by Terry Odell
“Not completely true. Peanuts or cookies?” Cole asked Austin, hoping to get a less rigid response.
A shy grin. “I got both. The flight attendants were nice.”
Cole held the door for the two of them, his gaze automatically sweeping the room. He stiffened when he saw his three suspects sitting in a booth, laughing and speaking in tones a little louder than socially acceptable in a restaurant—even for Burger Hut.
Morgan must have sensed his concern. “Something wrong?” she whispered.
“No.” He exhaled and smiled.
He found a table on the opposite side of the dining room, choosing a seat where he could watch both the door and the three boys.
They looked his way, and their demeanors did a quick shift. The laughter stopped, their voices dropped so their conversation was no longer audible to him. They leaned forward, heads together, as if formulating a plan.
Cole felt for the gun at the small of his back. His heart rate ratcheted a notch.
After placing their orders, Cole asked Austin what he thought of the Elm Street house.
He shrugged. “Miss Tate says it’ll get better once the furniture shows up and the repairs get going.” He shifted his gaze to Morgan. “Is there going to be a TV?”
“You think we need one?”
His face fell.
She punched his biceps. “Fifty-inch okay with you?”
His eyes popped. “Really?”
“You’ll have to help me learn how to use it,” she said. “All that techno stuff is too complicated for me. I’m old.”
“You are not.” Austin smiled, the first genuine one Cole had seen.
Their server arrived with the food, and Austin was too busy eating for the next fifteen minutes to be bothered with conversation. Cole shot Morgan a glance he hoped said I like him, then returned his gaze to the boys across the room. No question. They were keeping him on their radar, cutting their eyes his way. Were they looking at Austin, not him? They’d demonstrated prejudice against gays, of that Cole was certain. Did they have something against blacks as well?
Made no sense. They were on the high school football team, interacting with blacks on an almost daily basis. Cole knew the coach stood for no nonsense when it came to race. Players were judged on their game, not skin color.
No, Cole was sure they were focused on him, not Austin.
Morgan must have picked up on it. Unease rolled off her in almost palpable waves.
“You almost done?” she asked Austin, who was dunking each fry in ketchup, biting off a piece, and repeating the process. Three times per fry.
“Almost.” Austin dunked another fry.
One of the boys, from across the room, Sean Dennison, Cole recalled, slid out of the booth, wandered in the direction of their table, his gaze fixed on Cole.
Cole met his stare, kept his expression a hair on the neutral side of You don’t want to go there.
Under the table, Morgan gripped his thigh.
Sean smirked, then continued past the table toward the restrooms. The other two got up and waited for their cohort in the entryway.
Moments later, Sean swaggered past their table, bumping Cole’s empty soda glass. Sean grabbed for it, knocking it over, spilling the remaining ice cubes onto the table. He righted the glass. “Clumsy of me. I’m sorry.” Another smirk. “Officer Patton.”
Cole was sure the smile he gave Sean would freeze the river mid-summer.
Morgan had grabbed a napkin and was wiping down the table.
A server rushed over to help. “Can I get you another Dr. Pepper?” he asked.
“No harm done. Accidents happen,” Cole said. He shot the boy another deep freeze smile. “Once.”
Sean left, and Cole turned to Morgan and Austin. “Anyone up for dessert?”
Chapter 31
MORGAN WANTED NOTHING more than to leave the restaurant. The way Cole had been watching those boys across the room, and then one pretending that knocking over Cole’s glass had been an accident, had her stomach in knots. Austin hadn’t picked up on it, not that Morgan could tell, and the way his eyes had brightened when Cole suggested dessert had her burying her concerns. She agreed.
“They do a killer loaded brownie,” Cole said to Austin. “It’s huge. Ginormous brownie, chocolate sauce, raspberry sauce, whipped cream. And a cherry on top. Want to split it?”
Austin nodded. “Yes, please,” he hurried to add.
He was trying so hard to behave. Was he afraid he’d be sent away for anything less than perfect behavior? Didn’t he know he could act like a kid?
Give him time.
Wanting to give the guys a bonding moment, Morgan ordered a single scoop of vanilla ice cream for herself.
When their desserts arrived, Cole offered a knife to Austin. “You draw the line for how much you want. The rule is, you have to eat however much you choose.”
Austin tilted his head in Morgan’s direction, as if he thought he was being tested, then tentatively drew a line at about the one-third mark, giving Morgan another approval-seeking glance.
She patted his hand. “You’re the only one who knows how much dessert room you have. Go for it.”
With a shy smile for Cole, Austin moved the line dead center.
“That’s more like it.” Cole scooped half the dessert onto Austin’s plate.
Austin grinned and dove in.
Desserts finished, they went back to Elm Street. As Cole rounded his car for the porch, he uttered a not so quiet curse.
Austin, who was already by the front door, turned, wide-eyed.
“Sorry.” Cole grabbed his phone, took pictures of his car.
“What happened?” Morgan asked. “Did someone ding you?”
“Keyed it,” he said. “I’ll deal with it later. Let’s get your wall finished.”
They regrouped in the master bedroom while Cole did the final sanding pass.
