PsyCop 4: Secrets by Jordan Castillo Price

hadn’t touched one since I was a teenager, but I was hoping it was one of those skills that you never forget. If I could take my pent-up frustration out on my sidewalk, I figured I’d be less likely to go back and make a scene at the return counter.

    It was well after dark by the time I got home, made the bed and started clearing the walk-way. Jacob showed up with a bag of Korean takeout when I was about halfway through.
    “You look sexy when you shovel.”
    I sniffed. Right. My nose was running. Real sexy. “Did you get your guy?” He shook his head. It was hard to read his face. Maybe the mention of his case had made him scowl, or maybe he was just trying to keep snow out of his eyes.
    I squinted and tried to pick out the official edge of our sidewalk. “I’m almost done. I’ll just finish up so I don’t have to come back out later.” I figured that once I was warm and full, the last place I’d want to be was scraping around my house with a blue plastic snow shovel. And besides, I hadn’t unpacked a single box all day. I had to look like I was good for something.
    I finished the front walk and then cleared a trail to Jacob’s car. I noticed a bag of trash on the passenger side floor and decided to be an extra-good Samaritan and throw that away, too.
    The back alley that houses our garbage cans is home to at least one ghost, a kid named Tiffany, but if she was around, she didn’t have anything new to tell me. The top of the can was heavy with wet snow, and I heaved it open awkwardly. The can itself was full of discarded moving trash, bubble-wrap and tarps and even a broken white laminate end table that I hadn’t noticed was missing. I jammed the trash bag from Jacob’s car into a small gap, and packed it down hard to ensure that the lid would close so we wouldn’t get a fine from Streets & San.
    The lid wouldn’t shut.
    Damn it. That’s what I got for trying to make up for a whole day’s worth of dawdling with a few random acts of kindness. I pulled out one of the laminate shelves and set it on the ground, then tried to jam the garbage bag in again. It split open. The wind kicked up and sent a handful of things scattering to the ground.
    Nothing too nasty, mostly cups, wrappers and napkins. I stomped on the nearest cup lid before the wind could send it sailing down the alley, and told myself that I was only going to chase the stuff as far as our property line. That’s where my responsibility as a hom-eowner ended. I ran in a low crouch and scooped up a napkin, a protein bar wrapper, a coffee cup, and another coffee cup. A few napkins skittered out of my reach, and I didn’t try to stop them. I stomped back to the garbage can.
    It was determined to stay open, and I was equally determined to successfully complete one damn task even if it killed me. I took the broken laminate shelf and used it like a plunger to jam the trash bag into the can. I squeezed the coffee cup flat and tucked it into the corner, and then found a pocket where the napkin wad would fit nicely. The logo on the napkin protruded from the pile. It was from Greener Bean, which, to my mind, was the least appealing name a coffee house could have, environmentally friendly or not.
    Greener Bean had sprouted up in Wicker Park, and parking there was just as lousy as it was by Crash’s store. Why would Jacob go all the way down there for a cup of coffee?
    Unless they’d franchised and worked their way up Damen. Not that I could imagine a coffee house with such a dumb name opening up another location, but weirder things have happened.
    When I got back in the house, Jacob was in his sweats, and dinner was set out on the coffee table.
    I sat down on the couch and peeked into a carton hoping for some ribs. Not that Jacob ever buys them; he says they’re a heart attack in a box. I found some garlic shrimp instead, and poured a few shrimps and pea pods onto my plate. I was dying to ask him about Camp Hell, and the Internet, and me, but I figured I