Detective Maxine Ferrari hung up her desk phone, a scowl spreading across her dark, Italian features. Dealing with an agitated woman whose husband was a minute and a half late getting home was the very last thing she wanted to do this morning. There were only a few perks that came with being the sole detective in a small department. Not having to field calls from the public was one of them. Max hated fielding random calls. They required her accessing that challenging place of social nicety.
It had been different in Denver, where a call like this might carry with it the promise of a real case. Here, in this podunk town, nothing so exciting ever happened. If it wasn’t someone complaining about noisy neighbors, it was old Mr. Howell calling to say there was a raccoon in his garbage again, or Millie, out on Bitterroot Way, wanting a deputy to go to the auto shop across from the department to urge her husband, Harvey, home for dinner. One would think the Sheriff’s Office had nothing better to do. Actually, that wasn’t far off.
In truth, Max wasn’t in a very good mood today. She knew it. An email from her former partner with the Denver PD had opened up a door Max would just as soon keep firmly shut.
The Performance on Amazon US
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