Read Online Killing the Blues by Michael Brandman - Free Book Online Page A

Jesse put away his paraphernalia, and began to straighten up the house. He wore a T-shirt and boxer shorts, and was feeding the cat when he heard knocking on his door.
    â€œDammit,” he said.
    He picked up his pistol from the kitchen console and press-checked it on his way to the door.
    He was stopped dead in his tracks by the appearance of Alexis Richardson. She stood in the doorway, a sack of Chinese takeout in her hand.
    â€œNice outfit,” she said.
    Jesse looked at her.
    â€œI took a chance,” she said.
    He didn’t say anything.
    â€œI always find Chinese a safe bet. You haven’t eaten, have you?”
    Jesse stared at her.
    â€œAre you going to ask me in or shoot me,” she said.
    Jesse realized that his pistol was still in his hand.
    He lowered it. Then he opened the door wider so she could enter.
    She stepped inside.
    He looked down at himself for a moment. Then he looked up at her.
    â€œI’ll be right back,” he said.
    When Jesse went upstairs, Alexis wandered into the living room.
    â€œI’ve never actually been inside the home of a police chief before,” she called to him.
    When he didn’t respond, she stopped to look at the picture of Ozzie Smith which hung on the wall above the fireplace. She studied it for a while. It was an incredible photo. It created the illusion that the Hall of Famer was flying. His body was floating lengthwise in the air, hovering above the ground, his glove hand extended, a caught ball lodged inside the glove.
    When Jesse returned, wearing khakis and a blue shirt that he hadn’t tucked in, she asked him about it.
    â€œHe was the best shortstop I ever saw,” Jesse said.
    â€œAnd you wanted to be like him,” she said.
    â€œI was never that good,” he said. “All I wanted was to make the show. Have a shot.”
    â€œBut you got hurt,” she said.
    â€œMy shoulder,” he said.
    â€œDo you miss it?”
    â€œEvery day.”
    They wandered over to the French doors.
    â€œIt’s very secluded here,” Alexis said.
    â€œI like secluded,” Jesse said.
    â€œAm I safe in the assumption that you live here alone?”
    â€œOf late, there’s been a cat hovering about. Other than that, you’re safe.”
    He suddenly remembered his manners.
    â€œForgive me,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”
    â€œYou can take the food,” she said.
    He took the food.
    â€œIs there vodka,” she said.
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œYou think so? You mean you don’t know for certain?”
    â€œI’m a big-picture guy,” he said. “Sometimes the small stuff eludes me.”
    â€œI guess that eliminates the possibility of tonic.”
    â€œNot necessarily. Let me go look.”
    He left her and went to the kitchen.
    When he returned, he found her outside on the porch.
    He was carrying a vodka and tonic, garnished by a slice of a somewhat tired lime. He stepped outside.
    He was surprised to see her holding the black-and-white cat. She was seated on the love seat, and the cat was nestled comfortably on her lap, where it allowed itself to be petted. It appeared to be purring.
    â€œI love cats,” she said.
    Jesse didn’t say anything.
    He started toward the love seat, but somehow the cat misunderstood and, without warning, it leapt from Alexis’s lap and jumped off the porch.
    â€œWe just recently met,” Jesse said. “It likes what I feed it, but it’s very standoffish.”
    â€œBe patient,” Alexis said.
    She stood up and walked over to him. She took the drink from his hand and sipped it. Then she put it down.
    She placed her arms around his neck and kissed him.
    She leaned back and looked in his eyes.
    â€œHello, Jesse Stone,” she said.
    Then she kissed him again.
    He kissed her back. She tasted of vodka and tonic and old lime and life.
    â€œI hardly know you,” he said.
    She looked at him.
    â€œWho are