Page 75 of Inside Silence
She hangs up before I can respond.
What I was going to say is that it will be impossible to get all the guys together at the same time, because we are supposed to cover the Harvest Fest parade in the morning.
It’s not much, a handful of tractors pulling harvest themed floats, the high school drum band, the fire department will have a few trucks in the parade, and the mayor likes to show off his equestrian skills by closing out the parade on horseback. It’s a half-hour parade at most, unless one of the tractors breaks down like it did last year, holding everyone up for forty-five minutes until they got it going again.
But we have to close off Main Street and block any intersections for the duration. That takes manpower, which I left in Hugo’s hands.
It may not be an issue, since we only need to get prints of those wearing a size eleven boot.
“What size are your boots?” I ask Hugo when I stop by his desk.
“Thirteen, why?”
Relieved to have my right-hand man eliminated right off the bat, I invite him into my office. I close the door before bringing him up to speed on the developments.
“That’s a pretty average size, I think,” he observes.
“I know. And somehow I need to get everyone with an eleven boot in a room together,” I explain. “I’ll be pulling the personnel files; everyone would’ve filled out their sizing information with their paperwork so we could order their uniform. That includes boots.”
“Sure, but I remember filling out twelve on my intake form, and I ended up having to go up a size for comfort because my size boots fit too tight. So, make sure you include size tens as well. Unfortunately, I think the only ones who don’t fall into that range are me and Warren, who’s got barge-sized boots. Which leaves just about everyone else, and I’ve got more than a few of those guys on this weekend’s schedule.”
So much for my brilliant idea to tackle them all at once in order to keep the element of surprise.
“Shit. There goes that plan. It’s okay, I’ll figure something out. In the meantime, can you print me out the schedule you did up for the weekend?”
As soon as he leaves my office, I pull up the department’s personnel files. Since I’m still holding out hope Jeff Sanchuk may be our perp and not another one of my employees, his file is the first one I open.
I scan the document until my eyes land on his shoe size—nine.
Damn.
Nate
* * *
“She’s going to give you gray hair.”
I turn to find Brant Colter standing beside me, his eyes on the scene outside the window I was focused on just moments ago. My daughter and Carson look a little too cozy on the front porch swing.
“If I don’t pull them out first,” I grumble.
It’s not like the kids are touching or anything, but I can tell from the way they interact, they’re totally into each other. This is going to become an issue. She’s fourteen and has two years to go to reach the age of consent, but Carson is already there. Two years is a fuck of a long time for a teenage boy to wait. Especially one who has my daughter looking at him like he hung the moon.
“Fuck me.”
“Yeah. Given my own track record, I’m probably not the best person to dole out advice—especially to you,” he adds quickly. “But I wouldn’t suggest trying to stop them from seeing each other. They’ll find other ways that won’t be under your watchful eye, and then you’ll be in trouble.”
I watch as Carson shrugs out of his zippered hoodie and carefully drapes it over Tatum’s shoulders.
“Real trouble.”
“She’s just a little girl,” I protest limply.
“To you, yes, and probably will be for the rest of her life,” he states solemnly, before clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, you need a beer.”
Do I ever. I need at least a six-pack of them or maybe a few of something stronger, but that would not be responsible-parent behavior. So, I follow Brant to the kitchen, where I pick a light beer from the collection he has on offer, and head out the back door to join the crowd.
“Five more minutes for the skewers, but the burgers are ready for grabs,” Hugo announces when I join him by the large barrel grill.
