High Noon

emotion. “Do you think that ever mattered to me?”
    “It should have.”
    “That’s you, Phoebe. You’ve got a tough mind in there, and you tend to draw hard lines with it.”
    “Mama—”
    “Maybe you’ve had to have one, and maybe you need those lines. And still, my darling girl, what wouldn’t you do to be sure your Carly is safe and well? Did you leave Roy, when God knows you hate to give up on anything, hate to lose? Did you walk away from the FBI for yourself, or because you believed it was better for her if you took the position with the local police? For her, and for me—and don’t think I haven’t always known that. Did you count the cost?”
    “It’s not the same, Mama. She treated you like dirt, and Carter little better.”
    “And I’ve always felt there was a special place in hell with her name on it for the times she pinched and poked at that poor little boy. But he had a home, and food, and he had you and me. He had Ava, God love her, for good measure.”
    “The house should’ve been yours, free and clear.”
    “It’s mine close enough, not free and clear, but mine all the same. Do you hate it so, Phoebe?”
    “No.” She sighed. “No. Some days I hate the idea of it, I hate the strings she pulls even from that reserved table in hell. She knew I would, and it burns my ass, Mama, to prove her right. But the fact is, Carly loves this house. She loves the courtyard and her room, she loves the neighborhood and the park. So, no, I don’t count the cost. Or only when I’m feeling pissy. So I don’t know, Mama, if you could walk out the door, if I would, too.”
    She drained her coffee. “I have to get to work.”
    “I know you do.”
    Essie stayed where she was, listening to Phoebe walk down the hall, across the foyer. She heard the door open, close. And she moved to the window, to look out at the courtyard with its lovely flowers and shrubs, its elegant fountain and pretty pockets of shade.
    And she saw a bottomless black pit.

25
    She got in early enough to push through more files, to add to her list. The feds could’ve made her jump through hoops, but Phoebe knew enough people in the local bureau to slip through several tangles of red tape.
    More than ten years, she thought, between her time with the Bureau and with the SCPD. Almost a third of her life. More than a third of her life if she counted the time in college, in the academy.
    But a decade at the work, on the job.
    She’d lost fourteen people.
    Her mother was right, Phoebe admitted. She hated to lose, and she’d lost fourteen in a bit under eleven years.
    It didn’t matter that three of those had died of injuries sustained before she’d been called on scene. And if it didn’t matter to her, she was damn sure it didn’t matter to Roy’s killer.
    So, all those losses would have to be reexamined.
    She pushed back from her desk, prepared to go into the field, and Sykes tapped on her doorjamb. “Lieutenant?”
    “Come on in. Ah, Arnie Meeks. His alibi hold?”
    “Yeah. Story matches.” Sykes’s face twisted into a sour expression, as if he’d swallowed something that didn’t sit quite right. “More, the woman he’s cheating with has one of those nosy neighbors. She saw Arnie go in the alibi’s house just before ten Sunday night. Knows his car, too, as she’s seen him there before. He’d parked up the block, but she spotted it when she took her dog Lulu out for a walk around midnight.”
    “Right.”
    “Had to take the pooch out again right before sunrise. You ever wonder why people have a dog if they’re going to have to drag their butt out of bed before dawn so it can water the petunias?”
    “Yes, actually. I’ve been giving that specific arrangement a good deal of thought lately.”
    Amusement glimmered. “Kid wants a puppy?”
    “You’re an ace detective, Bull. Yes, she does.”
    “Well. This particular dog’s doing what she needs to do, and that’s when Lulu’s mommy reports she saw Arnie…” Sykes flipped open his book, thumbed pages. “‘Strutting out of Mayleen Hathaway’s front door like the top rooster on the dunghill.’”
    “Well, that clears him on this.”
    “Too damn bad. But I could tell you he’s going to deserve this Mayleen, who has the breasts of a goddess, the brains of a peanut and the wrath of a wounded pitbull.” His smile was hard and brief. “I do believe she’s going to make his life a living hell for some time. Add his wife making it the same at home,