Page 139 of Fire and Bones
“So Granny was driving the train.” Deery’s voice was strong, but his mouth moved stiffly.
“She was.”
“Where is the old bat?” he asked, obviously referring to Lipsey.
“One floor up. The docs say she’ll make it. The ambulances brought you both here because the hospital in Mount Airy was pushed to its limits with the victims of a multi-vehicle crash.”
“And the scumbucket grandsons?” Harsh for Deery, who rarely cussed.
“Still in the wind. Their pictures are everywhere and there’s a BOLO out on the Camry. It shouldn’t take long to net them.”
Deery nodded.
I was about to elaborate when the door swung wide, and a nurse pushed a cart into the room. On seeing me, she tensed.
“How did you get in here?”
Having no good response, I said nothing.
“This patient is only cleared for authorized visitors.” Face obsidian hard. “Out with you, now.”
“Of course.”
I stood.
“I’m here’cause I’m a cop,” Deery barked to my retreating back. “Not cause the wound is bad.”
Back in my car, I did a Google search for nearby pet stores. Found many, including Doggy Style, The Big Bad Woof, and Howl to the Chief. Struck out repeatedly when I called to inquire about chinchilla chow.
With one exception. The place wasn’t exactly around the corner, but at least Chuck wouldn’t go hungry. Punching the address into my navigation system, I headed toward 7th Street.
Twenty minutes after leaving Sibley Memorial I pulled to the curb outside of a Petco. I’d just shifted into park when my eyes registered a scene that kicked my pulse up a notch.
Sweet Jesus on a pancake.
Was I mistaken?
CHAPTER 31
I stared, making sure I wasn’t wrong.
I wasn’t.
Was I?
Ben Zanetti—maybe Ben Zanetti?—was striding down the walk skirting the west side of the Petco, a Wizards cap on his head, a hefty package cradled in his left arm. Clinging to his right arm was a woman who couldn’t possibly have closed out her twenties. A woman whose sense of style leaned toward “look at me.”
The woman’s hair was bleached platinum, shag cut, and dyed flamingo pink at the tips. Her arms were inked from the wrist to the point where each disappeared into the sleeve of a tee declaring, Let me pour you a tall glass of get over it. The ear I could see was loaded with enough metal to open a hardware store. A touch of whimsy that blended nicely with the eyebrow ring.
A bee blundered against my windshield. Danced across the glass, either stunned or confused. Gathered itself and flew off.
My recovery wasn’t happening that fast.
Realizing that I’d been holding my breath, I let the air out slowly.
I watched Maybe Zanetti and Pink Tips cross to an ancient Ford Focus with a sombrero-wearing mouse dangling from the rearview mirror. Using his remote key to open the trunk, Zanetti leaned forward to toss in the parcel.
Pink Tips caressed his bent back and spoke words I couldn’t make out.