Low Sided by A.J. Downey (best detective novels of all time txt) 📕

time for a variety of reasons. It’s okay if you don’t like something you once did anymore. It’s really no big deal. You have plenty of reason to feel the way you do. Your feelings are valid,” he said.

I smiled gently and reached a hand across the table. He put his in mine and I gave it a squeeze.

“You always know just what to say to make me feel better,” I said, and he smiled.

“Good,” he said. “That ever changes, you need to let me know right away, okay?” he asked, giving my hand a little shake.

I smiled and nodded, the waitress returning with our cider flights.

“Those pretzels are coming right out,” she said. “In the meantime, can I get you anything else?”

“A couple of those glasses with your logo on ‘em, please?” Mace said.

I cocked my head as the waitress nodded and wiping her hands on her apron turned to walk back across the expanse of grass toward the building and shelter that housed the bar.

“What’s with the glasses?” I asked.

“So that we can remember the day,” he answered. “I’d kind of like to get a pair every place we go.”

I raised an eyebrow and smiled. “So there are more places like this one in our future out here?” I asked.

He laughed and nodded. “Yeah. A few more.”

I looked out over the rolling green around us and smiled.

“I am getting thoroughly spoiled this weekend, aren’t I?” I asked.

“If I have anything to say about it, yeah.”

He sipped the first cider and said, “Ooo, that’s a good one. Here try this.”

He passed me the glass, and I sipped. It was dry, my mouth puckering slightly, but held notes of bright apple and hints of fresh vanilla and something slightly spicy, but not cinnamon. Something almost peppery. You wouldn’t think it would go together, but the flavors complimented one another nicely.

“That is nice,” I agreed, handing it back. “I prefer sweeter myself, though.”

“They get sweeter as they go,” he replied and added, “Try your first one.”

“This is the blackberry,” I said and sipped, nodding. I handed it to him with a bit of a face on me. “Too bitter for me.”

We tried them all, loved a few, only one of them mutually, and he placed an order for some bottles. We would have to jockey a few things around in the saddle bags to accommodate things, and I would indeed end up with the baked goods in my lap the rest of the way to where we were going, but that was alright. Totally worth it.

31

Mace…

I’d rented a cabin, sort of isolated, with a view of the Strait of Juan de Fuca. It was one of those glam type places, all-natural glowing wood and warmly gleaming copper fixtures. One big room, the kitchen area, bed, and bath all sharing one open concept space and it was something I knew would be right up Raven’s alley.

It had a big deck overlooking the water, and a stone fire pit out on that deck to sit under the stars and have a nightcap. I was looking forward to the peace, the quiet and solitude, just me and my girl.

We had to drive through Port Townsend to get to it, and I took the long way through so we could go down the main drag of the Victorian port town. It was artsy and held a bunch of Bohemian charm and again, I knew it was right up Raven’s alley.

She put her hands on my shoulders and levered herself up for a better view as we rolled through and I thought to myself, jackpot.

It was a bit treacherous getting down the dirt track driveway to our cabin, the pine needles shifting under the bike’s tires making for some majorly slow going, but eventually, I was able to cut the engine on the cement pad near the building just as the light began to fail around us, the sun beginning to dip over the horizon.

“Holy shit, Mace. This is wow,” she said getting off as I heeled down the kickstand on the cement pad that served for parking.

“You like?” I asked.

“It’s beautiful out here,” she said, looking up into the trees. “Do you think there are owls?”

“I bet there are,” I said, really having no idea, but this was the Pacific Northwest at its best and when it was at its best there were all sorts of critters.

“Someday, I want to go to Vancouver Island,” she said wistfully, looking out through the trees and down over the glimmer of the setting sun rippling over the surface of the straight.

“Oh yeah?” I asked, lifting things from the saddle bags to bring in. “What’s there?”

“There are white ravens on Vancouver Island,” she said coming over to take things off of me. One of the many things I loved about her. She wasn’t afraid to pull her weight no matter if things were big or small.

“White ravens? What, like albino or something?” I asked, curious.

She shook her head and shouldered her pack.

“Not albino,” she said. “They’re white because of a genetic defect, but it’s not albinism. Their eyes are blue, not red.”

“No shit?” I asked, leading the way down the steps and around the back side of the cabin that faced the water.

“I’ve been fascinated with them for a while, was thinking about doing the other arm with one if I could ever get the money together.”

I glanced back at her and she stopped looking at the floor-to-ceiling windows, the entire back half of the cabin nothing but large panes of glass.

“Whoa,” she murmured.

I went to the French doors leading inside and keyed the code I’d been given into the lock box hanging off the handle. It opened right up, and I took out the keys.

“Welcome to our home away from home for the weekend,” I said, pleased at her expression.

I let her go in ahead of me and watched her mouth drop open in surprise.

“Holy shit, Mace!”

It had vaulted ceilings, all-natural glowing wood, and a king-sized