“You’re a cop.” Austin eyed Cole warily. He sat cross-legged on the floor, petting Bailey.
“I am.”
“Someone messed with your car, right?”
“They did.”
“Do you know who?”
Cole shook his head, although Morgan thought he had a pretty good idea it was one of those kids from Burger Hut.
“If you found him, what would you do?” Austin said.
Cole glanced at Austin, but kept working. “First, I’d have to prove it was really him. I can see if there are surveillance cameras that show him doing it. Then, I could find him and make him pay.”
“You wouldn’t shoot him? Or beat him up?”
Morgan’s heart came to an abrupt halt.
Cole stopped sanding. He fixed his gaze on Austin. “My job is to protect people, not hurt them. I’ve never shot anyone, and I don’t want to have to.”
“If the person was bad, though, you could shoot him?”
Where had this come from? Cole would have to answer. She couldn’t speak for him.
“It would be a last resort,” Cole said. “First, I’d tell him that what he was doing was wrong. Tell him to stop.”
“If he didn’t stop?” Austin’s tone was curious, as if this was nothing more than typical conversation.
“It would depend on what he was doing. If he was hurting someone else, I would restrain him. You know what that means?”
“That’s when you beat him up.”
“No, I’d never beat someone up. I use just enough force to make him stop. I’d put handcuffs on him so he couldn’t keep hurting the other person.”
“You have a gun, right?”
“I do. But the only time I’d use it would be if someone was trying to shoot me first.”
“A cop beat up someone near my apartment once. Another cop shot someone.”
Morgan stifled a gasp.
Cole crouched until his eyes were level with Austin’s. “I’ll bet there are some kids at your school who aren’t nice, right?”
Austin nodded. “DeShaun’s a bully. He
takes people’s lunches and beats on them if they try to stop him.”
“You’d say DeShaun’s not a nice person, then.”
Austin nodded.
“It’s the same in police departments. Most police officers aren’t like the one you said beat someone up, or shot someone. Unless you know the whole story, from both sides, you can’t make assumptions. Police departments have people who investigate cops to make sure they’re not breaking the rules.”
Morgan watched as Austin processed the information. Later, she’d have to ask what prompted the conversation.
Cole stood and ran his fingers along the wall. “I think we’re done.”
More like just beginning.
COLE CLEANED UP WHILE Morgan got Austin settled into bed. When she came down carrying sheets and a blanket, he helped her spread them on the couch. “Not much of a bed.”
Morgan tucked the sheet under the couch cushions. “It’s only for a couple of nights.”
He noticed that she’d winced and shaken out her hands. “Your carpal tunnel bothering you?”
She arranged a top sheet and blanket. “Not bad.”
Now that she’d confessed her ailment, it seemed she wasn’t as worried about admitting her weakness in front of him.
After Morgan folded the top edge of the sheet over the blanket, she stepped back, as if surveying her handiwork. “You think the kid who knocked over your glass keyed your car, don’t you?”
He’d wondered how long before she brought it up. “Either him or one of his two buddies. But, like I told Austin, without proof, there’s not much I can do. I'm heading back to the restaurant to see if they’ve got surveillance footage.”
“I liked the way you answered Austin,” she said. “I’d like to know why he asked those questions, though.”
So did Cole. “Does he—did he—live in a rough neighborhood?”
“Better than some, worse than others. I’d call it the low end of middle class. A mix of races. Heavy on black and Latino, some whites and a few Asians, too. No gangs that I’m aware of.”
“Give me the address, and I’ll see if I can find references to what he was talking about.”
“You said you talked to detectives about Kirk Webster. Did you get any answers?”
“Nothing definitive yet.” Most of what Kovak had said related to Randall Ebersold, and he couldn’t discuss that case with Morgan. If what Kovak had found held up, keying Cole’s car would be the least of these kids’ worries.
Morgan hid a yawn behind her hand.
He stroked her cheek. “You’ve had a long day. I’d better get going before we do something ... inappropriate.”
She gave him a gentle kiss. “Thanks for the wall, for everything.”
As he drove back to Burger Hut, Cole wondered if Morgan had intended her thanks to mean she was writing him off now that she had Austin to worry about.
Not if he could help it.
The surveillance footage at Burger Hut wasn’t definitive. Whoever had keyed his car had been wearing jeans, a black windbreaker, and a ball cap positioned so the brim hid his face. Cole hadn’t seen any of the three boys wearing ball caps in the restaurant, but one of them might have had a dark colored windbreaker slung over his arm as he walked out. Cole couldn’t swear to it. The move along his car was made quickly, casually, with the boy’s face averted from the camera so that a positive ID was impossible. Too many crime shows on television served as instruction manuals for lawbreakers these days.
The Burger Hut manager burned a copy of the footage onto a CD, just in case it might prove useful. Maybe Connor could perform some enhancement magic.
Cole took the CD to the station, put the disc in an evidence envelope and wrote a note for Connor to hang on to it. Neither of the detectives was in, so Cole went home. He could use public search engines to look up incidents in Austin’s neighborhood. It might show that Austin was better off here in Pine Hills than in Dublin.
