Ramsey Rules Read online

  Everything checked out. No outstanding tickets. No points on her license. The dealer’s plates and registration were legit. Maybe she was right about the car getting away from her. The ride along this stretch of road was routine for her; she was probably daydreaming and didn’t notice the speedometer creeping into ticket territory. Yeah, right. She was doing precisely what he would do given the same chance to drive a hundred-thousand-dollar car. He wondered how she had managed to bring along the Walther.

  Still, for all of that, he entertained cutting her a break with a warning and not writing out the ticket. Because he reasoned she’d give him a hard time no matter what he did, he decided she should contribute to Clifton’s treasury. When he returned to the Benz, he had the ticket ready to go. He tore it from the book and handed it to her. She accepted without comment, barely glancing at it, and waited until he returned the Walther and documents to the glove box before she started the car.

  “Do you feel safer because you own a gun?” he asked her.

  “No. Not at all. I feel safer because I know how to use it.”

  Sullivan didn’t doubt it. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He stepped back as the roof began to lift. It was a marvel of technology. “Can’t say it’s been a pleasure, Ramsey, but I like what you’ve done to your hair.” He grinned as she lowered her foot on the gas. He was still grinning when he got back behind his own wheel.

  3

  There was no good reason she and Sullivan rubbed each other the wrong way, at least none that Ramsey could put her finger on. Still, that rubbing, right way or not, created the same spark and crackle she got when she touched a doorknob after walking across a dry carpet. Why in God’s name would she want to spend time in the company of someone who prickled her skin with one tiny shock after another? She imagined it was no different for him because he made a point to keep his distance. Ramsey reckoned that if he had known she was behind the wheel of the Benz, he might have let her fly on by. On the other hand, he was a bit of a Dudley-Do-Right, so maybe not.

  They’d met for the first time at the Southridge store. He was a hometown boy who left West Virginia after high school on a swimming scholarship to Tennessee. The way she heard it, Sullivan Day never looked back until his mother’s health declined to the point she could no longer care for herself. He resigned from the Philadelphia police when he could have taken a leave of absence and then surprised old friends and acquaintances by taking a position with the Clifton force after she died. That was about as much as she’d known about him when he showed up at the store in response to her call for assistance.

  Ramsey could acknowledge now that she anticipated he would act as if the call was trivial. Under torture, and only then, she’d admit she’d been prickly and a little defensive before Sullivan Day even introduced himself. And if she were strictly honest with herself, which she did not really want to be, he had the kind of good looks that made her squirm. So, yeah, she was spoiling for a fight from the first.

  Besides responding to calls from the Ridge, Sullivan Day also shopped at the store. Ramsey had spied him on at least a dozen occasions examining the produce, chatting Maria up at the deli counter, and choosing cold medicine in the pharmacy area. He also spent an inordinate amount of time in Aisle Fourteen—the light bulb aisle. That was just plain weird. What was the man’s fascination with light bulbs?

  She wished he’d take his light bulb fetish to a hardware store. The fact that he looked damn good out of uniform did not endear him to her. She had been consoling herself with the thought that maybe she had a thing for uniforms she was only now discovering, but, no, it wasn’t that. She simply had a thing for tall, dark, and handsome. She was attracted to a cliché, which was disappointing. Even more disappointing, evidence suggested she was not alone.

  On half the occasions she saw him at the Ridge, he was with a woman. Once he was accompanied by a woman and a toddler, which she found a little unnerving until she overheard the pair were the police chief’s married daughter and grandson. Her coworkers, especially those in the deli, made it their business to talk about him when she was around. Maybe they talked about him when she wasn’t around, but there was something meaningful in the way they spoke that made her think this was not the case. She did not dare show any interest. As quick as she could say “light bulbs” they would plot her a path that ended in Aisle Fourteen.

