Rivers to Blood by Michael Lister Read Free Book Online Page B

laughed.
    As inappropriate as it was, I was grateful for the diversion. I really needed it at the moment and suspected she did too.
    “You often ask guys out at crime scenes?”
    “Not just guys,” she said. “And if I didn’t I’d never get laid. It’s sort of like being an actor on location.”
    I nodded. “So what’re you doing Friday night?”
    She looked up at me. “Really?”
    “You like Cajun food?”
    She nodded. “Love it.”
    Dad walked over to us.
    “How long will it take you to solve this thing little lady?” he said to Rachel.
    “Hoping to have it wrapped up by Friday,” she said. “Got plans Friday night.”
    He looked at me. “Can you believe this?”
    I shook my head.
    “I don’t want this to be my last case,” he said.
    “It won’t be,” Rachel said. “We’ll clear this in no time and give you all the credit. You’ll win by a landslide.”
    “You sure?” he asked.
    “Positive,” she said, “and I’m never wrong.”
    He gave her an incredulous look. “Aren’t you the one who thought John was guilty of assaulting and raping that inmate’s wife?”

Chapter Fourteen
    “Y ou think it was racially motivated?” Anna asked.
    I shrugged. “Hard not to.”
    She nodded.
    “Can’t imagine he’d’ve been hanging from a tree if he were white,” I added.
    Off for the past few days, Anna had stopped by the chapel on her first day back to find me in the sanctuary unsuccessfully attempting to meditate.
    The sanctuary was dim, its only illumination the morning sunlight streaming in the exterior door on the side and the few candles I had lit on the altar.
    Finding it far easier to deal with my feelings for her when I didn’t see her, Anna and I hadn’t spent nearly as much time together lately as we had in the past. I hadn’t avoided her exactly, but I hadn’t sought her out like I normally did either.
    “I still can’t believe it,” she said. “It’s probably set race relations back fifty years around here.”
    “And they were already at least that far back to begin with,” I said.
    “What did Merrill say?” she asked.
    “It bothered him more than anything I’ve seen in a long time—just the idea of it. He didn’t even go to the scene. Didn’t even see it and––”
    “And now everybody has,” she said.
    Several area papers had run a color photo from the crime scene on the front page above the fold that showed in detail the horror of what had happened.
    “It would’ve been bad enough if everyone just heard about it,” she said, “but to actually see a picture …”
    I nodded.
    “How’d they get it?” she asked.
    “My guess?” I said. “Someone running against Dad.”
    She shook her head.
    It could have just been the flicker of the candlelight or the dimness of the room, but Anna looked pale, her eyes hollow, large dark circles beneath them.
    “Do you think things will ever get better?” she asked.
    I nodded. “Our generation is far less racist than our parents’. From what I’ve seen of Carla and her friends, their’s is better than ours. But there’s still so much beneath the surface. We’ve got a hell of a long way to go. And there will always be ignorant, hateful holdouts.”
    She shook her head. “Some people are so militant about it. I wonder if it’ll ever get better.”
    “The militant racists are like religious fundamentalists,” I said. “They’re reacting to the change they see. It scares them. We’ll always have them, but they’re in the minority—which is why they’re so desperate.”
    “What’s going on?” she asked. “You’re usually not this optimistic.”
    I smiled.
    I always felt more optimistic when I was with Anna, as if the world that was meant to be was still possible.
    “I’m not sure what it is,” I said, “but I feel suddenly inspired.”
    “Must be your morning prayers.”
    I looked at her and smiled again, our eyes locking for a long moment.
    “I’ve missed you,” she said.
    Tears formed in her