Harry puffed on his cigar. “I would have thought she’d at least show up to say thank you, what with everybody going to all this trouble in her kid’s memory.”
He didn’t dislike that many people, but for a brief instant, Riley wanted to reach a hand out and shove that cigar right down Harry Lange’s throat. “She’s...having a rough time,” he managed to say calmly. “Right now she needs to grieve in her own way.”
Harry puffed again. “Do you remember I was there?” he said after a moment. “At the scene? There wasn’t a thing anyone could have done for that girl. She was dead before I even made it to the scene, just a few minutes after the accident. I guess it’s some relief she didn’t suffer.”
Was that Harry’s idea of offering his condolences? It was a damn good thing Maura hadn’t come. Riley didn’t think she would necessarily find that a comfort.
“What were you doing out that time of night in the snow when you spied the break-in?” he asked suddenly, a question he’d wondered but never had the chance to ask in all the craziness after.
“Walking my dogs,” Lange said, his voice curt again.
That struck him as both incongruous and rather sad. He knew Lange lived alone in a huge house near here. His wife had died years ago and as far as Riley knew, the man had never remarried. He’d had a son several years older than Riley who’d left town just out of high school and rumor was the two of them had come to blows beforehand.
For all his success, the man had no one except some dogs to share it, and had become bitter and reclusive in his old age.
No parallels whatsoever to his own life, Riley assured himself.
“We should probably go back in,” he said. “The music has stopped, which means they’ll be starting the auction soon. You’ve got a painting to steal out from everyone else, don’t you?”
The old man tipped his cigar, a look of almost amusement in his eyes. “We’ve got time. They’ll save the good stuff for last. Right now they’re probably getting ready to auction a quilt or a flower arrangement or some other garbage like that. I hear you’re having a bit of trouble with the city council.”
Riley scratched his eyebrow. He should have walked away when he had the chance. “So I hear.”
He probably ought to be a little more upset by the apparent wavering of confidence in him by the people who had hired him. He had no doubt he could easily prove himself to the town in time, but the truth was, he couldn’t bring himself to care much, especially because he was considering leaving anyway. The last two weeks had been hell, living down the street from Claire, driving past her store on patrol, knowing she was so close but impossibly out of reach.
“I think it’s a bunch of hooey, if you want my opinion,” Lange said. “That J. D. Nyman’s a pissy little prick and always has been. Stirring up trouble behind a man’s back. What a pansy.”
The words surprised a smile out of him. “Man’s got a right to his opinion.”
“I guess.” Lange gave him a long, measuring look before puffing one last time on his cigar stub, then tossing it in the ashtray. “Doesn’t mean his opinion holds a drop of water.”
He didn’t quite know how to respond to that rather flattering, if unspoken, seal of approval.
“For what it’s worth, I’ve got no beef with the job you’ve done since you came here. I was there that night. I saw you back off the chase and shut down your lights when you realized how slick the road had become. I don’t see how anyone can blame you for what happened.”
“I... Thank you.”
“Unlike J. D. Nyman’s, my opinion does matter around here. One of the few benefits of being the richest man in town. People tend to listen when I open my yap. You want me to, I can make it clear to those boneheads on the city council I still think you’re the right man for the job. That should shut them up.”
Riley scrambled for an answer. “Uh, while I appreciate the offer, to tell the truth I’m beginning to think this job might not be the best fit for me after all. Maybe it would be better all the way around if I just saved the city council the trouble and paperwork of firing me.”
Harry’s expression was scathing. “Your mother must be so proud to know she raised her only son to be a quitter, running away like a little girl at the first sign of trouble.”
Oh, right. Now he remembered why Harry Lange was so universally disliked. “What’s the shame in admitting I may have made a mistake?” he said stiffly. “Maybe I’m just not sure the life of a small-town police chief is right for me.”