Page 58 of Barron

Without turning, she lifted a hand and waved. “I’m not angry. Good night, Betty.”

She exited past the front desk. Durbin was long gone. A different officer sat on duty.

“Please, Yoanni. I know you’re angry.” Betty called out to her. “I want to talk to you.”

Stopping, Yoanni turned. “Why are you chasing me? What’s going on? I told you, I’m not angry.”

Betty, her face contorted, grabbed her arms. “I know you are. I can see it all over you.”

“Hey! Get your hands off me.” Yoanni shook her arms loose and pushed the other woman away, just as Barron pulled the truck in front of the door “I’m going home.”

“Not with him,” Betty hissed urgently. “He’s a bad man. He’ll hurt you.”

Yoanni rushed to the truck, opened the door, and jumped into the passenger seat.

“Is that your coworker Betty?” Barron asked. “She seems demented.”

“She’s acting like it.”

But instead of driving off, Barron took out his phone.

“What are you doing? Let’s go,” she urged him.

“Wait a minute,” he said, snapping a photo of Betty, who stared at them as they pulled away. Barron dropped his phone into the side compartment.

“I don’t understand. Why did you take her photo?”

He grasped her fingers. “Do you trust me, Nugget?”

“You know I do.”

“I’m following a hunch. I’ll explain when we get home. If I’m right, we’ll know soon enough.”

“A hunch.” She exhaled. “God, I have so much to tell you.”

He glanced at her. “Do I have to act on it now?”

“No. It’s over.”

“Then tell me all about it tonight.”

“Sounds good to me.” She dropped her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. “I’m just glad this day is over.”

“That bad?”

“You’ve no idea.”

Holding Yoanni’s hand, Barron opened the garage door to the laundry room. Caesar, tail wagging, waited for them on the other side. Yoanni smiled; the dog’s happiness cheered some of the gloominess she couldn’t let go. The hideous spectacle of her pretty home and her few precious belongings vandalized and torn up had shocked her to the core. She didn’t really know what to expect because the evening of the invasion, Barron, ignoring the blow to his head, had prevented her from seeing the mess and insults painted red on her walls.

Today, she did.

Her heart broke.

She felt violated.

Caesar, in tune with her sadness, sniffed and bumped her hand, asking for her touch, and she laid her hand on his head. “Thank you,” she murmured, scratching the spot between his ears.

“He senses my moods right away. Caesar’s a remarkable pup,” Barron said.

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