Page 5 of Too Much Heat

“I’ll do this my way. End of discussion. Now tell me about Maisy and Freddie.”

“Freddie’s great. He’s made a lot of friends. It seems like there’s always one or two other kids in the house.”

“Does he still see Maisy’s brother?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s with Caleb often.”

“I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Come over for dinner.”

“I’d like to visit with your family. But no setup.”

“Okay.” He sat forward and opened the pizza box. “We should eat this before it gets cold.”

Joe grabbed a slice, thinking how glad he was Jackson had come over. He really did need to get out more.

* * *

Goddamn him. He was sitting outside with his good buddy yakking it up. He had it made with this big house and a nice car and clothes. He’d climbed the ladder to Captain at an unusuallyfast pace because he had pull in the department. Ostensibly, he had no personal life, which I find hard to fathom. After all, he was an attractive man. But none of it mattered. He had to pay.

* * *

Lara was whipped when she walked up to the porch. She stumbled over the loose board but righted herself and made it to the door. Thesqueakyscreen door. The outside of her house was falling apart and they still had a lot to do inside. They’d moved right in as soon as they’d gotten to town because the furniture arrived ahead of them.

The ever-present noise of the television—up very loud—grated on her nerves. She took a breath and let it out, then went inside.

“About time,” her husband said, his tone surly, like it got at the end of the day. And she noticed his speech seemed more slurred.

“Hello to you, too. Hello, Monica.” Sammy needed an aide.

Lara came around the couch and kissed his cheek. “And for the record, I came straight home from work.”

He grumbled something.

She ushered Monica to the door. “How’d it go today?”

“Okay. No outbursts. But boy, how do you put up with that dark mood he’s in?”

“He’s got reason.”

She squeezed Lara’s arm and left.

Lara went back to the living room and sat down across from Sammy. His entire body seemed to be caving into itself as he eased back on the reclining part of the couch. As usual, his eyes were haunted.

“How was your day, Sam?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Please don’t be nasty.”

“Okay. Sorry. I’m hungry.” He could still eat real food but had trouble swallowing so the meal had to be soft.

“I’m going to cook pasta.”

“Okay.”

“Did something happen to make you more cranky than usual?”

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