In From The Cold

Two hours had passed since Pete left her sitting alone in their usual booth. When he dropped his badge on the table, she knew he was off to do something dangerous, possibly illegal. Anxious, her fingernails clicked on the side of her cup.

Images flashed through her mind. Late for their meeting, the alley was a shortcut. Until a single shoe begged her to look more closely. She wished she hadn’t. Pale skin poked out from the fallen pump. Torn fishnets and a rumpled jacket. And the mottled purple face, fingers clutching at the mangled throat.

She shuddered as though the winter cold had reached in and clutched her heart.

“More coffee, dear?” Startled, her empty cup rattled against the Formica tabletop. She really didn’t need any more, but it gave her something to do while she waited. Other than to fixate on the figure burned into her brain.

“Can I get you something to eat? You look like you need some sugar.” She knew Alice was only trying to be kind. Sugar would not bring her friend back. Trying to dislodge the picture, she crushed her fists into her eyes. She could be wrong. She told Pete that before he tore off. That she must be mistaken. She could not swear to what she had seen. She wouldn’t.

“Honey? Are you okay?” Alice sat across from her, wiping up the crumbs. “You don’t look too good.”

Honey used a wan smile to answer. She didn’t feel so good either. On her word, someone was about to be arrested. And the more she thought about it, the harder it became to be certain. What if she was wrong? An innocent person would wind up in jail. On the other hand, what if she was right?

“Maybe I will take a piece of pie,” Honey replied. “It looks like Pete might be a bit.”

On the TV, a red banner flashed with the dreaded news article. Honey watched as they loaded Karen’s shrouded body into a waiting vehicle. Grief washed over her. If only they had worked faster. In the background, two men stood shoulder to shoulder. Pete had found him then.

Voice shaking, her words tumbled out, her server barely able to set the pie down before Honey started talking. Karen was with the coroner, so nothing that was said could affect her now. And Alice, a closet detective, was used to her testing out theories. The waitress leaned in to listen as Honey’s tongue tangled in her rush to share the important facts.

Pete only knew some of the story. Alice heard the rest. All of her ideas, her grief and feelings of responsibility. Honey’s hands flew about as she detailed the events, the mug falling over during her frantic recitation. She shared everything. Everything, except who she suspected.

“Easy!” Alice swiped her cloth over cooling coffee. “You’ve had quite a night. Let me grab you a glass of water.” She moved off to the kitchen, shouting to the cook as she walked.

Honey glanced up at the newscast, hoping to spot Pete. If he was safe, she could get through the remaining hours before dawn. Daylight would expose more than just clues. After three months of comparing notes and poring over photographs of crime scenes, they were finally about to put an end to this mayhem.

It wasn’t soon enough. 

But it would be enough.

The bell chimed.

“Detective?” a bass voice called from the doorway. “Can you come with me, please? You are wanted down at the station.”

Her blood chilled. Where was Pete? What was this man doing here? Honey spun around on the seat, fumbling for her can of mace. Her undercover outfit didn’t have a place to hide her weapon. Returning with her water, Alice froze at the expression on the detective’s face. The tray clattered to the floor, the glass shattering on impact.

Honey scrambled out of the booth, her coattails catching on the vinyl covering. Alice pushed back into the kitchen, yelling for the phone. Detective Bernard was glad she had shared her suspicions with the easy-going waitress. At least one of them could tell the tale.

Inspector Graves stood with his left hand concealed. “Detective?”

Images raced through her memory. She didn’t want to be right. She wanted to be an unreliable witness. But she wasn’t. He must have seen her from the end of the alley. Fear ratcheted through her. How had he known where to find her?

Panic replaced training as she faced her boss. Her hand fell to her purse as faint chimes emanated.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” the inspector asked, as he edged further into the room. “It could be Saunders.”

Honey slowly pulled out her throw-away phone. Without glancing at the screen, she answered.

“Sorry, Bernard,” came the bitter voice of her partner. “You should have left it alone.”