Page 22 of Fierce-Zander

“Zander,” his mother said sharply. “You don’t send her in the field to do work. She’s not qualified to do that.”

“She offered,” he argued.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” his father said.

Great, they were going to gang up on him.

“She took some pictures of a guy faking an injury while she was walking Rocco in the park. Nothing major. You know she loves doing that. She even pretended to be videotaping the dog.”

Betsy was better at that than he’d thought she’d be.

“That’s not the end of the world,” his mother conceded.

“That’s right. Not even anything that wasn’t admissible in court.”

“Very cute,” his mother said.

“I know the rules,” he said. “I’m not that stupid.”

His mother laughed. “No one ever said you were stupid. You just did what you wanted when you wanted. It’s not a horrible trait to have.”

“That’s why I’m better off being the boss and making my own hours.”

“Some people thrive that way,” his mother said. “But it shouldn’t come at the expense of the rest of your life.”

He held the roll back from his eyes. Why did it feel like he was going to get ganged up on for this?

“It’s not,” he said. “Even if I cut back hours I still have to find someone who would understand my work and the nontraditional hours. That’s not easy. You and Dad made it look easy, but it wasn’t. That’s why Dad is home twiddling his thumbs.”

His mother frowned at him, but he was happy to get his licks in.

“I thought I could find more to do,” his father said. “But not many are retired or if they are from the PD they have second careers. I’m not looking for a second full-time career. Just a hobby or something.”

“Oh,” he said. “Guess I’ll drop it then.”

“Drop what?” Marley asked, walking in the door. One might think they planned this.

“I was going to ask Dad to give me a hand now and again on a few things at work. Betsy is doing a lot. I’ve got a few new jobs this week along with a bunch of open case files. Sometimes I just need a second set of eyes to see if I can close it and move on or not.”

“I’d love to help out,” his father said. “You know I’ve got a good eye for detail. I could get some pictures or track people down. I’m good on the phone, have great contacts at the station still.”

Which always came in handy when he was hired for criminal investigations.

“Well,” Zander said. “If you’re willing, why don’t you stop in tomorrow and I’ll get you set up in the other office. You can see what interests you and go from there.”

“Best birthday gift right there,” his father said. “And we can crack open this bourbon to celebrate too.”

“Thank you,” his mother mouthed to him when his father went into the kitchen to get the glasses.

He smiled and turned to his sister. “How come you’re late?”

“I’m not late. Mom said one. It’s two minutes before. You’re actually early and that is never the case.”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night and was up getting work done.”

“Zander!” his mother scolded.

“I’m a big boy,” he said. “I can figure out my career and business just fine. I’m trying to organize it and prioritize.”

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