Where Austin was living wasn’t the big question. It was who he was living with. If no relations were found, would Morgan have as much of a case in the eyes of the court as a registered foster parent?
Would a relationship with Morgan hinder or help? The courts frowned upon non-marital sexual encounters. Could she argue having a strong male figure in the mix was better for Austin?
The dreams he’d shared with Jazz included having children. At age eighteen, the reality of having kids was an abstract concept. Cole had never pictured himself interacting with those imaginary children. Did professions matter? Was a high risk job like being a cop a help or a hindrance?
Chastising himself for jumping so far ahead, Cole spent the next hour gathering information about criminal activity in Austin’s neighborhood.
One article stopped him. No wonder the kid had a low opinion of cops.
Chapter 32
MORGAN WOKE WITH THE sun the next morning, far earlier than she’d wanted to. She should have hung blankets over the windows.
Bailey wasn’t in his crate. Morgan tiptoed up the stairs and peeked through Austin’s half-open door. He and Bailey lay curled up together. Her heart swelled, and she lingered in the doorway for several heartbeats, watching the two of them sleep.
Fur therapy.
Downstairs, she started a pot of coffee. While it brewed, she went over her list for today. She’d heard from Rich’s fence guy and one other. Should she write off the third for not responding promptly? She circled check references on her list.
Too early to call Austin’s school or Mrs. Slauson. Or the company Uncle Bob used to work for. Was she even going to bother with that one? Don’t dwell on the past, her father used to say. Uncle Bob’s ledgers had been an interesting diversion, but she couldn’t imagine them providing information she could use today.
The appliances were supposed to be delivered between noon and three. What was the point of being up so early if you couldn’t get anything done?
There was the matter of dealing with Mrs. Jackson’s remains. Would a funeral be important to Austin? What had the hospital done with her body?
Her phone buzzed a text. Cole.
Up
Yes, she texted back.
She waited for his next abbreviated message, surprised when he called.
“Morning,” she said.
“How was the couch?”
“Lumpy, but I was tired enough that it didn’t matter.”
“I got a call from Tom about your job. Thought I’d let you know I’ll be part of the crew on my off days.”
An unbidden smile worked its way to her face. “Great. I guess that means I won’t be buying you food in exchange for work anymore. Tom is paying you, right?”
“Right.”
Padded footfalls and clicking toenails sounded from the stairway. “Gotta go. The boys are coming down.” She swiped to end the call.
“Morning. Sleep okay?” she asked Austin.
“Yeah. That’s a good bed.”
“Yours will be here tomorrow. It’s the same kind, but smaller, so it should be comfortable, too.”
She clipped a leash on Bailey and took him outside. “Once there’s a fence, guy, you can have privacy while you do your thing.”
The dog wasted no time finding a spot.
Inside, Austin had poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat on the couch to eat. She waited until he’d finished eating and had showered and dressed before bringing up the changes in his life.
“There are laws about who can take care of kids. The courts will be trying to find your other relatives, if you have any. Did you get Christmas or birthday cards from anyone your mom said was related to you?”
Austin shook his head. “It was just her and me. Sometimes Dad came home, but he never stayed. They was—were—always fighting. Mostly about Momma drinking, but she couldn’t stop. Said she’d tried, but it was better when she had her drink. She complained about her jobs, the way her new boss made her do too much stuff, but she said if she quit she’d have to start at the b
ottom somewhere else. She promised she only drank at home, not at work.”
Another crack formed in Morgan’s heart. “Okay, so if the courts can’t find a relative, they’re going to look for people who take in foster kids.”
“Can you, Ms. Tate?”
“Honey, I’m trying my hardest. For now, I’m going to wait until they tell me I can’t, and by then, I hope we’ll prove that this is the best place for you. That means you’ll have to keep up with your schoolwork. I’m going to call your school for your assignments.” She gave him a pretend glare. “You did bring your books, didn’t you?”
Austin’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Then go upstairs and get them. Do you have homework from last week?”
“Done.”
“Right now, I think it’s best if you consider yourself part of the Dublin school, just a long-distance student. If I’m going to help you, I need to know what you’re studying.”
“What about my piano lessons?” he asked. “And practicing?”
“I’m working on that, too. I’ve only been here a week, remember, and there’s so much to do. They’re going to start house repairs in a few days, and there’s furniture and other things we need that will be delivered.”
“Okay.” He called Bailey to follow him.
Austin sounded so much more cheerful today. She couldn’t break his mood with talks of cops shooting people.
She found the number for the police station and called. “May I speak to Detective Detweiler, please. It's not a police matter.”
COLE MADE THE HIGH school his first stop on his morning patrol route. He parked on the street and watched the kids file into the two-story red brick structure. The principal had denied any incidents on campus, but that didn’t mean things weren’t going on, just that the kids knew how to keep under the radar.
Or off campus.
Cole spotted Vance Ebersold’s Mustang as it pulled into the drop-off zone. Randall emerged from the passenger side, his casted left arm in a sling. He headed up the path to the building, his gait slow but steady.