Page 40 of Inside Silence
“Deputy Kingma, may I remind you who you’re talking to?” I sternly call him to task.
I’m all about keeping a relaxed atmosphere here in the office, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t behave professionally. I will not tolerate insubordination.
“For your information, our department will continue to focus on the murder of Ben Rogers. And, not that I owe you any kind of explanation, but I have a responsibility to both the victims as well as the residents of Edwards County, and trying to juggle everything ourselves would be a disservice to them all.”
His cheeks stain a ruddy color and his lips press thin, whether from anger or embarrassment I’m not sure, but his apology sounds sincere.
“I’m sorry, Sheriff. I was disappointed, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
I wave him off. “I get it. Now, if you wouldn’t mind getting that file together, I need you to follow up with some of the Rogers’s neighbors we haven’t spoken to yet after you’re done.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Call me if anything pops up. I’m heading over to The Kerrigan to see when the last time was they saw Ben.”
The Kerrigan is his favorite hangout and I know the owners well. Jacob and his wife Stella are good friends of my father’s, and Dad still plays poker Thursday nights in the smaller back room of the bar.
“Anything pressing before I head out?” I ask Brenda on my way out the door.
“Nothing Hugo or I can’t handle,” she returns. “About time you took an early night. Not to push my luck, but you might want to consider a proper meal too. Judging by the food wrappers in the trash bin, you’ve been eating like crap.”
She’s not wrong. I’m feeling perpetually bloated with all the unhealthy takeout I’ve consumed over the past week or so.
“Yes, mother,” I mock her. “I have to stop into The Kerrigan anyway. I’ll see what special Stella has cooked up for today.”
I could do with one of her hearty stews or scrumptious lasagnas.
My stomach is already growling when I walk in the pub ten minutes later.
Nate
* * *
“Dad?”
“Yes, Tate.”
I’m balancing my phone between my shoulder and my ear while I load my tools in the back of my truck.
“Naomi’s mom invited me to stay for dinner. Can I?”
She’d mentioned yesterday Naomi Battaglia had offered to teach her some of the youth group’s dance routines before they meet again next Sunday. She’d called me once again already during her lunch time, asking if she could go home with Naomi. That resulted in me asking for a number to get hold of one of the girl’s parents to make sure they’re okay with my daughter showing up, and I ended up talking to Roy’s wife, Maggie. She told me she’d be fetching the girls from school, and I told her I’d swing by after work to pick Tate up again.
“Yeah, if she’s sure.”
“Wait, she wants to talk to you.”
I hear rustling as her phone changes hands, and Maggie’s bubbly voice comes on.
“Hey, Nathan. Listen, on Monday nights Naomi and I are usually on our own, because it’s Roy’s dart night, so we’d love for Tate to hang out for pizza with us. The girls can do their homework together. Oh, by the way, you didn’t tell me you and Roy used to be friends. I mentioned your name when I had him on the phone earlier, and he told me you were once thick as thieves.”
A snort escapes me at his description of us. I hope to God she has no clue how accurate it actually is.
“I wasn’t sure if he’d remember me.”
Or if he’d care to, for that matter.
“Of course he does. You should totally drop in for a beer. The guys usually congregate at the bar after work and grab something to eat before they play. Roy would love it.”
