Page 9 of Sing Me Home
“My wife is probably the biggest Ford Dupree fan known to exist,” he mused like I hadn’t said a word. “If my marriage wasn’t so solid, I’d never let her go to his concerts. He’d steal her with one glance.”
I snorted. “Fat chance. Ford loves Aunt Peyton way too much to ever look at —” I clapped a hand over my traitorous mouth.
The officer smirked. “That’s what I thought.” His chest heaved with a sigh. “Zoe—that’s my wife—follows you on TikTok. Actually, she follows the entire Dupree family. She says no one’s heard from you in like a year. Is that correct?”
My shoulders fell in defeat. “Yes, sir,” I forced through clenched teeth.
“Would you like me to help you jump your battery?”
“It’s not the battery. It’s the transmission.”
He bomb whistled because, yeah, fixing a transmission costs thousands of dollars and right now, I couldn’t afford a stick of gum.
He peered around me to take in my car. “No offense.” He chuckled. “But that, as my thirteen-year-old son would say, is what we call a hooptie. It’s probably time to just get a new car.”
“I don’t have the money,” I said through gritted teeth.
He shook his head. “The Duprees must be real pieces of?—”
“Watch it,” I growled.
“Interesting.” His eyes narrowed, studying me. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, Charlotte.”
“Charlie,” I corrected.
“Okay,Charlie. You caught me on a good day. The weather is perfect. I’m having breakfast with the wife as soon as my shift’s over, and tonight we’re going to a Dodgers game. So, I’ll tell you what.” He tipped his head toward my vehicle. “We’re going to tow the Bluesmobile here—” He cocked a brow when I opened my mouth to protest. “—take you to the police station, get a little food in your belly—because you are way too skinny—let you shower, and then—” He lifted a finger to show he wasn’t fooling around. “We’re going to call someone with the last name Dupree. Or Bishop, if you’d rather.”
Panic fisted around my throat but I managed to get out an emphatic, “No. That’s not an option.”
His head tilted, studying me. “Help me understand this. Are they abusive? What’s going on here?”
That was the last thing I needed getting around. “No. They’re the best family in the world.”
He sighed. “Then why won’t you ask them for help?”
“B-because.” My voice trembled. “Okay? Just because.”
All the kindness that had been on his face a moment earlier vanished. The way he was looking at me now—jaw clamped, nostrils flared—had to be his taking down the bad guys face. “Fine. Have it your way.” He reached for his handcuffs. “You have the right to remain?—”
“Let’s go with the first option!” I yelped.
He nodded, no smile. “I thought you’d see it my way.” He tipped his head toward his cruiser. “Let’s go.”
“I need to grab a couple of things. My guitar. And my purse.”
The entire ten-minute drive to the police station, I prayed like I never had before, asking God what to do. Should I really go home? I’d fought so hard not to have this be my outcome.
But I was so incredibly tired. Tired of scraping just to buy one burger a day. Tired of sleeping in my car, having nowhere to shower.
I’d be better off living in one of the ranch hand trailers on my grandparents’ land than what I was doing now. But Gramps would never let me live in one of those. He’d tell me I was too good for that. Then he’d make me go home and live with my parents. And that was exactly what I was trying to avoid.
An hour later, showered and wearing Officer Riley’s wife’s sweats, I sat staring at my phone. My hands trembled in my lap.
Officer Riley watched me from behind his desk. “You can use the station phone, if you’d rather.”
I rubbed a hand over my mouth. “No. I’ve got it. I just need a minute.”
Earlier, he’d observed me, with a sadness in his expression, as I inhaled a Snickers in three bites. He opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of water and a granola bar. Then he slid them across the desk and stood. “You’ve got ten minutes to make the call.” His tone was kind but firm.
