Page 32 of Professional Consult
Her expression changes to almost pained, and I wonder what exactly it means.
“Not a real date—”
“It’s fine. Go get Bernard.”
“Are you going to put on the lights?” I ask Barb.
“Sweetie, ain’t no one out on the streets.”
I pout.
Barb exhales an exhausted breath and turns the lights on.
“So about Tiffany,” Barbara starts.
“Are you going to tell me to lay off her, too?”
Barb frowns. “I just don’t want anyone growing too attached to you before ya up and leave.”
“I’m only here for two weeks, and I’ll make sure everyone knows it.”
“Ya might wanna lay off Bernard, too.”
“The bear?”
Barb cracks a grin.
She veers off the road into a parking lot, and sure enough, a huge brown bear has his butt hanging out of the dumpster.
“This is going to get messy if he’s had some drinks.”
“I…can imagine.”
Barb gets out, goes to the trunk, and pulls out a megaphone. I decide that I’m going to keep the door open to the cruiser and stand right next to it, in case Bernard charges.
“Bernard—what the heck do ya think yer doing in there?” Barb says.
Bernard lifts his head out of the bin, looking, dare I say, guiltily at Barb.
“Git yer ass out of there, and don’t let me catch you rooting around the trash bin again or I might just have me a brand new bear skinned rug.”
Whoa—Barb is going full on metal. Perhaps it’s she who is the bear.
I’m almost worried the senior police officer has lost her damn mind and is in danger of being mauled. But as Bernard climbs down, he looks downright afraid as he rushes into the woods.
Mental Note:DoNOTpiss Barb off. Ever.
I seriously might not make it out alive.
After Barb’s would-be rug is out of sight, she comes back to the cruiser.
Her radio sounds off again. Something about a welfare check, but I’m so stunned, I can hardly follow.
I check my phone to see several messages from Clint.
Not once does he apologize, which shouldn’t surprise me. He does tell me to try the peach pie at the diner, which is the last thing on my mind.
Screw you and your peach pie, Clint.
