A Different Blue(102)

to poo outside, like Icas.”

“Hmmm,” Jimmy sighed, tuning me out.

“I could be the mommy, you could be the grandpa. Would you like being a grandpa, Jimmy?”

Jimmy stopped chiseling, his hands falling to his sides. He looked at me soberly, and I wondered

at the deep lines around his mouth that I hadn't really noticed before. Jimmy already sort of

looked like a grandpa.



Strains of music found their way through the vent and I shook myself drowsily, the memory/dream

still hanging in the air like a hint of perfume. I had grandparents somewhere. My mother must

have had some family. And if not, what about my father's family? Had they even known about me?

Had they looked for me?

I lay in the dark, listening as Wilson played the songs that I now had names for. I could

identify many of them within the first few notes. Yet I could walk by my own grandfather – even

my own father! – tomorrow and not recognize him. My baby shifted within me again. Someday my

baby would want to know, no matter how deeply he or she was swathed in love and family. Someday

he or she would need to know. And that meant I had to find out.





Chapter Nineteen





The precinct smelled like you would expect a precinct to smell. It smelled official. Coffee,

cologne, a hint of bleach, and electronics . . . you know the smell. I didn't smell donuts,

though. I guess the cops and donuts thing is just a bad stereotype. More labels.

I approached the front desk, manned by a enormous woman with a severe bun and a hint of a

mustache. Her looks did not encourage secret spilling.

[page]“Can I help you?” Her voice was a complete contrast to her appearance. It was sugary and

kind, and reminded me of Betty White. I felt better almost immediately.

“I don't know if you can help me, but maybe you can direct me. I wondered if there is a

policeman here with the last name of Bowles? I think he will remember me if he is. It involves a

missing persons case he was in involved with about ten years ago.”

“We do have a Detective Bowles. Would you like me to see if he is on the premises?”

Bowles wasn't a terribly uncommon name, and I knew there was a chance it wasn't the same guy,

but I nodded anyway. It was a start.

“Could I have your name please?”

“Blue Echohawk.” That would make it simple. If Detective Bowles didn't recognize my name, he

wasn't the same officer I had known.

The woman who swallowed Betty White spoke sweetly into her headset, obviously trying to locate

Detective Bowles. I looked away, taking in my surroundings. This building was much older than

the police station they'd taken me to in 2001. That station had been in Las Vegas somewhere, and

it had been brand new. It had smelled like paint and sawdust, which at the time had been very

comforting. For me, the smell of sawdust was probably the equivalent of homemade chocolate chip

cookies hot out of the oven.

“Blue Echohawk?” I turned as a muscular, middle-aged man approached. He was instantly

familiar, and I resisted the urge to turn and run as my heart began to pound. Would I get in

trouble for not coming forward with this information sooner? Would Cheryl? A smile broke out

across his face as surprise had him chuckling and reaching a hand out in greeting.

“I'll be damned. When all that stuff went down at the high school last January, I wanted to get