Page 81
Story: The Elf Beside Himself
“You been in homicide long?” I asked, hoping that wasn’t rude. It kinda sounded like I was asking him if he knew what he was doing, which, to be completely honest, I absolutely was.
“Less than a year, and we don’t get many up here that aren’t domestics or hunting accidents, though.” He sighed again. “I just made detective in April.”
“Congrats.”
He grunted and gave me a look that said I should have offered my sympathies.
“Not what you hoped for?”
“I’m not a fan of having to arrest some jerkwad for killing his girlfriend when there have been at least three domestic disturbance calls that nobody did anything about.”
I saw his point. “Gangs and drugs and cold-blooded murder really aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, either,” I told him.
“I’m just bad at career choices, clearly,” he grumbled.
“Not your first career?”
A head shake. “Nope. Started this just under a decade ago.” Which meant he was doing decently well, having made detective already. Good for him. It made me feel more optimistic about our chances, anyway. “Before that, I was a bartender, and before that I decorated cupcakes, and beforethatI worked at Shawano Lawn and Stone. I also mopped floors on the night shift while going to college at the U-dub in La Crosse.”
“Just cupcakes, not cake-cakes?”
“Just cupcakes. It was a cupcakery.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. “Cupcakery.”
“Not into baking?”
“I love baking,” I informed him. “But you gotta have some versatility.”
His lips twitched like they might form a smile, but not quite. I didn’t take it personally, since I hadn’t seen a happy expression on the man’s face all morning. Not that the subject matter at hand was terribly cheerful.
My phone buzzed, and I looked down at it. Taavi was telling me that my mom wanted an ETA from me so we could go pick out a tree. Jesus fucking Christ. I was not in the mood to go to a fucking lot to pick out the perfect family Christmas tree.
I also wasn’t in the mood for the inevitable carols blasting through the house while baking Christmas cookies that was going to follow—not that I don’t like Christmas cookies, but the whole thing still felt really fuckingoff.I knew my mom was just trying to benormal, but the holidays just weren’t going to be normal.
Something must have showed on my expression.
“You need to go?” Smith asked, back to business.
“Apparently my mother wants to pick out a tree,” I replied dryly.
“Family will do that,” came the response. “Please send me whatever this FBI agent of yours sends you. Can you drop off those baggies tomorrow?”
“I can probably do it on the way to wherever the fuck this tree is coming from,” I answered, then winced a little as I remembered I was going to try not to swear. But Smith didn’t seem at all fazed by my language.
He just nodded. “That works, too. Text me when you get to the precinct, and I’ll come grab them.”
“No problem.” I downed the rest of my coffee, having already finished the danish. “And thanks for doing this.”
“Don’t thank me,” he replied, standing with me and shaking my hand. “It’s my job, and I’m trying to do it better than it’s been done around here.”
I offered him a small half-smile. “I appreciate that. Just—” I wasn’t sure quite how to put it.
His look was questioning.
“Don’t be surprised if nobody else wants to listen to the elf and the shifters,” I finished.
He sighed. “Yeah, I won’t. But maybe they’ll listen to me and the freakin’ FBI.”
“Less than a year, and we don’t get many up here that aren’t domestics or hunting accidents, though.” He sighed again. “I just made detective in April.”
“Congrats.”
He grunted and gave me a look that said I should have offered my sympathies.
“Not what you hoped for?”
“I’m not a fan of having to arrest some jerkwad for killing his girlfriend when there have been at least three domestic disturbance calls that nobody did anything about.”
I saw his point. “Gangs and drugs and cold-blooded murder really aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, either,” I told him.
“I’m just bad at career choices, clearly,” he grumbled.
“Not your first career?”
A head shake. “Nope. Started this just under a decade ago.” Which meant he was doing decently well, having made detective already. Good for him. It made me feel more optimistic about our chances, anyway. “Before that, I was a bartender, and before that I decorated cupcakes, and beforethatI worked at Shawano Lawn and Stone. I also mopped floors on the night shift while going to college at the U-dub in La Crosse.”
“Just cupcakes, not cake-cakes?”
“Just cupcakes. It was a cupcakery.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. “Cupcakery.”
“Not into baking?”
“I love baking,” I informed him. “But you gotta have some versatility.”
His lips twitched like they might form a smile, but not quite. I didn’t take it personally, since I hadn’t seen a happy expression on the man’s face all morning. Not that the subject matter at hand was terribly cheerful.
My phone buzzed, and I looked down at it. Taavi was telling me that my mom wanted an ETA from me so we could go pick out a tree. Jesus fucking Christ. I was not in the mood to go to a fucking lot to pick out the perfect family Christmas tree.
I also wasn’t in the mood for the inevitable carols blasting through the house while baking Christmas cookies that was going to follow—not that I don’t like Christmas cookies, but the whole thing still felt really fuckingoff.I knew my mom was just trying to benormal, but the holidays just weren’t going to be normal.
Something must have showed on my expression.
“You need to go?” Smith asked, back to business.
“Apparently my mother wants to pick out a tree,” I replied dryly.
“Family will do that,” came the response. “Please send me whatever this FBI agent of yours sends you. Can you drop off those baggies tomorrow?”
“I can probably do it on the way to wherever the fuck this tree is coming from,” I answered, then winced a little as I remembered I was going to try not to swear. But Smith didn’t seem at all fazed by my language.
He just nodded. “That works, too. Text me when you get to the precinct, and I’ll come grab them.”
“No problem.” I downed the rest of my coffee, having already finished the danish. “And thanks for doing this.”
“Don’t thank me,” he replied, standing with me and shaking my hand. “It’s my job, and I’m trying to do it better than it’s been done around here.”
I offered him a small half-smile. “I appreciate that. Just—” I wasn’t sure quite how to put it.
His look was questioning.
“Don’t be surprised if nobody else wants to listen to the elf and the shifters,” I finished.
He sighed. “Yeah, I won’t. But maybe they’ll listen to me and the freakin’ FBI.”
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