A Ghost of a Chance by Minnette Meador Read Free Book Online

towered a good head above Keenan and filled the dark blue uniform out very well. At eye level, Keenan focused on the intricate Portland Police badge that was shining dully in the sparse light. The man could have picked Keenan up and folded him into origami.
    “Keenan Swanson. This is my house, sir.”
    “Sergeant Thompson. You got any ID?”
    Keenan had no idea how he was going to explain this, so he dug into a reserve of brilliance he rarely used. “My cat…”
    “Huh?”
    “He got out. I chased after him and the door closed. Locked myself out. I swear this is my house.”
    Sergeant Thompson wrinkled his nose at him suspiciously and rubbed his chin, giving Keenan enough time to wallow in uncertainty. Keenan’s artistic instincts chose that moment to kick in; Thompson would have made a great model: tall, muscular, an Adonis god with rugged manly features. A guy Keenan was certain could shake the fillings out of his teeth.
    They chattered when he said, “You can check with Smith next door. He knows me.”
    As if on cue, the porch light on the house alongside Keenan’s puffed away the darkness. The front door opened a slit. He could see the pulsing red and blue lights reflecting off his neighbor’s glasses and nervous white steam escaping into the night.
    Phil Smith was a royal pain in the ass and a prissy little fellow, but they were on a forced cordial basis, so Keenan hoped he’d ID him.
    Thompson nodded to one of the officers, but before he could move, Phil closed the door to slide the chain off the latch then opened it quickly scooting outside before a draft could break into his warm house. Wrapping his arms around his shoulders, he crunched his way across the icy grass in his slippers and stopped well away from them. Looking like an avenging accountant, he eyed Keenan as if he were a serial killer.
    Thompson hooked a thumb in Keenan’s direction. “You know this guy?”
    Phil took off the frameless glasses and rubbed them against the sleeve of his robe, elongating the torment. When he put them back on, he peered at Keenan and nodded.
    “Absolutely, officer. That’s my neighbor Keenan Swanson. Has he done something wrong?” The question was spontaneous, gleeful, and it made Keenan sore.
    “Good night, sir,” the officer said. “Go back home. We’ll take care of this.”
    “I always thought he was a little shifty…crazy too.” Smith was relishing the experience and Keenan made a mental note to have one of his posse scare the bejesus out of him later.
    Thompson pressed a button attached to a wire on his shirt. “7-2-2 clear. Stand down from alert.” He turned to the other two officers and pulled a key out of his pocket. “Thanks, guys. I’ll finish this up.” The two nodded simultaneously and headed for their cruisers. Thompson turned Keenan around with one quick push.
    As the patrol cars pulled away, the cop fitted the key into the cuffs and turned it, releasing Keenan’s hand, and then scowled at the loitering neighbor.
    “Good night, sir.” This was an order and a good one. Smith turned on his heel and flitted back to his house in a heartbeat, slamming the door behind him.
    When Keenan was loose, Thompson surveyed the house by running his flashlight over the structure, stopping at the broken window. “That the only way in?” he asked.
    “Yeah.” Keenan had no idea what was on the cop’s mind and didn’t like it much.
    “Meet me at the front door, sir.” Thompson slurred the title apparently still not trusting Keenan. Without preamble, the large cop pulled out the rest of the glass and slid through the open window disappearing into the darkness. Keenan made his way to the front porch.
    After an agonizing series of long seconds, the front door finally opened and Keenan scooted inside. The heat felt good but didn’t take away the weakness in his legs. Thompson’s jaw was so tight Keenan could barely see his lips.
    “I’ll need to see that ID. Where is it?”
    “Uh…” Keenan’s