Page 8 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
“Yeah, but I always thought that was history. You don’t expect to see it hung around with twinkle lights and paraded through the middle of town. I mean, I’m not naive. I know we don’t live in a ‘post-racial society.’” She made finger quotes for the phrase; in the thick mittens, it looked like a baby’s good-bye wave. “I just thought there was enough public shame to keep it behind closed doors.”
“You need to study up on your Saint Augustine. Always expect the worst of people, and you’ll never be disappointed.”
3.
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 2
Russ had hoped to snag a table at the Kreemie Kakes Diner unnoticed in the lunchtime crush, but no one escaped Earla Davis’s eye. “Hello, stranger! Haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays. Where’s the reverend missus?”
“Home with the baby.” He scooted across a pleather banquette until he was next to the window. “Ethan’s not quite ready for dining out yet.”
“Yeah, nothing like a baby to put a damper on romantic meals for two.” She laid a stiff plastic menu on the table. “You here for a break?”
“I’m meeting up with—ah, here he comes.” The bell over the door tinkled as Lyle MacAuley, current acting chief of the MKPD, walked in.
Earla added a second menu to the first. “I’ll get you started with water and coffee, then.”
Lyle shucked his official parka and tossed it onto the other banquette. “You could have just come to the shop, you know.”
“And hello to you, too, sunshine.”
Lyle groaned as he slid across the table from Russ. “I have a pile of paperwork waiting for me.”
“You’ll always have a pile of paperwork waiting for you. Take my advice: get out of the office as much as you can.”
Lyle cocked one bushy gray eyebrow at him. “You do realize you’re a workaholic, right? I mean, clinically. You fit the definition.”
“Was a workaholic. Now I’m retired.”
Lyle snorted. “Stay-at-home dad. We’ll see how long that lasts.” He picked up a menu. “How are you doing? With all that.”
Russ slanted a smile. “That’s exactly what Knox asked me on Sunday.”
“Well, she’s a smart girl.” Lyle raised his hands. “Woman. She’s a smart woman.”
“You’re the boss, now, Lyle. You gotta set the example.”
His former deputy sighed. “I’m trying. This isnotwhat I had planned for myself. Never wanted to be chief.”
“How’s the search going?”
“What search? Those idiots on the board of aldermen can’t even agree on the basic qualifications they’re looking for. Or at least that’s what I hear. Wouldn’t surprise me if they figure they can save a couple bucks by having me in the seat until I drop dead of a heart attack from the aggravation.”
Earla appeared with two glasses of water and a mug of coffee. “Know what you want, Chief?”
“I’m not the chief anymore, Earla.” Russ glanced at the specials board. “How’s the stew?”
“Better’n your Irish granny’s and piping hot.”
“Sounds perfect for a cold day. I’ll have that.”
She turned to Lyle. “How about you, hon?”
“I’ll take the burger platter. Medium well and hold the onions, please.” Lyle smiled winningly at the waitress. “Gives me a little gas.”
She giggled. “I promise I won’t tell no one, hon. Coffee?”
“If it smells as good as his, yes, ma’am.”
