Hallowed Ground (48 page)

In my mind’s eye, I zoomed inside the safety of my TV screen, a cool cat like Starsky, blasé about getting my ass chewed. There, in the perfect fictional world, the stages of grief were wrapped up within the allotted hour. I wished it were simple. I wished I didn’t live every damn day with sorrow circling my throat, choking the life out until my insides felt raw, and hollow, and left me bitter.

So, for a change, I didn’t argue with him, press my viewpoint or try to change his; it was useless.

Recently, even
I’d
grown weary of my combative stance and reputation. Unfortunately, my uncharacteristic silence didn’t help the sheriff’s disposition. He’d brought meth-crazed bikers to tears with his practiced glower, which quite frankly, right now aimed at me, tied my guts into knots that would make a sailor proud.

“Get some help,” he said. “Grief counseling, anger management, whatever. Deal with your loss and stop making it some goddamn,” he gestured vaguely, plucking the appropriate word from mid-air, “
soapbox
for racial injustice.”

Neither Al nor Missy spared me a glance. Wasn’t the first time he’d broached the subject, nor would it be the last. At this point it wasn’t worth my crappy job. Playing PI indeed. I
was
a PI—albeit part-time. Although Sheriff Richards disapproved, legally, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

I smiled pure plastic. “Fine. I’ll drop it. As far as grief therapy? I’ll be doing mine at home, in my own way, but gee, once again, thanks for your overwhelming concern.” Self-indulgence aside, the door made a satisfying crack as I slammed it on my way out.

BLOOD TIES

LORI G. ARMSTRONG

Blood Ties. What do they mean?

How far would someone go to sever . . . or protect them?

Julie Collins is stuck in a dead-end secretarial job with the Bear Butte County Sheriff’s office, and still grieving over the unsolved murder of her Lakota half-brother. Lack of public interest in finding his murderer, or the killer of several other transient Native American men, has left Julie with a bone-deep cynicism she counters with tequila, cigarettes, and dangerous men. The one bright spot in her mundane life is the time she spends working part-time as a PI with her childhood friend, Kevin Wells.

When the body of a sixteen-year old white girl is discovered in nearby Rapid Creek, Julie believes this victim will receive the attention others were denied. Then she learns Kevin has been hired, mysteriously, to find out where the murdered girl spent her last few days. Julie finds herself drawn into the case against her better judgment, and discovers not only the ugly reality of the young girl’s tragic life and brutal death, but ties to her and Kevin’s past that she is increasingly reluctant to revisit.

On the surface the situation is eerily familiar. But the parallels end when Julie realizes some family secrets are best kept buried deep. Especially those serious enough to kill for.