Page 23 of Road Queens
It’s not even like I want her specifically,he told himself. But her qualities were important, and the lack thereof would always be a deal-breaker for him. He wanted a partner as brave as they were smart, who wouldn’t ignore an injustice, who would risk their personal safety to help someone.
Then you should try going out with cops.
He pondered the irony of wanting a risk-taking partner while knowing he’d worry himself into an aneurysm whenever she was in danger. He’d been sorry to see OpStar disband, but a small part of him had also been relieved. No more worrying that a disgruntled abusive spouse would empty a shotgun at the three of them. Or track them down one by one when they were vulnerable.
Not just vulnerable. Cornerable. Easy prey.
His sister and niece were safe. OpStar, while fractured, was safe. Cassandra had left town. Amanda and Sidney would carry on. He had told himself to follow their examples and put it all behind him.
Except he hadn’t. And the reason was right in front of him: the second bedroom, which contained the time-honored tradition of the obsession board. Or, in his case, wall. On said wall was every clipping about OpStar, a few maps, some mug shots, articles about Cassandra’s mother (not so many now, but back in the day there’d been dozens), etcetera. After a year of not setting foot in the office of obsession except to vacuum, he’d updated it yesterday with the clipping of Franklin Donahue’s murder.
And then he’d met them on his own, without anyone in crisis.
So much for putting all of it behind him, or even part of it. Who was he kidding? He wanted them all safe—the least he could do for his sister. He couldn’t bind them in Bubble Wrap for any number of reasons, but if Cassandra was innocent, he wanted to help. If she wasn’t, he ... didn’t know what he wanted.
Better hope she didn’t do it, then.
Yep. But regardless of who did it, Sean couldn’t allow Donahue’s murder to be the thing that came lurching out of OpStar’s past like a fairy-tale giant to swallow them whole.
Have you been in a holding pattern all this time? For this very reason?
No idea. Also, moot. His focus now: figuring out a plan to help them, whether they wanted it or not.
CHAPTER TEN
Sidney’s first thought each time she visited Minnesota DOC offender #266782 was to marvel at how Iris Rivers wasn’t aging. At all. The whole family was like that; Cass occasionally got carded at movie theaters. Or at least, five years ago she had.
All that to say the Rivers’s genes were top notch. From a physical standpoint, if nothing else.
“So fucking aggravating,” Sidney said by way of greeting.
“Only my prison hairdresser knows for sure,” Iris replied, patting her silver-streaked brown hair, which, it had to be said, was impeccably cut. Iris Rivers: convicted felon, Capricorn, regular contributor to thePrison Mirror. “Hi, sweetie! And you’ve brought Sidney.” She smiled at both of them as they took seats across from her. “Which one of you lost a bet?”
MCF-Stillwater was, according to their website, a “level 4 close-security facility.” The place housed about eight hundred offenders and was a half hour motorcycle ride from Prescott. Sidney and Amanda had visited semiregularly with Cassandra when they were teenagers, and they continued long after Cass’s departure. They didn’t coordinate. There wasn’t a schedule. Every couple of months since Cass had left them, Sidney would go see Iris, mostly to make sure she was all right but also to do the casualSo, heardfrom Cassandra lately?follow-up. Amanda did the same (though she professed not to give a ripe shit what Cassandra was up to) whenever she ran across new reading material Iris might like.
Visiting an offender wasn’t like in the movies. There wasn’t plexiglass between them; the visitor and their offender of choice weren’t yakking into a phone. They weren’t searched; they weren’t hassled by corrupt, brutal guards; they just had to show ID. Iris Rivers, displaying years of docility before and after her crimes, wasn’t considered dangerous enough to relegate her few visitors to a separate, safer visiting room.
So Cass and Sidney got to wait in a room that looked very like a bus station, complete with stubborn vending machines and fantastically uncomfortable plastic chairs with mint-green seats. And Iris was thrilled to see both of them, which meant Sidney had to endure an embrace. Hugs, unfortunately, were allowed. Maybe kisses too. Nightmare.
“Nobody lost a bet,” Cass replied, squeezing her mom so hard the older woman’s feet dangled four inches above the tile. “I needed a ride and Sid obliged.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, Iamawesome,” Sidney deadpanned. “How you been, Iris?”
“Well enough, dear. And it’s so nice to see a familiar face.”
“What, instead of strange faces?” Sidney joked.
Iris didn’t smile. “Yes, exactly so, Sidney.”
Cassandra cleared her throat. “You look great, Mom.”
“Aggravatingly great, according to Sidney.”
“I said what I said.”
“Are you okay in here?” Cass asked, looking around the large room. To the staff’s credit, it could have been a conference room in an office building, except for the guards and warning signs. “Anybody giving you shit? Any gang wars we should be worried about?”
