All Day and a Night by Alafair Burke Read Free Book Online Page A

vertically against the living room wall. She kicked off her pumps, headed straight for the fridge, and grabbed two bottles of Rolling Rock. She patted Max on the calf as she took a seat on the edge of the couch and popped off the bottle caps—one for her, one waiting for him, once he finished whatever the heck he was doing to the wall.
    “Does an open beer mean you’re not angry anymore?”
    She and Rogan had spent the afternoon wrapping up the paperwork on the case against Laura Bendel, with a plan to jump into the fresh-look investigation the next morning. They had also agreed that the assignment was now theirs, regardless of how it came their way, and all they could do was make the best of it.
    “I was never angry, Max. I was frustrated. And worried that this case could be a disaster.”
    “And now?”
    “Honestly, I feel the same. But I know you at least believe you chose me for all the right reasons.”
    “I wish you’d take my word on that.”
    She took a long pull from her bottle, searching for a change in subject. Max hopped down and scribbled 108 ″ on a legal pad on the coffee table.
    “You’re not considering a pet giraffe, are you?” she asked. “Those things live more than twenty years, you know. Major commitment. And think of the food bills. And the smell. Not to mention the weird looks when you walk him on his leash. There goes your anonymity.”
    “You know, a normal person would simply ask why I was measuring our wall.”
    “No fun in being normal.”
    “Then maybe you should be the one with the pet giraffe.”
    “There would be some benefits. We could sell rides to kids on the street. And imagine if someone broke in and saw Mr. Longneck waiting in the hallway. Or maybe we’d get a girl, so I could tie little pink bows to her horns. I seem to recall that when baby giraffes are born, the mothers kick them over and over again so the little cuties learn to stand up on their own. Probably a parenting lesson in there for us human types.”
    He leaned behind her to begin measuring the length of the sofa.
    “Fine, you win. What’s up with the measuring?”
    He smiled and gave her a quick kiss. “I’m finally getting around to hanging those photographs.” He jotted down another number, picked up the second bottle of beer, and clinked it against hers.
    She said, “Oh, right.” But her initial blank expression was a giveaway: she had no idea what he was talking about.
    “Those pictures from Montauk?” He pointed to three framed photographs leaning against the side of the couch. “We agreed we’d hang them on this wall?”
    Now she remembered. They’d taken them together on a weekend beach trip last summer, and Max decided to have three of them printed and framed: the train station, surfers on the waves, and—something else. All she remembered was finding room for them in a closet when they were still in the phase of unpacking boxes. Now that they’d been in the apartment for three months, and she knew precisely where to find her clothes, shoes, and other essentials, she was used to the place as it was. If she lived alone, those photographs would remain in the closet until the next time she moved.
    That was one of many differences between Ellie and Max. Before their joint move, he had lived for eight years in the same Nolita apartment. It was on a high floor of a doorman, elevator building. At least by the time Ellie saw the place, it was neatly decorated with coordinated furnishings like the dark-gray sectional sofa she was sitting on, and the modern coffee table with the glass top that was now ringed with two watermarks because she’d forgotten, once again, to use coasters. Max even had lime-green throw pillows that managed to match the decorative vase perched on the cabinet beneath the television.
    Max had taste.
    Ellie? She had good taste when it came to food and people. She had a taste—not sure everyone would say it was good —when it came to her clothing. But in terms of