But he didn’t come home, and he didn’t call or text, either, and she didn’t dare interrupt. She wasn’t family, after all.

The rain had turned to snow at some point, the fat, heavy, discouraging snow of late winter, not enough to be a real storm, more than enough to be depressing.

Sarge erupted into excitable barks, and Emmaline jolted from the table where she was sitting. Sarge’s tail wagged and he whined and pawed at the floor-to-ceiling window.

It was Hadley, walking up Jack’s driveway, wearing a shiny black raincoat.

Super.

Emmaline opened the door just as the other woman knocked. “Surprise!” Hadley said, opening the raincoat.

She was wearing a fire-engine-red bustier and tiny scrap of panties.

“Hi there,” Em said. “Nice underwear.” That was a perfect body, all right. Em guessed her thigh and Hadley’s waist had about the same circumference.

“Where’s Jack? I need to talk to him. Right now.”

Uh-oh.

Hadley was drunk.

Her eye makeup was smeared, and while she didn’t quite look like Heath Ledger as the Joker, it was close. Her red, red lipstick had been crookedly applied, and the usually smooth and perfect blond hair was matted in the back. Despite the cold, she wasn’t wearing stockings. Or sensible shoes...those had to be four-inch heels, and her feet were nearly blue.

“Come in,” Emmaline said. “Jack’s not here.”

“Well, I was already at Blue Heron, and no one’s there, so don’t you lie to me! I wanna see him! He’s my husband, after all!”

“Not anymore he’s not,” Em said. She wasn’t about to tell Hadley about poor Mr. Holland. She’d end up going to the hospital, and Em didn’t think Jack would want that one bit.

But you know what? This was good practice for crisis negotiations. Half the calls they got were because someone was under the influence. First rule of negotiations: establish rapport. “Come on in, Hadley. Those shoes are amazing, but your feet must be freezing.”

“I don’t hafta do what you say,” Hadley slurred.

“No, of course not. But are you sure? It’s nice and warm in here. There’s coffee.”

“Take a bite of my pink...Southern...ass.” She poked a finger against Em’s chest with each of the last three words.

Em smothered a smile. Hard to commit to active listening and empathy with a statement like that. “You must be pretty frustrated,” she said.

“Go to hell. Where’s Jack?”

“He’s not here. I promise.”

“Are you two sleeping together?”

Ruh-roh. Emmaline paused.

“No!” Hadley shrieked, guessing the answer. “How dare you steal my husband, you Yankee slut!”

Clearly, stating the obvious wasn’t going to help here. Em opened the door wider. “Hadley, come on inside and we can talk. You, uh, you have a point.”

“No! You’re not the boss of me! And if I can’t have Jack, then I may as well go off and die!” She burst into noisy sobs.

For the love of the baby Jesus. “Hadley. Let’s have some coffee, and you can, um, see Lazarus. Right? You must miss him. You’re a cat person, right?”

“I hate that animal! I hate him! Jack! Jack! I need you! If you don’t come out right now, I swear I’m gonna make you sorry!”

With that, she picked up a rock and threw it at the house, and it was like she was channeling Derek Jeter firing to first base, because there was a smash as a window broke.

Clearly, that hadn’t been planned, because Hadley’s mouth dropped open. She cut her wide eyes to Emmaline. “Oopsy,” she said, then bolted, wobbling crazily in her ridiculous shoes. Instead of down the driveway toward the road, she ran into the woods.

This was just great. With a curse, Em ran after her. This was not how she wanted to spend her morning, and God forbid Jack come up the driveway to see his girlfriend (who’d turned off his phone to make sure their shagging wouldn’t be interrupted, preventing him from being with his family during a crisis) chasing his ex-wife (who was drunk off her pink Southern ass and nearly naked).

For a drunk, Hadley was fast. “Hadley!” Em yelled. “Knock it off! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Or freeze to death. It was raw today. Hadley’s coat flapped like awkward wings. And what was that about making Jack sorry, huh? Aside from breaking his window, that was?

Jack didn’t need this. Not with Mr. Holland in the hospital, very, very sick...or even dead. “Hadley. Please stop.”

She turned around and gave Emmaline the finger.

Nice. A branch slapped Em across the forehead and tangled in her hair, and she growled with irritation.

She caught up to Hadley as the smaller woman tried to climb over a rock wall. Hadley saw her coming, bent over and picked up a handful of something, then turned and shoved it in Em’s face.

Dirt and snow. Gross.

Em grabbed her hand, twisted it behind her back and yanked her back against her. “Knock it off,” she said, spitting out some frozen moss. “Or I’m arresting you for drunk and disorderly.”

“Jack! Jack!” Hadley shrieked, struggling.

So. Getting a drunken, surprisingly strong woman out of the woods wasn’t easy. “Can you just walk, please?” she said as Hadley writhed. “I really don’t want to have to carry you.” She got kicked in the shin as an answer. Branches snapped underfoot, and a squirrel followed them from the tree branches, laughing at the idiocy. Some of the snow Hadley had shoved at her had slid down Em’s shirt (of course), and there was a cold, wet lump sitting on her chest like a third breast.

Five minutes later, Emmaline had Hadley handcuffed and locked in the back of the cruiser, where Hadley was sobbing. At least she couldn’t hurt herself (or the car) if she was cuffed, and she’d done more than enough to earn it. There were a few leaves in Hadley’s tangled hair and raccoon eyes from where her mascara had melted.

Em leaned against the cruiser, breathing hard. She wasn’t much better off than her passenger. Her forehead stung, and her shin throbbed.

Okay, first things first. “I’ll be right back,” she told her passenger.

Emmaline went inside to the bedroom with the broken window and picked up the glass, then closed the door so too much heat (and the cat) wouldn’t get out. Debated on calling Levi, and then decided he didn’t need to hear about this just yet. He had other things on his mind.

She went back outside, opened the door of the cruiser for Sarge and got behind the wheel. “Is your sister still in town?” she asked.

“No! I’ve got no one and nowhere to go!”

“Have you always depended on the kindness of strangers?”

“As a matter of fact, yes!”

Okay, Blanche DuBois. Em stifled an eye roll.

She’d take Hadley to the station, because she didn’t have time to babysit her at her apartment. She was the officer on call today. Hadley could just sit tight in the holding cell and sober up.

Em rubbed a spot on her jaw where Hadley’s head had slammed into her.

It was going to be a long day.

Ten minutes later, they were at the station.

“You must be freezing! Isn’t she freezing?” Carol Robinson asked when Emmaline brought Hadley in. Though Emmaline had tied Hadley’s coat closed, it barely cleared her ass. Also, Hadley had refused to put on her shoes. “Isn’t that Jack Holland’s wife?”