  Ramsey entertained the notion of asking him out. To the extent that he was in her system, one bad date would remove him from it. She was confident the date would be bad because that was the only kind she had. Since moving to Clifton four years ago, she had been on five first dates and only two second dates. It wasn’t fair to say she hadn’t tried. What could be said was that she hadn’t tried very hard, and it was just as fair to say that neither had her dates. Dinner and a movie was not her idea of an imaginative first date, especially when the restaurant was a chain on the order of Olive Garden and the movie starred Adam Sandler or Will Ferrell. She was bored before those dates got underway and did not make much effort to carry her end of the conversation. She had hopes when one date suggested the Italian Festival. She understood it was a popular event in the valley, and it might have been an entertaining evening if her date hadn’t tried to sample every craft beer available. She lifted his keys—he thought it was a sexual advance—and drove him home. After abandoning him and the car in his driveway, she called a cab. Oh, and she kept his keys.

  What had been a promising first date with easy conversation over dinner, mutual enjoyment of a local college production of Noises Off, and drinks afterward, ended abruptly on the second date when the man’s wife showed up and calmly introduced herself. From Ramsey’s perspective, the woman’s confrontation was handled with weary civility. Clearly it was something that had happened before, and the wife had no difficulty believing Ramsey was unaware. In the event that high drama was still in the offing, Ramsey ducked out, but not before spilling her mojito into her date’s lap.

  Her other second date never became a third. She couldn’t recall now if she had been disappointed when he hadn’t called again. It was that long ago.

  Her coworkers had no boundaries when it came to trying to advance her love life, and she’d learned it was better not to demonstrate any interest in their chatter. When there were whispers that her sexual preference was women, they were not deterred. It seemed all of them knew someone who had come out loud and proud. Those introductions led to making good friends outside of work, but no lovers.

  In truth, Ramsey’s libido had not been stirred until Sullivan Day. He didn’t know it, of course, which she counted as a good thing. The vague arousal she felt when she saw him was unsettling and therefore unwelcome. It rippled calm waters and it challenged her belief that she was wholly satisfied with the choices she had made. She had friends, she had interests, she even had fish. What she did not have was a man in her life.

  When her thoughts turned to her ex, she was glad of it.

  Sullivan Day saw heads turn as soon as he entered the station. His fellow officers regarded him with interest but none spoke. He sighed. “Yes, I stopped Ramsey Masters for speeding. That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?”

  “Hell,” said Karl Longabach, “we know that.” Karl leaned back in his chair and lifted his feet to rest comfortably on his desktop. He folded his arms across his chest. “We want to hear what in God’s name you were thinking.”

  Chuckling under his breath, Jim Butz jabbed an index finger in Sullivan’s direction. “You know she doesn’t like you, right?”

  Before Sullivan could respond, Buddy Conglose added, “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, Sully. Someone musta told you by now that she’s into girls. She hangs with a cousin of mine, and I know Maggie’s a lesbian. That woman can bench press a refrigerator.”

  Karl said, “I don’t think that’s an indicator of sexual preference.”

  “I know that,” said Buddy. “I’m just sayin’ she can do it, is all.”

  Sullivan pushed as
ide some papers on Butz’s desk and sat hipshot on the edge. “I can’t believe I’m going to ask you three stooges this, but why do you think she doesn’t like me?”

  Buddy shook his head in a parody of sad disbelief. “Are you listening to me? You have a dick. She doesn’t like dicks. She doesn’t like me either.”

  Butz swiveled his chair until he could point at Buddy. “She doesn’t like you because you are a dick. You see the difference?” He swiveled back to Sullivan and lowered his hand. “Ignore him. Look, my baby sister is a cashier at Southridge. I know more about the people that work there than I do about these guys, and it’s not because I want to. Heather can’t help herself.” He shrugged apologetically. “Here’s the thing: my sister has next to nothing to say about Ramsey Masters. That’s because the woman keeps to herself. She’s friendly but doesn’t mix. Contributes to showers and birthdays and retirement parties, but doesn’t appear at the events. Keeps her personal business out of work. I guess that makes her a person of interest in their circle. They’ve tried to fix her up now and again, but she doesn’t bite.” Butz looked back at Buddy. “That’s more likely an indicator of good sense than sexual preference.”

