Dry Heat (David Mapstone Mystery 3)

“I know it must be frustrating for you, not being with Lindsey,” she said, reading me pretty well, as always.

“I don’t understand his obsession with this case,” I said.

“He’s not comprehensible by us mere mortals, David. You know that. I’m still waiting for him to mourn his father’s death. Not Mr. Tough. Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve put up with his moods for the past five years.”

“You wanted me to come home to Phoenix as much as he did,” I said.

“I know,” she said, her huge liquid black eyes studying me. “But I’ve come to hate Phoenix. They’ve ruined it, David. We natives remember when it was wonderful. But now Phoenix has all the problems of a big city, and none of the culture, none of the edge. The politics are insane. There’s no economy. The heat is worse and worse.”

“But it’s a dry heat…”

She grimaced. “Oh, God. No I had to leave, David. That’s one reason I’m here.”

“Here is nice.”

“I could see you here, David.” She gave a mischievous smile. “You’re cultivated and quirky. You are such a big-city person.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Your Little Miss Perfect would like it, too.”

“Lindsey,” I said.

“Mmmmm. OK, no cattiness, I know you’re worried. And I must admit she’s been good for you.”

We ordered, and I ate too much. Sharon told me how her old practice had dwindled in the years she was doing her radio show, so she felt free enough to work from San Francisco and commute to Phoenix twice a month. “I’m not sure, after twenty years of practice, that I was doing most of my patients any good,” she said. Here she could focus on her radio show-“I know it’s entertainment,” she said-and writing. She was teaching a class at San Francisco State.

Then she wanted to know more about me, and I told her about Dan Milton’s death and my own questions about whether I should go back to teaching, my growing discontent with my hometown.

“Maybe it’s my midlife crisis,” I said.

“You should go to Portland,” Sharon said. “You need to be around smart, stimulating people.”

I just listened.

“Do you still have panic attacks, David?”

I hunched deeper into my seat. It wasn’t something I was proud of, despite the New Age of nonjudgmentalism. I said, “Not so much now.”

“See, I told you Lindsey was good for you.” She patted my hand. “You’re a Renaissance man, David. One of the last. You needed to come back to Phoenix when you did-you found Lindsey there, didn’t you? Somehow you needed the adventure of the sheriff’s office. You’re a man of action and a man of the mind. A thinking woman’s deputy.” She laughed, her full crystal laugh that I realized I had missed. “But you were gone from Phoenix for years before you came back. You just outgrew Phoenix. I did, too, in my way. Whatever comes next will become clear soon enough. I’ve lived long enough to know every day is a gift. I’m damned if I’ll mortgage my happiness to the future a day longer. That’s another reason I’m here.”

“And what about the sheriff?” I ventured cautiously.

She shrugged and made a little face. “He’s got his dream,” she said quietly.

Unease descended over me. God knows they’d had trouble before. But Mike and Sharon had always been together. All my adult life, really. I started blathering about my case. Then the check came.

Outside, a misty rain had begun. I started to hail Sharon a cab, but she put a hand on my arm.

“David, you need to know.”

“I don’t, Sharon.”

“Yes, you do. I have someone here. Someone I’m in love with.” She studied my face. “Don’t hate me,” she said.

“You know I don’t,” I said. “I’m just listening. Does Mike…?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t think he cares. He doesn’t want to be here. And he had a fling years ago. But this isn’t payback. I really want to be happy, David. Nobody knows this yet, but I’m going to end the radio show. Money isn’t an issue now. I just want to finally live my life. My daughters are here. And now I feel like I have a real shot at something good.”