Page 3 of Welcome Home, Katie Gallagher
Possible incarceration aside, it was good to be back. The town hadn’t changed all that much. The downtown was quaintly charming, vibrant shop fronts lining Main Street down to the water. An older man was hosing down the sidewalk in front of a neighborhood market. Carts of fresh fruit and vegetables were already flanking the door.
I tapped my fingers on the cold steering wheel. “Think he sells forty-pound bags of dog food in there?” Hopefully that big feed store was still on the other side of town. “We’ll need to find out soon. You’ve almost finished the bag we brought with us.”
Chaucer sniffed around at the mention of food, but when none was forthcoming, he sat back, no longer blocking the rearview mirror.
Stopping at a red light, I caught myself checking out shoes in a store window. What the hell was wrong with me? I was following a cop to a police station, but instead of concerning myself with my own defense, I was considering whether or not I should buy a pair of cute new boots with a wedge heel. I was clearly unhinged.
“Look, Chaucer. I had my first kiss in the park down that street.” Michael Emerson. He’d been sweet and shy, smelling of fabric softener and freshly mown grass. Looking around, I began to relax. This was a good decision. I’d done the right thing for once.
I followed the police cruiser into the station parking lot and stepped out of my car. I’d been happy here once. I would be again. I took a deep breath. I’d missed the cold, salty ocean air. I closed my eyes and let the feeling settle. I hadn’t realized how beaten down I’d become, how hollow. Being back in Gran’s hometown made me feel steady and hopeful.
The glowering cop standing by his car took care of that feeling quickly. I couldn’t see his eyes through the reflective sunglasses he wore, but I could see the disapproving scowl. Years of a scowl like that had been part of what had beaten me down. I wasn’t bowing to that disapproval anymore. I turned on my heel, jogging around the back of the car. Pressing my key ring, the lock on the passenger side back door popped up. I opened the door for Chaucer.
The cop stepped forward. “Why don’t we leave him in the car while we talk?”
Chaucer stepped down and leaned into me. “Are you kidding? You don’t leave dogs alone in cars. Do you want him dying of heat exposure?” Not to mention the poor pup needed to use the facilities. Hopefully we could make a quick detour to the lawn.
“Well, as it’s in the high thirties with a forecast of getting into the low fifties today, I’m pretty sure he can avoid heat exposure.” He held his hand in front of Chaucer, who sniffed him thoroughly before stepping forward to let the cop pet him. “Fine; you can bring him.” He turned to lead us.
“Right behind you,” I said as Chaucer and I headed in the opposite direction toward the lawn. The russet colors of autumn dripped from the trees. We walked on stiff, crackling leaves until Chaucer found a perfect spot. During a ridiculously long potty break, I sensed the cop’s eyes on me. It was strangely comforting, like he was watching over me rather than keeping me under surveillance. When Chaucer finally finished, we met the cop at the door to the station.
He’d taken off his sunglasses. “Impressive,” he said, while scratching the top of Chaucer’s head.
“Good morning, Chief!”
He turned to a pretty woman with light brown hair. She was wearing a warm-looking sweater in burgundy with an adorable pair of high-heeled boots that put her close to the cop’s height. He grinned at her, and my stomach fluttered. No, no. Men were strictly verboten, especially the ones who liked to mock and criticize. New me, new choices.
He nodded. “Nancy.”
She was breathless, as though she’d run to catch up with him. “Chief, I’m so glad I caught you.” She glanced at me. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” She shifted her stance, partially blocking me. “I had a quick question about the festival. I need your opinion...”
Honestly, I stopped listening at that point. I leaned over and whispered in Chaucer’s ear. “He’s distracted. Now’s our chance. You run that way and I’ll run this way. I think we can totally get away if we act quickly.” I glanced around to make sure he was still engaged in chatting up the brunette.
He’d moved away from the woman who was still talking, a hand on his arm. All his attention was on me, though. Eyes squinted, he was practically daring us to make a break for it. Focus never wavering, he said, “Nancy, I’m in the middle of something. You can discuss all this with Heather. She’ll know the answers better than me, anyway.”
I leaned back down. “Abort. Abort.” Stupid observant cop.
He moved to the steps of the station house, extending his arm to us. “After you.” As Chaucer and I passed, he gave a low grumble. “Not exactly a criminal mastermind, are you?”
I paused, eyebrows raised in question.
He smirked. “Your plan was ‘run.’ Really?”
Deciding the no-talking plan should be in effect now, I ignored him and walked through the door. I had Chaucer on a leash, but he would have stayed with me anyway. And honestly, as the dog outweighed me, if he ever wanted to get away, there wasn’t much I could do. Luckily, he was devoted to me, almost as much as he was devoted to never exerting himself.
Inside, a middle-aged woman wearing a headset looked up from her cluttered desk. Her eyes comically rounded at seeing Chaucer walk in.
“Heather, this is Katie Gallagher. We’ll be using the conference room.”
I started at hearing the name Katie Gallagher. The name on my license was Katherine Cady. No one had called me Katie in a long time. Justin called me Katherine, and I insisted that my friends call me Katherine or Kate. I’d refused to be known as Katie Cady. That was too ridiculous, not to mention redundant.
As I walked through the police station, I knew I should be feeling fear, concern, abject terror, something. But I wasn’t. It was like a dream. Weird, bad things kept happening, but they didn’t touch me. I floated through. Maybe I was in shock, or that grape soda was laced with quaaludes. One or the other.
“It looks different,” I observed.
“Make a habit of studying the insides of police stations?” He led me past desks toward a rear hall. A couple of cops watched my perp walk, or maybe it was the Newfoundland trying to sniff out forgotten food that caught their attention.
“Not a habit so much as a hobby,” I said, studiously regarding the tips of my shoes. My eyes were definitely not drifting up to watch the world-class butt directly in front of me. Nope. “My Gran brought me here when I was thirteen as part of her scared-straight campaign. Some kids were busted for weed and she was certain I was a member of their drug-guzzling gang. Never mind that I had never met any of them, nor had I ever been high.”
