And There He Kept Her (Ben Packard #1)(52)
“Just tell ME when you find my car. Tell my SON he’s a shitass. Takin’ my car for…gone for days.”
“Whaddaya been drinking, Ann? Just beer or the hard stuff, too?”
“Whoa, who’re you? The fuckin’ drink police?”
“Just the regular police.”
“Never mind wha’ I’m drinking.”
“All right. I just wanted you to know about the news conference so you wouldn’t be surprised if you saw Jesse on TV.”
“I ain’t surprised by nothin’ no more. I don’t give a damn if that boy comes home or not. I jus’ want my car back.”
***
Packard spent another hour on emails and paperwork from the semi accident the night before. Besides the regular dispatch shift, he had a deputy set up with coffee and a phone and a laptop ready to work late and answer the tip line if any calls came in based on the news. Kelly was long gone and had locked up the administrative area. He went out the back to the sally port where he’d parked his truck.
His phone rang as he got behind the wheel. The number was local but not assigned to a contact. He answered it anyway.
“Yeah, who is this?”
“That’s how you answer the phone? Not even a hello?” Gary Bushwright said.
“Gary, I’m kind of busy. If Cora’s acting out again, you should—”
“Honey, I’m not calling about Cora. I’m calling about your ward you’ve left under my charge. I guess I’m supposed to raise him as my own. Is that the idea?”
Packard was confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gary.”
“Let me be more clear then. I run a licensed, certified not-for-profit 501(c)(3) organization dedicated to rescuing dogs. It’s called Gary’s Kids. Maybe you’ve heard of it? You expressed an interest in taking home one of my rescues when you were here the other day. You told me to hold on to the corgi for you, and now I haven’t heard from you in days.”
“Ah, jeez. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“Oh, you forgot? I’m not sure I want you to have this dog if you’re going to forget about him when things get busy.”
“Come on, Gary. I had a dog for years. You know that. I wouldn’t forget if he was mine.”
“Do you know how many emails I’ve had about that little three-legged doll since I put his picture on my website? I’ll tell you. Forty-nine. From all over the country. I sent a couple of local kids home crying yesterday because I wouldn’t let them adopt the corgi. Little baby children crying the biggest tears you ever saw. You understand that?”
“I got it. I’ll be in as soon—”
“No, sir. Not soon. Not when it’s convenient for you. First of all, if you want me to keep this dog, Gary’s Kids also provides a boarding service. It costs $25 a day. Discount rates by the week.”
“Fine, I’ll pay it.”
“You need to come in and sign some papers if you want me to board your dog. You also need to fill out the adoption papers so you can claim him as your dog and then pay me to board him. Tonight.”
“Gary, it’s been the longest day.”
“You heard me. Tonight. Before 10 p.m.. I turn into a pumpkin at 10. You don’t come by tonight, I’m calling those little crybabies first thing tomorrow and telling them they can have the dog.”
Packard sighed. He was exhausted. This was supposed to have been his day off. The job would consume his every waking minute if he let it. One more phone call, one more stop, one more question. Everything that took him away from the job of finding Jenny felt like a dereliction of duty. But he couldn’t do everything. He’d put in twelve hours already. He had a deputy answering calls on the tip line. If anything credible came in, he’d notify Packard right away. That had to be enough tonight.
The idea of getting a new dog gave Packard a boost. A dog would keep him from always coming home to an empty house. A dog would give the construction zone he called a home a heartbeat. If he could find time in his schedule for a dog, then maybe he could find time for Michael, too. He wouldn’t mind coming home to a dog and maybe a naked nurse once or twice.
“All right, Gary. I’m on my way.”
***
Packard parked behind Gary’s semi cab. A bare bulb burned in the porch light next to the front door. Shadows from the railing on the wheelchair ramp cast prison bars across the scrubby grass. From the rescue building came the muted, high-pitched song of barking dogs set off by the sound of his car. Packard was suddenly anxious to see his new dog.
Gary pushed open the screen door. “This way, Deputy. I got that building all closed up. After-hours business takes place in the house.”
Packard zigzagged his way up the ramp. He’d never been inside Gary’s house. The after-hours invitation seemed intimate and inappropriate and totally Gary. If Cora was watching, her head was probably spinning 360 degrees. She’d already made her mind up about Packard. There’d be no convincing her otherwise now.
Gary was wearing fuzzy slippers with jeans and a very old San Francisco 49ers sweatshirt tucked under his Grizzly Adams beard. “Football fan?” Packard said.
Gary looked down at his front and shook his head. “Thrift store fan,” he said, letting the screen door scrunch closed.