Desperate Crimes (The Bill Travis Mysteries Book 11) by George Wier

Author:George Wier [Wier, George]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: mystery, police procedural, noir, series, crime, action adventure, thriller
Publisher: Flagstone Books
Published: 2016-03-26T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

The pet store in San Sebastian had, of all things, ferret chow for sale. I bought four bags of the stuff, handed one to Jennifer and stuffed the other three in the trunk. Additionally, I bought sandwich materials for the drive back home, including light bread, hard salami, bologna, sliced cheese, lettuce, mayo, mustard, bread and butter pickles and a Family-Valu bag of potato chips that was bigger than a basketball and weighed less than a soft feather pillow.

“I don't like it, dad,” she said. “I don't like going home without Todd.”

“I thought you were calling him Sam, now?”

“Whatever. We came to find him, didn't we?”

“That we did. But sometimes discretion is the better part of valor.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Hank agreed from the rear seat, “what exactly does that mean? I've heard that bullshit all my life, and it never made a lick of sense to me.”

“Hey,” I said. “Language.”

“What?” Hank asked. “Her? I'll bet when you're not around, she cusses a blue streak.”

“You would be wrong,” I said. “My daughter is a proper little lady, and I'll not have you casting aspersions.”

“Hmph,” Hank said.

“What are aspersions?” she asked.

“Never you mind. The Sheriff asked that we leave town. I think it's because I'm a good shot.”

“That makes no sense,” Hank said.

“Yeah. I know. I guess what I mean is, it's got something to do with the NTSB.”

“The what?” Jennifer asked.

“The National Transportation Safety Board,” Hank said. “You see, last night when we were at the airport, your father shot down an airplane.”

“She already knows that,” I said.

“Can I tell mom?”

“I already told her.”

“Is she mad?”

“Maybe. Let's go home.”

“Okay,” she said, and her voice sounded far off and away, heavy with disappointment.

“I'm sorry,” I said.

She nodded slowly. “It's okay, dad. We did what we could. It's not the end of the world if my piano recital isn't perfect, or if we have to call it off.”

“It's not?”

“Of course not. I'm not a little kid, you know.”

I started the car and Morgan Freeman went airborne from the back seat into the front.

“No,” I said. “I suppose you're not.”

As we pulled out onto the highway, Jennifer said, “Dad, since I'm so grown up now, I think it would be all right if I had a pet alligator.”

“I don't,” I said.

“But dad—”

“You have a pet snake named Sir Ian McKellan, a pet parrot named Peter Jennings, a pet hedgehog named Simon Pegg, a pet ferret named Morgan Freeman, and now you want a pet alligator. First of all, an alligator would eat the snake, the parrot, the hedgehog and the ferret, and still be hungry. Second of all, I'm not grown up enough to have an alligator.”

“Okay, already. Geez, I was just asking.”

*****

Something strange happened as we passed the City Limits sign of San Sebastian—I began thinking out loud. I suppose that I may do this more often than I realize. Neither Hank nor Jennifer interrupted me.

“I don't know what it is about small towns. It may be that everyone thinks they really do know everyone else, which is why they treat outsiders like.

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