ploy and winked. “Good night, Jess.”
Jessica turned and nearly bumped into a scowling McGuire. She moved past him and out the door.
Once outside, out of the range of too many listeners, she turned and demanded, “What’s so important you dragged me away before I had a chance to eat?”
“So I’ll buy you dinner.” He took her arm and started to hustle her along at a rapid pace.
“Where are we going?”
“Where we can talk. I think we need a level playing field and that fancy jacket-and-tie joint ain’t it. I know a good place to eat just a couple blocks from here. Do you mind walking?”
“Not at all, it’s a beautiful night for a stroll. So why are we running a marathon?”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, slowing his steps. “Your boyfriend’s sure the understanding type.”
She feathered a smile. “He’s very secure, because he knows how I feel about him.”
“He called you Jess. I like that. Heard you broke your engagement to Wolcott. You went with that guy a long time, didn’t you?”
“Yes, seven years.”
“Sure didn’t take you long to find a replacement.”
“Is that what you wanted to discuss, McGuire?” she asked with a rise of anger. “As much as I value your opinion, it’s a poor substitute for a gourmet meal. This could have waited until morning.”
“Just wanted you to know that you got your wish.”
“My wish? I don’t recall wishing for anything, except maybe your transfer to Anchorage.”
“Very funny. Figured you’d be interested to hear that we pulled your friend Gilbert out of the river a short time ago. Very wet—and very dead. Congratulations, Judge, justice has been served.”
Shocked, she stopped abruptly. Then had to hurry to catch up with him.
Chapter 3
By the time Jessica got over the initial shock of Gilbert’s murder, they’d reached the restaurant. But it wasn’t a restaurant. From the outside, the place looked like a sleazy, rundown, enter-at-your-own-risk dive. Big bold, black letters painted on the window identified it as The Precinct, and a smaller line below read Bar and Grill.
A cloud of gray cigarette smoke greeted them at the door along with Patsy Cline wailing “Crazy.”
I must be, too, to allow myself to get maneuvered into this!
The moment she entered, Jessica recognized a dozen or more faces in a glance—she’d seen them in court time enough. Good Lord, he had brought her to a cop bar!
Doug would have to have been blind not to notice that Jessica drew the curious glances of most of the men in the room.
“Hey, Your Honor, you slumming?” one of the men standing at the bar asked good-naturedly.
“Well, Detective Slocum, what a pleasure to see you outside of court. You look much taller now that I’m not peering down at you from behind my bench.”
“And if I might say, you look mighty good out from under that black robe.”
“Say it! Say it!” she teased. “It’s music to my ears, Detective.”
“How ya doin’, Judge?” another asked.
“Just fine, Tony,” she said, slapping him on the shoulder in passing.
When she spied a heavyset man at the end of the bar, McGuire followed her over to him.
“Detective Bronowski! How are you? I miss seeing you in court.”
“Heck, Judge, call me Ski. We ain’t in court now.”
“What have you been doing since you retired?” she asked.
“Jerry and I bought this place,” Ski said.
“So you and Jerry are still partners. Good for you.”
Bronowski nodded to Doug, then said, “If McGuire gives you any heat, just let me know. Jerry and I can handle him for you.”
That’s a laugh! If anyone needed help, it was him, Doug thought. She was the one giving off the heat. He got hot every time he looked at her—and it sure wasn’t from anything she said. He took her arm and steered her over to a corner table that offered a modicum of privacy.
“So this is where the long arm of the law comes to unwind,” she said, once they were seated.
“One of them. There’s a couple more in the city— Fuzzy’s and Coach’s on the south side. A couple sports bars on the north side. Mostly the guys like to hang out in the sports bars.”
One of the men playing Sheepshead at a nearby table yelled, “Hey, McGuire, when are you and the judge gonna put on gloves and sell tickets?”
“We’ve been considering it as a fund-raiser toward promoting your early retirement, Novack.”
“I hear they pulled Gilbert out of the river tonight.” Doug nodded, wishing the loudmouth would shut up and concentrate on his card game instead of them. Novack looked at Jessica. “Too bad, Your Honor. That walk you gave Gilbert got him a short swim instead. You the one that whacked him, McGuire?”
“Yeah, right.”
“Novack, you gonna deal or shoot bull all night?” one of the men in the game asked. To Doug’s relief, Novack shut up.
“Don’t think you’ll find too many Gilbert mourners in this crowd,” he said.
“Well, I’ll be honest with you…I’m not sorry he’s dead. As a judge, I abhor violence, but the citizen in me is glad to know there’s one less murderer out there tonight.”
“I tried to get that scumball behind bars where he belonged.” When she glanced around, he asked, “Who are you looking for?”
“Your friend Sherilyn and her Mr. Microphone.”
Doug chuckled. “Yeah, she’s a real piece of work, and the lady sure has got it in for you.”
“I think she’s one of those insecure women who look upon every other woman as her natural enemy.” She made an appealing sound that might have been a giggle. “I suppose it didn’t help when I beat out her boyfriend in the election.”
Doug’s approving gaze lingered on her face as he wondered how she’d look with that auburn hair tumbling around her shoulders. “She’s not even in your class, Judge Jess.”
The waitress approached with pad in hand. “How’re you doin’, Doug?”
“Real good, Kate. How’s Danny?”
She
