Page 94 of Script Swap
Fox cackled.
“I didn’tmakemyself a badge.Paul gave it to me, and it’s for being awesome at laser tag.”
Hands on hips is a good look on Bobby; he’s got this natural way of standing hipshot, and I don’t know if I’ve used the wordsperfect mantoo many times yet.But it’slesscute when he adds, “You’re still in trouble.Excuse me.Where are you going?”
That last bit was for Tinny, who at that moment was trying to waltz past us.
“Back to my apartment,” Tinny said.“I’ve got the worst headache—”
Bobby steered her right back to where she’d been sitting.
Big surprise: Tinny didnotget released to go home, mostly because the sheriff arrested her.I mean, shehadstolen all that money, after all.It shouldn’t have been such a surprise.But to hear Tinny protest, it was the outrage of the century.
To my surprise, the sheriff kept me waiting.To talk to me again, I decided.But she didn’t call me back.Minutes crawled past.Was she going to arrest me too?For what?I wasn’t even trespassing, not really.Was I going to get a lecture about interfering with an investigation?One of the best things about Sheriff Acosta was that she didn’t buy into all that macho posturing.She wasn’t afraid of getting a little help now and then.And she was agoodsheriff because she cared about her people and her community, and that included me.
And still nothing.
When Bobby appeared, his face was unreadable, and his tone was even as he said, “I’m going to take you home, and then I need to come back.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.“I can drive myself.”
Bobby had his hands on his hips again.
“What I meant to say,” I said, “was ‘That sounds great.Thank you.’”
What might have been a smile crinkled the corners of Bobby’s eyes.He held out his hand, and I gave him the keys.
We drove slowly out of Hastings Rock, navigating the tourists (there were two twentysomething girls, obviously sisters, trying to do what I suspected was a TikTok challenge in the middle of the street; I swear to God, Bobby almost stopped the car).Once we were out of town, the forest of spruce and pine and hemlock closed around us.The shadows were deep, like something you could fall into, and the sweetness of resin warmed by the sun whipped in through the open windows.
“Bobby, I’m sorry,” I said.“I shouldn’t have gone in there without Fox, but it was an emergency—”
“I’m not mad at you.I’m scared.Or I was scared.”He leaned back, pushing on the steering wheel with both hands to press himself against the seat.
I let a few hundred yards flick past.And then I said, “Past tense?”
He cocked his head.Something was different about his expression.I knew what Bobby looked like when he’d been pushed to the brink.I knew what he looked like when that big, red panic button in his brain made it impossible for him to keep control of himself—and it terrified Bobby not to be in control.And this, right now, this wasn’t that.This was something else.
“What’s going on?”I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Yes.Yes, something is definitely going on.Something isup.What happened?Oh my God, is the sheriff going to give me a medal?”
“No,” Bobby said—and with atone.I mean, a rude one.Like this was the most unbelievable thing he’d ever heard.
“Is she going to make me stand in front of a firing squad?”
“That’s your second guess?”
“What is going on today?You’re so salty!”
He gave me that goofy grin.
“Bobby, what?”I asked.“This is killing me.”
“You’re the great detective.”
“Are you for real right now?”
