“Not to mention,” Tripple said, his voice carrying up the stairs, “it’s our job. We’re the ones who should be doing it, not some kid with a bony butt who can’t stay home and mind his own business. God, he makes you look like a joke, son.”
“What did you say about Dash?”
Bobby wasn’t the threatening type. He wasn’t the bluster and shout and wave his arms type. He was the ask questions type. Real questions. With real consequences.
And apparently Tripple knew it, too, because he mumbled, “It’s not safe for him—”
“I know it’s not safe. And so does Dash. But Dash is the only reason Keme is not still sitting in a cell. And Dash is the reason we know Channelle was having an affair. Dash is the one who found her. So, if it’s our job, we’re doing it pretty poorly.”
Tripple said a few things that suggested his negative opinion of amateur sleuths near and far, and Bobby said something that suggested the conversation was over, although in less polite terms.
I tried to be understanding of Tripple. He’d been working nonstop, from what I could tell, ever since the murder, and so—like Bobby—he must have been exhausted. On top of that, it wasa miserable night, and he must have gotten soaked, no matter what kind of poncho or raincoat he was wearing. And maybe it did seem like a hoax. After all, I couldn’t prove anyone had been out there. I couldn’t even give them the beginning of a description. But part of me still wanted to march downstairs and remind anyone who would listen that attention gave me hives.
When Bobby came back upstairs, there was nothing for us to do but sleep. We’d never find Keme tonight, not in this weather. So, I closed my eyes. And I emptied my mind. (I mean, I tried. I really did.) But I couldn’t fall asleep, even though exhaustion kept dragging my eyelids down. Even with Bobby’s arm pulling me against his chest. It was hard to remember that anything had been wrong between us.Ifanything had been wrong between us. If it hadn’t all been in my head.
And that, of course, was when I finally dozed off.
Bobby woke me the next morning.
It was seven o’clock.
I was sure there was some kind of mistake. I mean, this wasn’t the accidental, sorry-I’m-making-too-much-noise-as-I-get-ready-for-work kind of wake-up. (Bobby never did that, by the way. He was always very considerate. Plus he got dressed for work in ‘his’ bedroom.) This wasn’t even the cute, let’s-fool-around-because-I’ve-got-five-minutes-before-work kind of wake-up. (I knew because those started with kisses.)
This was businesslike.
This was professional.
This wasrude.
“Stop faking,” Bobby said. “I know you’re awake.”
I cracked an eye.
He was already dressed in his uniform, and although he had to be exhausted, he looked as crisp and alert as ever. “I want you to stay home today, okay?”
I grumbled something.
“I don’t want you going out,” Bobby said. “Not until we figure out what’s going on. Someone tried to kill you last night. I want you where I know you’ll be safe.”
I chose not to mention what we both knew—Hemlock House wasn’t exactly the Fortress of Solitude. Plenty of people had gotten into the sprawling old house before, and several of them had wanted to shuffle me right off this mortal coil. Instead, I said, “Maybe they were trying to kill Keme.”
“They didn’t seem too particular.”
“Keme’s still out there somewhere. Keme could be in danger.”
“I’m going to look for Keme.”
“No, you’re going to work. And you’re going to do whatever the sheriff needs you to do, because it’s your job, and you’re a good deputy. And meanwhile, Keme is out there, and he could be freezing to death, he could be hurt, he could be hungry.” (I realized in order of magnitude, I’d gotten off track.)
“Keme knows how to take care of himself,” Bobby said.
“And I don’t?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you implied.”
Bobby drew a deep breath. Tension marked his brow. Then it relaxed, smoothing away, and he said, “I don’t want to fight with you.”
