The 37th Hour by Jodi Compton Read Free Book Online Page B

her information on Shorty’s whereabouts and activities. Genevieve had told me that he was working construction again by day. At night he was a barfly. Even though his driver’s license had been revoked, and he lived outside of town, Shorty would drink in his favorite bar rather than at home. He could often be seen, Gen’s sources said, walking home along the county highway late at night. No one had ever caught him driving without a license, and he was apparently a well-mannered enough drinker that he hadn’t had any arrests for disorderly conduct or the like.
    “I remember,” Shiloh said. “You told me.”
    “She’s stopped talking about him. I don’t know if that means she’s stopped thinking about him,” I said. “I wish she’d come back to work. She needs to be busy.”
    “Go see her,” Shiloh said.
    “You think?” I said idly.
    “Well, you said you were thinking about it.”
    And I had mentioned it to him. How long ago had that been? Weeks, I realized, and in the meantime I hadn’t acted on the idea. I felt ashamed. I’d been busy, of course. That was the classic excuse, and cops used it as often as CEOs. I’m busy, my job is demanding, people depend on me. Then you realize that the needs of strangers have become more important to you than the needs of the people you see every day.
    “You’ve got a couple of personal days coming up,” Shiloh added.
    I was warming to the idea. “Yeah, I’d kind of like that. When exactly did you think we should go down?”
    “Not me. Just you.” He was at the refrigerator, turned away from me, so that I couldn’t see his face.
    “Are you serious?” I was perplexed. “I asked for those days off to spend with you, before you leave for Virginia.”
    “I know that,” Shiloh said, patiently, turning to face me again. “And we’ll have time together. Mankato’s not far away. You could just go overnight.”
    “Why don’t you want to come along?”
    Shiloh shook his head. “I’ve got things to do up here, before I leave. Besides, asking Genevieve’s sister to put up one guest is one thing, two is something else. I’d be in the way.”
    “No, you wouldn’t,” I said. “You’ve known Genevieve longer than I have. You were a pallbearer at Kamareia’s funeral, for Christ’s sake.”
    “I know that,” Shiloh said. A quick flash of pain registered behind his eyes, and I regretted bringing it up.
    “I’m trying to say,” I put in quickly, “that if you can’t come with me, I’ll put off the visit until after you leave for Quantico. I’ll have plenty of time to visit Genevieve while you’re in Virginia.”
    Shiloh looked at me in silence. It was a look that made me feel self-conscious, the way I had when I was trying to explain my jump from the railroad bridge.
    “You’re her partner,” he said. “She needs you, Sarah. She’s in a bad way.”
    “I know,” I said, slowly. “I’ll think about it.”
    Shiloh wasn’t trying to shame me, I thought, watching him take a jar of olives from the refrigerator. He was just being Shiloh. Direct, on the verge of blunt.
    “I don’t want to hurry you, but I’m going to need that chicken and the other things fairly soon,” he reminded me. Then he gave me an olive, wet from the jar. He knew I liked them.
     
    Out on the street, as I drove toward the grocery store, the first electric light was shining from the windows of Northeast’s tall, pale houses. They looked warm and inviting, and made me think of winter and the holiday season coming.
    I wondered how we’d celebrate them this year.
    “No, I’m listening,” Genevieve said. “Elijah in the wilderness. Go ahead.”
    Genevieve’s house in St. Paul had a big kitchen, with lots of room for several people to work, and plenty of tools for a serious cook. She lived only with Kamareia, which was why Shiloh and I had come over to make Christmas dinner with them.
    While a roast crusted with a thick rub of herbs baked in Genevieve’s old, speckled