Snow Blind-J Collins 4 by Lori G. Armstrong

I had a choice. I hate that I don’t have a fucking choice tonight. There’s some shit I can’t . . .”
    His fingers swept my hair behind my ear and he leaned in to whisper, “Keep your cell phone on, blondie.”
    “Fine.”
    “Promise me.”
    “Okay, okay. I promise. Since I’ll be sleeping alone again tonight, maybe I will keep it very close . . . and on vibrate.”
    Martinez’s soft laughter sent a hot burst of longing through me. I missed him. I missed us. He kissed the spot below my ear and left without another word.
    With half a dozen shots of Don Julio as a sleep aid, 57

    not only didn’t I hear the phone ring, I didn’t dream at all.
    The next morning it was snowing and blowing. I was half-tempted to call Luella and cancel our appointment. But I’d have to let Kevin know the change in plans and, frankly, I’d rather deal with a ground blizzard than with my randy partner.
    I resembled a hockey player when I crawled in my truck; warmth won out over fashion for me every time.
    Visibility on I-90 East into Rapid City was better than I’d expected.
    Luella paced by the side door at Prairie Gardens and flung it open at my approach. “Kate! I was afraid you weren’t coming.”
    Kate . Right. I’d forgotten my cover. “It’s not as bad out there as it looks.” I stamped the snow from my boots on the rubber floor mat. “Cold though.”
    “Then I won’t offer to take your coat.”
    We wound through the tables of a mostly empty common room and stopped at a metal counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the space.
    “Coffee?”
    “Please. Black is fine.” This was the part I hated, making small talk. I preferred to get down to business.
    58

    We sipped our coffee in silence broken by the distant buzz of a TV.
    I smiled. “Is this the only food service area?”
    “No. The main cafeteria is in the long-term care wing. This”—she gestured around us—“is used for snacks, parties, family gatherings, and such.”
    “It’s very nice. Handy.” My gaze swept the walls as I searched for polite chitchat topics. “What are those plaques for?”
    “Oh. Memorial contributions.”
    “From . . . deceased residents? Like a wall of death?”
    She studied the configuration from afar. “I never thought of it that way. Not very appetizing, is it?”
    Before I responded, three loud beeps sounded from the black box clipped to her belt. Luella unclipped it and read the tiny screen. Her lips made an O before turning into a deep frown.
    “Bad news?”
    Her head whipped up. “Why would you ask that?”
    Talk about suspicious. “You don’t look happy.”
    “I’m not. Just something I have to take care of.”
    I watched her weigh the pros and cons of asking me to accompany her. “Anything I can do to help?”
    “No. This’ll just take a minute. Might be best if you—”
    “I’ll tag along. It’ll give me a chance to look around.”
    “But—”
    “No really, I don’t mind at all.”
    59

    She didn’t argue.
    As I trudged behind her into the hive I noticed several big green signs declaring, “I’m OK,” hanging from the knob. Was that the check-in system Reva told me about?
    My nose wrinkled. Man. It smelled rank. Why didn’t anyone notice? Why didn’t someone do something about it? There had to be industrial-sized air fresheners that could mask the scent.
    A young male in uniform, about six feet four and severely underweight, shifted nervously at the end of the hallway. The second he caught sight of Luella, he pushed his mop of Day-Glo orange hair from his eyes and lumbered closer.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. No one is at the front desk or answering the phone in the acute care wing and Ricky is late because his car won’t start—”
    “Damon. It’s all right. Calm down.”
    He swallowed and nodded.
    “Tell me what happened.”
    “I was doing rounds and I got to the end of the hall when I noticed there wasn’t no sign up on this apartment and the door was