Page 32 of The Executioners Three
“Sure. Go wash your hands, Theo.”
“I’m seventeen. Not seven.”
“I also said,‘Go wash your hands.’” Bowman’s glower, which wasn’t even aimed at Freddie, still made her digestive system invert on itself.
Theo seemed to feel the same because he instantly chirruped, “Yes, ma’am,” and turned to go.
Although, before his long legs could carry him completely out of sight, he did glance back at Freddie and offer a head-cock that might have been a goodbye.
Bowman folded her arms over her chest—a literal carbon copy of her nephew from two minutes before. It was almost uncanny. The only difference was that Sheriff Bowman was the toughest person Freddie knew, and yet again, Freddie wanted to offer up every slightly naughty act she’d ever committed.
Which was perhaps why what came out next was a complete jumble of disorganized mayhem. Yes, she managed to describe what she and Divya had found in the woods, as well as how they’d found it. And where they’d been too. But she repeated thewhyof it all twice—and she definitely repeated thewhereat least six times.
She also might have mentioned the corn syrup prank.
By the end, Freddie had flung off the backpack full of stolen goods and was all ready to confess to her theft too. Bowman didn’t interrupt. She just listened, her face devoid of all emotion and her thumb tap-tap-tapping as Theo’s had.
“So let me see if I got this right, Gellar: you and Divya were working at the archives and you took the shortcut home. Then on your way home, you found a water bottle that belonged to Dr. Fontana, and you think he left it there for Wednesday.”
“Iknowhe did! It literally said, ‘Wednesday run, lap two.’”
“Was there a date on it?”
“Well…” Freddie’s lips screwed sideways. “No, but it had to have been from the same Wednesday. Why would he have left it there otherwise?”
“I have no idea, and I also don’t make assumptions.” Bowman gaveFreddie a thorough, spine-tingling once-over. Then fixed her gaze on Xena. “I see you have your camera.”
“Erm…”Squirm, squirm.
“Did you take pictures of the bottle, Gellar?”
“Uh…”Squirm, squirm.
“Photographing a crime scene is illegal. I know I’ve taught you that.”
“But it isn’t a crime scene. Not yet.”
Bowman thrust out a flat hand. “Give me the camera, Gellar.”
“But…” Freddie frowned down at Xena. She’d only just gotten her sugar wookums back.Andshe’d taken three pictures of Kyle last night, while they’d hung out in the basement. She’d planned to develop the photos tomorrow in Greg’s darkroom and then place them on her NSYNC shrine. After all, without photographic evidence of last night, how could Freddie know it had really happened? Had Kylereallyput his arm around her and said “cheese”?
This must be what an existential crisis felt like.
“Fine,” she grumbled at last, and she unhooked the strap from her neck. But when she shifted to offer it to Bowman, she found the sheriff’s eyes had gone out of focus. Like she was staring at something far, far away. Even her lips were parted.
Freddie glanced behind her, expecting to find someone there… But nope. There was no one and nothing beyond the usual autumn street lined with too many jack-o’-lanterns. And when Freddie looked again at Bowman, the sheriff was rubbing her eyes.
“Sorry,” Bowman murmured. “It’s been a long few days since you found Dr. Fontana. Now, the camera, please? I’ll take the film out and return it to you tomorrow. And I’ll go after dinner to find this bottle, okay?”
“After dinner?”Freddie’s eyes bulged as she handed over Xena. “You can’t wait that long! What if it rains and the bottle gets washed away?”
“It’s not going to rain.” Bowman heaved a sigh. “Listen, Gellar: if that sports bottle is what you say it is, then we’ve got a real game changer on our hands. But I gave my deputies the night off,andI promised Jason I wouldn’t ruin dinner unless it was an absolute emergency.”
Freddie’s spine deflated—and it only deflated further as Bowman proceeded to list twenty-three different reasons that Freddie should not have done what she’d done. “… obstruction of justice, a complete lack ofexperience, just plainstupidity,and oh yeah, you’re not a cop. You’re just pretending to be one. Want me to keep listing?”
“Please don’t,” Freddie mumbled. “Besides, I’m not pretending anything, Sheriff.”
“And I’m Miss America.”
