taking turns reading pages aloud from the Hardy Boys books and they were on book three: The Secret of the Old Mill. After they read ten more pages—five apiece, Maddie tucked the covers up under his chin, kissed him on the cheek, and closed the door.
“I’m going to bed, dear,” her mother said. “Goodnight. Oh, I got some mint chip ice cream today, your favorite. Bradley and I had a big scoop already. It’s in the freezer. Why don’t you have some while you talk with the fish?”
“I don’t talk to the fish, Mother. It’s just relaxing to sit there with only the tank light.”
“I’m old, Madeline Jane, not dim,” her mother said before retreating toward her bedroom on the far side of the house.
Why me, Lord, Maddie asked silently. Then smiled and shook her head.
The tradition of the past generations of Maddie’s family had been that the girls grew up, got married while still virgins—or claiming to be—rode herd on their families, and left the bread winning and heavy thinking to their menfolk. Most of those women did not work outside the home and, at least publicly, played the game of treating sex as pleasure for their men and duty for them. The young women whose actions expressed otherwise were known as fast, loose, or whichever slur was popular that year among the supposed ladies of that generation.
Maddie had shattered that family mold by pursuing a career doing what traditionally had been men’s work—being a cop like her father. She had also broken the family mold with her attitude toward sex.
At ten, Maddie went in for a shower. Her pubic hairs had mostly grown back and the itch was over—thank God .
Three months before, she had started going to the YWCA a couple of nights a week and showering there after working out. One night, about six weeks ago, the shower room had included two giddy women in their young thirties who had trimmed their pubic hairs into tight triangles, pointing down.
After leaving the Y that night, feeling old, Maddie had made a rare stop at one of the local cop hangout for a couple of beers with the boys. After a hearty dose of bawdy talk and several brews she went home, stood naked in front of the mirror and compared herself to the two younger women she had seen at the Y. Her bust measured up okay, but her naturals weren’t as erect as the two younger women’s store-bought boobs. Before she knew what she was doing, she had a razor in her hand designing an arrow: this way fellas. After the shaping, she realized that those women’s pubic hairs had not only been shaved, but neatly combed, while hers held the tangled charm of a nylon scrub pad. A painful hour later she had combed out the snarls and gotten it all trimmed to a uniform length.
Soon thereafter, it dawned on Maddie that if she ever took a bullet that required stripping her lower half, the word would get out and her departmental nickname would forever be Straight Arrow.
The phone pulled her back from her memories. When she heard Gary’s voice, she briefly considered opening the blinds and flashing him a full frontal.
He asked her about her day. She told him what she could, which wasn’t much beyond what had been reported. Fifteen minutes later, she terminated the conversation, still dissatisfied with the pace at which their relationship was moving forward.
Chapter 14
Station house coffee existed to brace detectives having to interrogate someone they’d rather just beat the crap out of, or when pulling back-to-back shifts, or facing inquisitions by internal affairs, known as IA. Maddie’s situation was close enough, so she got a dark blue cup, filled it with coffee that more plopped than poured, and sat waiting for the call summoning her to Chief Layton’s office.
The call came after her first sip. She put her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk and headed down the hall. On the way, she saw Dink resting against the door jamb to the breakroom, his hand around his daily chocolate-covered
“I’m going to bed, dear,” her mother said. “Goodnight. Oh, I got some mint chip ice cream today, your favorite. Bradley and I had a big scoop already. It’s in the freezer. Why don’t you have some while you talk with the fish?”
“I don’t talk to the fish, Mother. It’s just relaxing to sit there with only the tank light.”
“I’m old, Madeline Jane, not dim,” her mother said before retreating toward her bedroom on the far side of the house.
Why me, Lord, Maddie asked silently. Then smiled and shook her head.
The tradition of the past generations of Maddie’s family had been that the girls grew up, got married while still virgins—or claiming to be—rode herd on their families, and left the bread winning and heavy thinking to their menfolk. Most of those women did not work outside the home and, at least publicly, played the game of treating sex as pleasure for their men and duty for them. The young women whose actions expressed otherwise were known as fast, loose, or whichever slur was popular that year among the supposed ladies of that generation.
Maddie had shattered that family mold by pursuing a career doing what traditionally had been men’s work—being a cop like her father. She had also broken the family mold with her attitude toward sex.
At ten, Maddie went in for a shower. Her pubic hairs had mostly grown back and the itch was over—thank God .
Three months before, she had started going to the YWCA a couple of nights a week and showering there after working out. One night, about six weeks ago, the shower room had included two giddy women in their young thirties who had trimmed their pubic hairs into tight triangles, pointing down.
After leaving the Y that night, feeling old, Maddie had made a rare stop at one of the local cop hangout for a couple of beers with the boys. After a hearty dose of bawdy talk and several brews she went home, stood naked in front of the mirror and compared herself to the two younger women she had seen at the Y. Her bust measured up okay, but her naturals weren’t as erect as the two younger women’s store-bought boobs. Before she knew what she was doing, she had a razor in her hand designing an arrow: this way fellas. After the shaping, she realized that those women’s pubic hairs had not only been shaved, but neatly combed, while hers held the tangled charm of a nylon scrub pad. A painful hour later she had combed out the snarls and gotten it all trimmed to a uniform length.
Soon thereafter, it dawned on Maddie that if she ever took a bullet that required stripping her lower half, the word would get out and her departmental nickname would forever be Straight Arrow.
The phone pulled her back from her memories. When she heard Gary’s voice, she briefly considered opening the blinds and flashing him a full frontal.
He asked her about her day. She told him what she could, which wasn’t much beyond what had been reported. Fifteen minutes later, she terminated the conversation, still dissatisfied with the pace at which their relationship was moving forward.
Chapter 14
Station house coffee existed to brace detectives having to interrogate someone they’d rather just beat the crap out of, or when pulling back-to-back shifts, or facing inquisitions by internal affairs, known as IA. Maddie’s situation was close enough, so she got a dark blue cup, filled it with coffee that more plopped than poured, and sat waiting for the call summoning her to Chief Layton’s office.
The call came after her first sip. She put her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk and headed down the hall. On the way, she saw Dink resting against the door jamb to the breakroom, his hand around his daily chocolate-covered
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