  Buddy threw up his hands. “All right. All right. So she doesn’t like girls. I hear you.”

  Karl said, “Could be she’s trying hard not to like you, Sullivan. You think of that?”

  Sullivan had, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he asked, “Why would she do that?”

  Butz asked, “You ever show any interest in her?”

  “I only see her when I’m on duty.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’m polite, professional, and—” He stopped because they were all staring at him as if stupefied.

  Buddy was the first to break the silence. “Hah! I knew it. You’re scared of her. You can admit it. I thought I’d ask her out a while back, but every time I hinted around, she gave me frostbite. Some women can be real nice about it and still shrivel your balls.”

  Butz sniggered. “How could you tell?”

  Buddy picked up a pen and threw it at the other officer.

  Karl ignored them and said to Sullivan, “She was pretty cool with all of us in the beginning. We’d go out to the store, she’d have someone she stopped with the goods waiting for us, and if anyone heard more than a few dozen words from her, he’d count it as a real conversation. Eventually she warmed up, so you have that to look forward to.”

  “Eventually?” asked Sullivan. “Can you define that?”

  “Three visits,” said Butz.

  Karl held up two fingers.

  Buddy said, “She eased up with me once I told her about my cousin Maggie. I figured Ramsey realized I knew she was gay, and it relieved her mind that I was okay with it.” He shook his head, sighing. “Don’t know what to make of that now. Do you think I should—”

  “No!” they said in unison, cutting him off.

  Buddy’s smile was doleful, his slow nod accepting. “Yeah. I suppose not…”

  Sullivan made deep furrows in his dark hair as he pushed his fingers through it. “I’ve made seven visits out to Southridge, four when she’s been the caller. Seems to be taking longer than your definition of eventually.”

  Butz made a steeple of his fingers and tucked them under his chin. “Sure, but then none of us ever pulled her over.”

  “That was today. And I didn’t know it was her. She was test driving an SL550 roadster. And she had the top up.”

  “Bad luck for you,” said Karl.

  “Bet she looked real hot in it,” said Buddy. They all looked at him again. “What? You were all thinking it. I just said it.” When no one denied it, he sat back, satisfied.

  Sullivan said, “I gave her a ticket.” The way the others looked at him, he may as well have confessed to murder. His mouth flattened briefly. “Yeah. I did.”

  There was a lengthy silence while his fellow officers contemplated the options. It was Butz who finally spoke up. “There’s only one thing you can do.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “If it matters at all whether she likes you or not, then you don’t show up for court.”

  “What? You mean you think she’ll fight the ticket? The gun had her dead to rights. It was just recalibrated. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

  “Of course, there isn’t,” said Karl. “But eighty-seven in a sixty-five. She’s looking at points on her license. She’ll fight it. Don’t know what she’ll say in her defense, but she’ll have something.”

  “She told me the car must have gotten away from her. Benefit of the doubt says she was daydreaming.”

  Butz fingered his thick mustache. “Probably so.”

  “Maybe daydreaming about you,” said Buddy, batting stubby eyelashes.

  “Not funny.” Sullivan fell silent, thinking. “She was trying to run the car flat out.”

  Karl said, “Doesn’t matter. Butz is right. Make yourself unavailable when she has to appear. Magistrate will just toss it or grant her a reduced speed and a smaller fine with no points. That’d be a good outcome for her and you’d practically be a hero for doing nothing.”

  Sullivan Day considered that. “I don’t know. Feels more cowardly than heroic.”

  “I’m not arguing that point. Probably feel that way myself.”

  “Better than throwing yourself off a bridge,” said Buddy. “That was going to be my suggestion if Butz hadn’t come up with a better plan. In my scenario she’d figure out how sorry you were for that ticket and grieve mightily at your funeral, and then you’d know for sure that she had some feeling for you.”

