Picture Me Dead. Heather Graham
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Ashley?”
“Of course.”
“You’re looking a little funny. Did I say something wrong?”
Leave it to old Sandy. He probably had the lowdown on everyone who ever came into Nick’s. “No, Sandy. I’m fine. Just thinking how good it is to hear the place is full of cops—and how weird that I’ve spent most of my formative years here and you know more about the clientele than I do.”
“Well, heck, you’re gone a lot, and before that, you were a kid, and Nick was always careful to kind of keep you out of the bar. Me, I’m retired, with nothing left to do but watch who comes and goes.”
“Do you think that’s it? I was an art major for a while. I’m supposed to be a lot more observant. But anyway, that sounds good. It’s nice, knowing there are lots of people around I can ask for help now and then. But how do you feel about it? Is it good to have lots of cops around?”
“You bet. I feel nice and safe. And here’s hoping you’ll soon be one of them. I know you’ll be one of the ten to fourteen who makes it.”
“One of the ten to fourteen?” she said blankly, still coming to terms with the fact that she had scalded a detective with the same force she planned to join.
“Sure, those are the statistics, Ashley. Okay, maybe a few more, a few less, now and then. About one third of each class actually makes it onto the force, and through their first year as a cop.”
“Oh, yeah. They give us those statistics, along with how many cops are killed each year, when we go to orientation. But how come you’re so up on the statistics?”
“Well, I may be old as time, but the good Lord has seen fit to leave me with eyes as sharp as a hawk’s and ears that pick up just about everything out there. And if I learned anything in all my time on this here earth, I learned to listen. And I listen to the cops in Nick’s place.”
“I’m still feeling amazed. I grew up here, Sandy, and I don’t know as much as you do about who hangs out here.”
“That’s because you’ve got your mind somewhere else most of the time when you’re around. Anyway, cops don’t walk around on their days off with their badges hanging around their necks or pinned to their fishing shirts. Cops are just people. They like to have a day off. And they don’t always like to go around introducing themselves as cops. Especially around a place like Nick’s. People hang out here to enjoy the water, their boats, and talk about fishing.”
“But they talk to you and tell you what they do for a living,” she said smiling.
“Sure, ’cause I talk to them. I’m an old geezer. Curiosity is all I’ve got left, and what I find out is what makes life interesting.”
“Hey, Sandy,” Nick said from behind her. “You’ll have to fill Ashley in about the customers later. She won’t be a cop if she’s late to the academy too often. And by the way, we’re not open yet, Sandy.”
“Well, now, hell, I know that. You tell me that every morning. But you still have coffee brewing, and if you give me a cup, I’ll get the place set up before those scrawny young whippersnappers you call employees even make it into work.”
Ashley smiled. It was true. Old Sandy did come early several mornings a week.
But never before six-thirty. And he didn’t bother a soul. He just liked to get his cup of coffee, set up and sit out on the porch, looking out at the boats and the water.
And so did some of the other folks who lived on their boats at the marina—including homicide detectives, it seemed.
“Ashley, you all right? You’re looking kind of pale,” Nick said.
“I’m fine. Nick,” she said, staring reproachfully at her uncle. “But you didn’t tell me that our early-morning visitor the other day was a cop. A homicide cop. With Miami-Dade.”
“Honey, you were moving faster than a twister. You didn’t give me a chance.”
“Right. Of course.”
“He’s a good man.”
“I’ll bet.”
“You sure you’re all right?” Nick persisted, frowning.
“I’m just fine. Honest. I swear. I’ve got to move. ’Bye, all,” Ashley said. She managed a smile for Sandy, then headed out to her car.
Once she was on her way to the highway, she found that the smile she’d had for Sandy faded. She didn’t even dwell on the fact that she had scalded a superior officer on the Miami-Dade force. With luck, he would never run into her there, though homicide was situated at headquarters, where her academy classes also took place.
It was a large force, for a county with a large population.
But no logic could keep her from thinking about Stuart again and feeling both a tremendous sorrow and complete disbelief.
He wasn’t a druggie. He just wasn’t. He couldn’t have become a junkie. He’d always had a good head on his shoulders. He’d cared about his folks; he’d wanted them to be proud of him. He wasn’t a perfect kid; he’d had his moments. He could be a prankster. Once, when she’d had a crush on someone else, he’d managed to get her talking on a speaker phone about the object of her affections. She could have killed him herself at the time, but he’d apologized up and down—and the other guy had asked her out.
Too bad, actually. She’d wound up dating the jerk for two years.
It had been a wretched relationship, but that hadn’t been Stuart’s fault. The guy had been what she had wanted, and Stuart had managed to get them together.
She smiled, remembering how he had looked so pleased, like the cat that had eaten the canary. Once, long ago, in a different world, before they’d all realized what life meant once you grew up, they’d been friends. Good friends.
She remembered that after graduation, he’d been offered a number of scholarships. He’d been one of the most creative people she’d ever known, dragging her into doing a film for a final project that had been selected as the best in the school and shown, to the delight of their fellow students, several times in the auditorium. It had been a piece called “Discipline—Now and Then,” and while sending out a definite message, it had been hysterically funny, as well.
Despite his interests in film, literature and the arts, he’d opted for a business degree. He’d chosen a Florida state school for both the financial feasibility and to be able to get back to see his parents frequently. She frowned as she drove, remembering that she’d been invited to his graduation party when he’d made it out in the requisite four years. She hadn’t been able to go, because she’d taken a summer job as a mate on a sailboat heading out to the islands. He was going to take a job working on and selling Web pages, but he was also planning on going back to school and getting into some form of either writing or film.
Funny, she couldn’t remember what he’d finally decided to focus on when he went for his master’s degree. She should remember something like that. All she could remember right now was his voice, always low and steady, sober and clear. And she could remember that they had promised to get together when the summer was over. They had met for lunch. And they had meant to stay close. But he had been heading up to New York to look at a few schools in the city.
And she’d been starting classes herself then. And though they had promised to keep up and call often, like so many promises, that one had become lost in day-to-day life.
Stuart…
As she drove, she saw the road before her, just as it was.
But in her mind’s eye…
There was the body on the highway. And now she knew.
It was Stuart’s body.
CHAPTER 5
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