Free The Red Queen Dies by Frankie Y. Bailey Page B

I’m going to have a bite to eat, and then I’m going to drag my weary body upstairs and…”
    When she turned, Adam was watching her from his turbocharged state-of-the-art wheelchair. A brain wave–controllable product of his work in his lab.
    He seemed to prefer the chair rather than the exoskeleton that allowed him to walk on legs he could not feel.
    He said, “Yeah, you look done in, sis. You should go on up and sack out.”
    â€œBut not before you tell us what’s going on,” Angus said.
    â€œIn the morning, Pop,” McCabe said. “You can interrogate me during breakfast.”
    â€œGuess I’m going to miss that,” Adam said.
    McCabe paused. “You could stay over and join us for pancakes.”
    â€œThanks, but we’ll have to make it another time. A lady’s expecting me.”
    â€œIn that case, I guess you’re going to have to rely on Pop for any details he can pry out of me. Carry on with your soccer game, guys. I’m going to go find sustenance.”

 
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    Walter Yin stood in the hallway, listening to his wife Casey’s soft voice soothing their seven-year-old son. Yin was no good at coping with a child’s fears. But she always knew what to say.
    â€œOkay?” she said.
    Todd giggled the way he did when she tickled his neck.
    â€œOkay?” she said again.
    â€œOkay, Mommy.”
    â€œSleep tight, June bug.”
    She came out, lowering the light in Todd’s room but leaving the door ajar.
    â€œWhat are you doing out here?” she asked.
    In a flash of lightning, Yin saw her smile.
    â€œWaiting for you,” he said. “I need tucking in, too.”
    She tucked her arm in his and they went down the hall together. He breathed in the floral scent coming from her hair.
    â€œTired?” she asked. “Interesting day or all paperwork?”
    â€œOne of those offbeat cases that Sean loves. An ex–major-league baseball player. Used to be big-time, nobody important now. But a couple of professional thugs paid him a visit.”
    â€œWhy did they do that?”
    â€œHe’s not talking. But Sean’s determined to find out what happened, even if the victim won’t cooperate.”
    â€œSean cares.”
    â€œToo much sometimes. So what did the school shrink say about that picture Todd drew?”
    Casey’s hand squeezed his arm. “She said he seems to be having some issues with being a cop’s kid.”
    â€œSince when?”
    â€œSince a couple of months ago, when he heard in a special bulletin that two cops had been shot during a traffic stop.”
    Yin sighed. “So what are we supposed to do?”
    â€œTalk to him.”
    â€œAnd say what? That detectives don’t get shot at?”
    â€œWell, that’s what you always tell me.”
    *   *   *
    Pettigrew picked up one of the action figures from the table in his living room: Swede Jorgensen with a baseball in his hand. Pettigrew had been collecting since he was a kid and he and his dad used to go to ball games together. Walk out through the tunnel and come out into the daylight of the stadium, green field and blue sky, the players warming up.
    Until today, he had never seen Swede Jorgensen in the flesh. Only watched him on television or listened to the game on the radio.
    Pettigrew put the Jorgensen action figure down beside the one of Pete Rose.
    He padded out to the kitchen in his leather bedroom slippers and opened the refrigerator. It was stocked with the food that he had picked up from the shopping list that Willow had given them after the last cooking class, but he didn’t feel like tackling any of the recipes tonight.
    Milk, a little nutmeg, a little whiskey, and he’d be good to go.
    Carrying his drink into the living room, Pettigrew stretched out on the sofa.
    The fourth game in the series had been rained out.
    Sighing, Pettigrew shuffled through his music files and