“Sure,” he said, holstering his gun. “Wanna explain things to me?”
I tipped my head at Dennison. “He’s FTA. When I came to escort him back to jail, his mother took exception. She shot at me, and then attacked me. She’s not well.”
Frye looked from the old woman, still struggling in my arms, to the rest of the living room, and then the ceiling. I saw him shaking his head.
“Things got a little out of hand,” I admitted.
“No shit.”
“Hey, it’s clear,” the second cop said, holstering his weapon. He glanced over at me and the old woman and chuckled. “I’ve heard about you,” he said. “Zoe Grey, right? Ellmann’s girl.” Then he laughed. “This is great.”
“Ellmann’s girl?” I repeated, looking between them. “Is that what you guys call me?” I gave Frye a pointed look.
Frye had the wisdom to look cautious, and slightly embarrassed. The other guy just chuckled again and nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”
I sighed. I didn’t know how I felt about my identity as “Ellmann’s girl.” True or not.
“Whatever. Mind giving me a hand here?”
They looked at each other then back to me. After a very long minute, they stepped over Dennison. Each took the old woman by an arm and easily hauled her up.
“Hey, don’t let her go,” I said, getting to my feet, a wary eye on the woman. “Not until I’m long gone.”
Frye looked me over. “She do that to you?”
I was almost afraid to know what the damage had been. From what I could see, there was blood on my jeans and shirt, and my shirt was torn. My left cheek and the side of my neck burned where her nails had clawed me, and they felt sticky with blood. The chunks of hair that had come loose from my ponytail were stuck in it.
“Yeah.”
“You need an ambulance?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Better take your skip and go then. We’ll stay with her until EMS gets here.”
I didn’t wait around to be told twice.
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
I went to Dennison, grabbed an arm and his belt, and pulled him to his feet. The burning pain bloomed in my shoulder again, and I winced.
“Should you be working?” Frye asked, having seen my face.
“It’s been six weeks. The doctor released me.” Technically a true statement. Technically.
“He know this is what you’re doing?”
No. That was the rub. But I had sat around for as long as I was able.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Good to see you, Frye.” I looked at the other guy. “What’s your name?”
“Brooks. Jason Brooks. I just started a few weeks ago. I’ll probably see you around.” He grinned again, amused.
“Right. Well, Brooks, tread lightly.”
Confusion pinched his eyebrows together. He glanced at Frye, who gave a small nod.
I steered Dennison out the door and off the porch.
The Trouble With Murder Page 37