  “But then I’d be dead.”

  “Yes, well, there’s the rub.”

  Sullivan removed himself from Butz’s desk, but not before he pretended to stab himself several times in the eye with a fork. “I’ll take it all under advisement.”

  “Atta boy, Sully,” said Buddy.

  Sullivan had an urge to punch Buddy, even if it was only on the shoulder. He punched out instead. Off duty. Going home.

  4

  Ramsey leaned against the far wall of the racquetball court and slid down until she sat on the floor. She folded her long legs against her chest and then removed her sweatband and used the less damp back of it to swipe at her face and neck. “I’m done,” she said. “You’re too good today.”

  Briony Patterson dropped to her haunches beside Ramsey and tapped the edge of her racquet against the floor. “What’s up? There’s something, so don’t try telling me there’s not.”

  Ramsey shrugged. “I’m not feeling it. My rhythm’s not there.”

  “Uh-huh. Because…?”

  “I went to court this morning. You know. About the ticket.”

  “Oh, it didn’t go so well, I take it.”

  Ramsey stared at her racquet as she idly rolled the handle between her palms. “No, it went well. Dudley didn’t show.”

  “Dudley?”

  “Sullivan Day. Sometimes I call him Dudley Do-Right.”

  “Not to his face, I hope. If I was going to switch teams, he’d be the man who could tempt me.”

  “You know who he is? I didn’t realize.”

  “I don’t know him or anything. Maggie pointed him out to me. Her cousin Buddy is an officer so she’s met some of them.”

  “That’s right. I forgot. It’s hard to believe they’re related. Maggie’s—”

  “Smart? Sensible? Sexy? And that’s just under ‘S.’ So tell me what happened. I won’t be moved, at least not after I get myself situated here.” She set her butt on the floor and folded her short muscular legs tailor-fashion. The lotus position was never an option for Briony. “We have the court for another twenty minutes before I torture you in the steam room.”

  Ramsey’s cheeks swelled then deflated as she blew out a breath. “He didn’t show.”

  “You’re kidding. But that’s good, isn’t it? I mean, you got off, right?”

  “Yeah. I challenged the accuracy of the gun. He wasn’t there
to say differently. That was that. The magistrate dismissed the ticket, the fine, and the points. I don’t even think I was in there ten minutes. Most of it was spent waiting to see if he would show.”

  “I don’t understand what part of that is a problem.” She tapped Ramsey on the shin with her racquet. “I would’ve thought you’d be celebrating, kicking my ass. Not losing two consecutive games.” She gave Ramsey a sideways glance when she didn’t respond. “You know what? I think you’re disappointed. I think you wanted to mix it up a little, and when he didn’t show you lost your competitive mojo.”

  “I have a competitive mojo?”

  “Uh-huh.” Briony raised eyes heavenward and placed her hands together as if in prayer. “Thank you, Sullivan Day, for helping me kick Ramsey’s ass two games in a row.”

  Ramsey stopped twirling her racquet and pressed the tip of it against her lips to keep from laughing. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Oh, I know I am.”

  “I was thinking that maybe I should ask him out.” She did not need to look at Briony to gauge her reaction. She heard her friend suck in a lungful of air.

  “Why would you do that? You can’t date. You have bad date stories. Really bad date stories. Skip the date and invite him to fuck you. You need to let him run straight past the bases and slide right into home. You get the metaphor?”

  “Um, it’s kind of hard not to.”

  “Good. Do that. Lord, woman, when’s the last time you let anyone slide into home?”

  Ramsey let Briony mistake her silence for trying to think. What it was, was trying not to think.

  “That’s what I thought,” said Briony. “It was so long ago, home base was still in the minor leagues. Is that it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “That has to be because it’s your choice. You know you’re fuckable, right?”

  “Aww, jeez, Briony.”

  “It has to be said. If you were a sister, I’d want to fuck you.”