Dead Boyfriends by David Housewright Page B

baseball team, while Shelby’s featured the logo of Buddy Guy’s Legends, a blues club in Chicago. Bobby had taken her there in the spring while I babysat their two daughters.
    â€œWhere are the kids?” I asked.
    As if on cue, Victoria and Katie appeared at a living room window that opened onto the porch just behind their mother’s shoulder.
    â€œMcKenzie,” they called through the screen.
    â€œHow’re my girls?”
    â€œDid you bring us something?” they asked in unison.
    â€œNot this trip.”
    They both made disappointed noises, and I said, “Sorry.”
    â€œIs it because Mom threatened your life last time?” asked Victoria.
    â€œYou have to admit ten pounds of Tootsie Rolls is kind of excessive.”
    â€œIt isn’t,” said Katie.
    â€œMom has been doling them out a few at a time for good behavior like we were prisoners in a Russian gulag,” Victoria said.
    â€œA gulag?”
    â€œYou know. Like where they kept Solzhenitsyn.”
    â€œHow old are you again?”
    â€œShe’s no fun,” Katie insisted.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œMom. Gol, McKenzie.”
    â€œYour mother was a lot of fun when I first met her.”
    â€œShe was young then,” Victoria said. “Now she’s really old.”
    â€œThat’s it,” Shelby announced. “The spankings will now commence.”
    â€œOh puhleez, mother,” Victoria said.
    Shelby’s eyes bore down hard on her daughter.
    Victoria said, “I think I’ll go upstairs and read.”
    â€œGood idea,” Shelby said.
    â€œGood night, all.”
    Victoria left the window. Katie followed her deep into the house.
    Shelby sighed significantly.
    â€œVictoria’s almost a teenager,” she said.
    â€œDon’t you just love that?” Bobby said.
    â€œHave you ever spanked your children?” I asked.
    â€œThe threat of violence is usually sufficient, and when it’s not, Bobby pulls his gun.”
    Bobby held up his hand, three fingers curled into his palm, his index finger extended, his thumb back, and made a clicking noise with his tongue.
    â€œI can see how that might keep order.”
    â€œSo, McKenzie,” Bobby said. “I heard you were arrested the other day.”
    â€œTaken into custody, but not booked.”
    â€œImportant difference.”
    â€œYou heard this—how?”
    â€œI had a conversation with an Anoka cop named Jerry Moorhead.”
    â€œNo kidding. Why’d he call you?”
    â€œHe didn’t. He knew a guy in the department. Moorhead asked about you, the officer knew we were tight, so I got the call. He was impressed that you had a friend who was a lieutenant in homicide.”
    â€œAren’t we all?”
    â€œHe was also impressed when I told him what a sterling example of law enforcement you were until you decided to take the price for Teach-well and live a life of undeserved luxury.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, undeserved?”
    â€œHe wants to arrange a sit-down, Mac. Buy you a few drinks.”
    â€œDoes he?”
    â€œThat’s what he said.”
    â€œI wonder why.”
    â€œThe man made a mistake, he wants to apologize. What’s the big deal?”
    â€œDoes he want to apologize because he was wrong or because he wants to get me out of his hair?”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œThe woman Moorhead’s deputy slapped around, they’re trying to jam her up on what looks like a bogus murder charge. I told her lawyer that I’d look into it.”
    â€œAhh geez,” said Shelby. “Not again.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhy do you always get involved in these things?” she asked me. “If you’re bored, go shopping.”
    We’d had this conversation before, and truth be told, I always came off looking silly defending myself. I decided to change the subject.
    â€œBesides, is Moorhead going to call Nina,