Through the Evil Days: A Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne Mystery (Clare Fergusson and Russ Van Alstyne Mysteries) by Julia Spencer-Fleming Read Free Book Online

of money.”
    Lyle and Harlene stared at him. What the hell? Russ took a deep breath. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Thanks, Merva.” He nodded. Harlene switched the call off. “Christ on a bike. What the hell is Jim Cameron thinking?”
    “It might not be the mayor’s idea,” Lyle said. “The aldermen’ve been pushing hard to shrink the budget.”
    “On the backs of our department? Those penny-pinching sons of bitches.” Russ ducked into his office and snatched his parka off its hook. “Harlene, I’m supposed to meet Clare by three thirty. Will you call her and tell her I’ll be late?”
    “I’m coming with you.” Lyle, his parka in hand, fell into step as Russ strode down the hall. “You need somebody to stop you from going in there with guns blazing.”
    “Fine. You can be the good cop.” He paused in front of the outside door and tugged his MKPD watch cap on. Lyle opened the door, letting a gust of icy air into the hall. “Wait a sec.” Russ wheeled around and jogged back up the hall to dispatch. “Harlene? You got my wife on the line yet?”
    “Just about to call her now.”
    “Good. Listen. Just tell her I had to respond to a call.” He grimaced. “She doesn’t need one more thing to worry about.”

 
    9.
    Clare was about to head back to the rectory when Lois caught her with the message from Harlene. She checked her watch, looked out the diamond-paned windows of her office at the late-afternoon slant of the sun, and frowned. Russ was the one who had wanted to be on the road by three, so they wouldn’t be unloading the truck after dark. It figured. Her earlier hesitation about going had vanished in the wake of the bishop’s ultimatum. Questions, decisions, explanations, apologies—suddenly, sitting alone in a cabin staring at a frozen lake for a few days sounded pretty damn good.
    She sighed and headed to the undercroft to see if she could lend a hand with the the Young Mothers program. At three o’clock, the teens and their children would have just arrived. The young moms would be doing their homework or talking with one of the mentors about job hunting or child rearing, while their kids were cared for next door.
    The nursery in St. Alban’s undercroft was as cheery as two windowless rooms could be, with lemon yellow walls and puffy white painted clouds forever floating over a blue painted sky. Sundays, the space sheltered the youngest members of her congregation. The rest of the week, it served as day care, homework spot, and employment center for teen mothers.
    Clare opened the playroom door, bumping into a toddler and sending him staggering forward. Another two-year-old, taking advantage of his loss of balance, rammed into him and grabbed the doll he’d been holding. The little boy screeched, the thief laughed, and another child at the play kitchen started banging pots together. “Oh, Lord.” Clare didn’t know which one to deal with first. “I’m sorry.”
    “Clare! What are you doing here?” Karen Burns, one of the volunteers, laid an infant in a playpen and expertly scooped up the red-faced little boy. “Here you go, Braeden, here’s a baby for you.” She wiggled a doll in Braeden’s face. He snatched the substitute. When Karen let him down, the avaricious little girl came at him again. “Uh-uh, Jazmin.” Karen performed a knee block that would have done the New York Rangers proud. She steered Jazmin toward the low table at the other end of the room. “You and I can change our babies together.” Karen lifted the infant back out of the playpen, then handed the pots-and-pans musician a basket of fake food. “Kiefer, can you make us all a yummy meal?” The boy accepted the container and began laying plastic pork chops and burgers on wooden skillets. Karen did a sort of shift-and-flip and the baby on her arm was lying on the changing table with its feet waving in the air.
    “Oh my God, Karen.” Clare shook her head. “I’m never going to be able to do this. I