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Story: The Lemon Drop Kid

Raleigh didn’t sound stony, though, as he stumbled through his disjointed whatever-it-was-supposed-to-be. Explanation? It sure as hell wasn’t an apology. “Look, Casper. I was doing my job. You know I didn’t—you think it was easy for me?”

“Oh, my God,” My parka crinkled in the chilly air as I put a hand to my chest. “It must have beenterriblefor you. What am I thinking? All those months you had to go on with your life and suffer through getting a big fat promotion you knew fucking well you didn’t deserve. How can I be soselfish?”

“I thought you were guilty!”

It seemed to bounce off the distant snowy hills.

And just like that I was calm again. Ice cold. “So you said at the time.”

Both times. The night he arrested me. And the day he came to see me in jail to explain why, friends or no friends, he couldn’t overlook my committing murder.

Raleigh was calmer, too. Quieter. “Casper.”

“But like you said, nothing personal.”

“Ineversaid it wasn’t personal. Of course, it was personal. I—” He gave a disarming swallow in the middle of it. “I cared for you. You know that.”

“No doubt there.”

“But if you were capable of murder—”

“Except I wasn’t.”

He sounded sincere and kind, like the old once-upon-a-time-there-was-a-prince Raleigh. “I know that now. We all know that now. And I’m glad you’ve been exonerated. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for everything that happened.”

I smiled. “Worried about the lawsuit?”

He stared.

There wasn’t any lawsuit. Not yet, anyway. My lawyer had broached the idea; I figured he was disappointed he hadn’t been able to make mincemeat of LCPD in court.

I laughed.

It wasn’t much of a laugh. It sounded like icicles falling.

I think one of those icicles must have found its target, because Raleigh seemed frozen. He continued to stare at me and then he snapped out of it.

His face was cold, his voice hard as he said, “Do your worst, Caz. In the meantime, what are you doing parked out here in the middle of nowhere?”

I opened my mouth—the old Casper would have snapped back with a smartass answer. But I was eleven months older and, if not wiser, much more careful. It took a lot to make Raleigh angry, but he was angry now. I didn’t want to push my luck. The idea of being arrested, jailed—for even five minutes—was enough to fill me with panic.

I understood how very fragile freedom was.

“Looking for Freyja. She ran away two days ago.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Raleigh was as crazy about dogs as me. That was one thing we’d always had in common. For another, I’d got Freyja from Linda, Raleigh’s mom. Linda raised golden retrievers. Raleigh’s dog Loki was from the same litter.

He said neutrally, “She’s chipped. Did you try the animal shelter and the vet clinics?”

“I tried.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

I nodded, shrugged. “Thanks. I know she’s gone. She wouldn’t stay away this long.”

Just one more thing I blamed him for, and he probably saw it in my face.

He nodded curtly. “Drive safely. It’s getting dark.” He turned his back on me, not waiting for the response that he correctly assumed wasn’t coming.