“A dog?” If I didn’t run a doggie daycare, I might’ve considered fostering. As it was, with my growing business, I had plenty of furry chaos every day.
“Uh, no. Colin and James are fostering three young children. The kids’ single mom is going through a rough patch, and so they’re helping out.” Joe pulled out his phone. “I’ll make the call.” He wandered away.
The sun was starting to set, and I still had no idea how long my statement would take or what I faced at the shelter. I met Kevin’s gaze, and told him, “I’m proud of you. Thank you for sending the cops around back to us. I was…busy.” I’m not going to think about the gun and how easily Frank could’ve turned my way. That’s for another day.
Alec rested his hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “You always try to do your best, son, and I’m proud of you too. We’re going to have words about going onto strangers’ properties, though, okay?”
“Yeah.” Kevin didn’t sound thrilled, but he looked down. I got the sense, fleeting as it might be, that he’d at least listen to what his dads had to say.
Joe returned. “James is heading to the hospital. When things calm down, he said he can get his brother Danny to drive Arthur’s truck back home to the shelter.”
“Arthur lives at the shelter?” I asked.
“Yep.” Kevin beamed. “Isn’t that the best job ever?” Then his smile slipped, and he glanced between us. “He’s not hurt that bad, right? Just his leg, and he’ll be back running the shelter soon?”
Joe put an arm around his son’s shoulders and hugged him close. “I sure hope so. He seemed awake when the ambulance left, and that’s a good sign. Come on, I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
“Should we go to the hospital and make sure? There was a lot of blood.” Kevin’s lips quivered, despite how adult he was trying to seem.
Alec said, “Remember when the snapping turtle bit your finger and you shook blood all over the kitchen? That’s not always a terrible sign.”
Joe added, “And James will be at the hospital, and Colin, probably Neil from the shelter, and more. They’ll let us know how Arthur’s doing. Come on, let’s get out of the way and let the police do their job.” He held out a hand to me and engulfed my fingers in a strong clasp. “Thanks again, Brooklyn. If you need anything as you get settled here in Gaynor Beach, let us know.”
I watched them walk off, the boy between the two men, already talking and gesturing. When I was a kid, I’d never had anyone who listened…
“Right. Time for your statement,” Quakenbush said. “My body cam is active, so you are being recorded while I make notes. Do you give consent to that?”
“Uh. Sure?”
“We’re going to start from the beginning. Where were you an hour ago?”
“I was home, I guess.” I had to check my phone. Only half an hour since I walked out my door? Felt like a lifetime. “Yeah. At home.”
“And when did you leave?”
Quakenbush led me through the events of the last half hour. When he focused on Did I know I was on private property? and Had the homeowner asked me to leave? I began to wonder if I should have a lawyer myself, but then he moved on to the shooting. I was priding myself on how calm I sounded until my breath stuttered and came short. So much blood. And Arthur fell. I choked on the words and squeezed my eyes shut.
“No rush, sir.” Quakenbush’s voice came deep and steady. “Take your time.”
I can do this. I counted backward from thirty, listened to the sounds of a seagull overhead and voices to my left. I’m fine. I opened my eyes. “Sorry, where was I?”
Quakenbush wrapped things up fairly quickly and closed the case of his tablet. “One of the detectives will call in the next couple of days to bring your statement by for your signature, and to ask any follow-up questions.”
“Right. Of course.” I sucked in a deep breath. “Is that all?”
“Yes. You’re free to go. Drive carefully, now.”
I nodded, turned my back on the scene, and walked slowly and calmly—ha, who was I kidding?—I hurried home. The sooner I got into my SUV and busy taking care of things for Arthur, the less time I’d have to worry.
As I drove the short distance from my home in Riverside to the shelter in the tonier Marina Park neighborhood, I considered Kevin’s words. “He lives at the shelter. Isn’t that the best job ever?” I thought I had the best job. A run of bad luck had landed me where I was—good coming out of bad. I’d have given the money back if it meant not going through the shit I had, but I’d come out in one piece—more or less—and I had a new home, my doggie-daycare business, and a fresh start in an LGBTQ-friendly town. What I didn’t have were friends, or any kind of support system here. What I also didn’t have was a familiar routine, that sense of knowing where I was and how I belonged. Seeing Kevin with his dads, hearing them talk about all of Arthur’s friends, made me feel alone.
Of course Arthur has friends. A guy like that, what would he need with me? But a promise was a promise, and I’d do my best for him.
I parked in the front lot, exited my vehicle, and headed to the door beneath a cool mural of cats and dogs that spanned the upper story. I stepped inside the airlock entry, pushed open the inner door, and stopped short. Not what I expected.
The floor under my feet looked like expensive marble, or the best fake I’d seen. The lighting fixtures overhead were chandeliers dripping with sparkling crystals. This is a shelter?
A woman hustled out from the back area. “We’re closed. Sorry, I was about to lock the front door. We open again tomorrow morning at nine.”
