Page 32 of Welker

“I guess I can do shopping.” Moira pulled a sour face, then settled back in her seat, becoming quiet. That was another thing Welk liked about her, and wouldn’t change for anything. The woman didn’t try to fill the air with meaningless conversation.

Their silence was companionable during the drive, and even though her jaw tightened when, in the daylight, they finally spotted the mess in her yard, she didn’t once complain. She simply sighed and got out of the car, giving a head-nod to their teammates who were already there, waiting.

“We didn’t want to presume anything,” Mason began, approaching them as they walked through the detritus. “There might be things we’d throw in the dumpster that you’ll want to salvage.”

Moira looked around with a blank stare, taking in the entirety of the carnage. “Nope. Pitch it all,” she said, succinctly. “I don’t own much that’s worth anything. I…” she bumped a downed birdfeeder with the toe of her boot and blinking, bent to pick it up. It wasn’t in bad shape. A few twists to the metal holder, and it would be fine.

“Okay. Amend that. If any of my birdfeeders are salvageable, we’ll put them aside.”

Interesting. Moira had a thing for birds. Welker would have to make sure her feeders went up around his property where she could see them from her bedroom windows, and the back slider.

Mason raised his voice. “Okay, folks. In case you didn’t hear,” he told the crew, “everything goes except any birdfeeders that can be saved.” He turned to Moira. “Now, as much as it sucks, we need to have a look around inside and see if they took valuables, and what, if anything, we might be able to save.”

Moira scoffed. “Good luck to them if they absconded with shit. The best those cretins could get would be fifty bucks for my second-hand flat-screen upstairs if they haven’t impaled that one, too.”

Welk knew she was talking about the state-of-the-art screen which the MC had destroyed.

“Well then, I suppose that’s good,” Mason accepted agreeably. “Let’s see if there’s anything they messed with in your house that’s worth keeping.”

Moira squared her shoulders, and Welker couldn’t help himself. He placed a comforting hand on the small of her back as they fell into step behind Mason.

She stiffened only slightly, but didn’t turn around to slug him, which Welk took as a plus.

Walking into the house followed by seven of the team who were not engaged outside, Welker wanted to shoot the MC members all over again, this time perhaps winging a few more of them. Moira’s place had been seriously destroyed. The perps had obviously learned well, how to strip a house in a minimum of time, from their forays into Bar Harbor. They’d used the same techniques here to rip through Moira’s walls, tear her appliances from their births, and trash the entire place.

“Well, shit,” Moira groaned, momentary misery on her face. If Welker had to guess, it was her dented and destroyed cookware that had her so devastated.

It was telling that she let her emotions show in front of her SWAT colleagues. But Welker got it. It had to be totally discouraging to see your house turned into a pile of rubble. He didn’t know if he’d be taking it as well as Moira was if this were his place.

“Insurance will cover it,” Welker told Moira for a second time, judiciously not mentioning the shopping part of replacing everything, this time. “And in the meantime, we’ll take pictures, then clean up.”

“Nolan has already documented everything,” Mason stated, talking about one of their tech gurus on the team. “As, I presume, the Sheriff’s Department did, last night.”

Which begged the question…

“Has Sheriff Gladstone called you?” Welker asked Moira.

She shook her head. “I haven’t heard from him.”

Prick, Welker wanted to expound. What kind of workmate didn’t call to check on the well-being of one of their own after such a devastating event. Something wasn’t right.

“Have you talked to the sheriff, Mase?” he asked his boss, who’d also narrowed his eyes at Moira’s answer.

“Once, early this morning after his deputies left. He wasn’t too happy to hear from me before sunrise, waking him up.” Mason looked anything but bothered. “I let him know we’d be out today to clean up.”

“The man had a stick up his ass?”

Mason’s face soured. “Yeah. He seemed to think everything could wait until after the insurance company gets out here, which is bullshit. You know as well as I do, that could take days, and if weather moves in, as predicted, we’re looking at a soaking wet mess. So I shot him down. I reminded him that his deputies took pictures, and suggested he have a copy of their report forwarded to Moira for the adjuster to review. I ended by impressing upon him that we weren’t letting Moira deal with this on her own.”

“And what did he say to that?” Moira questioned, joining the conversation with a skeptical lift of one brow.

“He, uh, said you were a big girl, and could deal.” Mason’s jaw looked ready to grind a mouthful of rocks.

“That sounds like Gladstone,” Moira grunted before purposely dismissing that intel and turning toward her stairs. “I’m going to have a look at my bedroom.”

“Uh, you might want to accompany her, Welk,” Mason bit out, as she placed her foot on the bottom tread. “There’s some…distasteful writing on the walls, and a lot of destruction.”

“Great,” Moira clipped. “A message. As if smashing everything I own isn’t bad enough.”

---