picking up a lot of extra shifts.Every extra shift, as a matter of fact.All the shifts he could.So that he wouldn’t have to deal with the real problem.

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