Whiplash
Page 25
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The look of absolute relief on his face nearly made her laugh. "Georgie's been making her own bed for two years now, haven't you, baby?"
"I'm seven years and six months old now, Daddy, I'm not a baby."
"How could I be so blind? Forgive me." He went down on his haunches and hugged her, breathed her in. "I'll come visit whenever I can, but like I told you, I'm up to my earlobes in a big gnarly mess right now."
"Will you come back for dinner tonight?"
"No, sweetie, I'm sorry. I've got to have dinner with two hotshot FBI agents the bosses sent up from Washington."
"And they need you to show them what to do, right?"
She believed in him absolutely, Bowie thought, looking at that precious face and huge dark blue eyes, her mother's eyes. He nodded. "Yes, sweetie, they need my help."
He kissed his daughter again, told her to mind her manners, ruffled her dark brown hair, his hair, and rose. "Thank you, Ms. Pulaski, I owe you big for this."
Erin prayed she'd never have to collect on the debt.
And so it was done. Erin had a roommate for two days, then they'd reevaluate, Bowie had said in a hopeful voice.
Georgie shook her head and said in a too-adult voice, "He's worried, I know he is, but he doesn't say anything. Some German man got killed in Van Wie Park, and Daddy's got to figure it all out. He said he found out who the man was because of his teeth. He didn't have any ID either. I heard Daddy say that on the phone. I hope the agents from Washington will be able to help."
So the man who was killed was German? If he was German, he was almost surely connected to Schiffer Hartwin. He didn't have any ID? Bowie figured out he was German from his teeth? So that meant Bowie recognized German dentistry? Well done. What about his fingerprints?
She'd have to find out about that. She smiled down at Georgie. "We'll eat in an hour, that okay with you?"
"Will we have Nutcracker food?"
"Nah, not tonight. I've got a macaroni and cheese casserole in the oven. Now, kiddo, let me show you your room."
"What's my surprise?"
"It's in your room. Let's take a look."
Erin opened the door and Georgie charged in to see a barre set against a long glass wall. "Now you can practice and practice," Erin said. "I even lowered it for you. What do you think of that?"
Georgie had obviously nourished higher hopes, but the kid was polite. "It is a beautiful barre, thank you, Erin," and that little voice told her another surprise would be a lovely thing for Erin to produce. Long day for the little girl, she thought, and so full of change.
Erin said, "You know, if you don't want the mac and cheese, I could fry us up a mess of liver and put Cool Whip all over the top."
The little girl laughed and laughed as she walked over to lightly run her fingertips over the smooth wooden barre.
When, Erin wondered, did little girls, seven years and six months, usually go to bed? She had a feeling if she asked Georgie, she'd lie to her, clean.
They had a successful meal of mac and cheese, obligatory green beans, and a small salad thrown in. After an hour playing on the barre and two TV shows, Erin looked over at the droopy-eyed Georgie, who'd sworn her daddy never made her go to bed until very late, and dialed Bowie Richards's cell.
"Richards. Yeah?"
He sounded harried.
"It's Erin Pulaski. When does Georgie usually go to bed?"
There was an instant of stark silence. She could see him firmly bringing his brain back to the mundane. "An hour ago, at seven forty-five. She got you, huh?"
"Oh yeah." And she hung up.
Bowie laid his cell next to himself on the car seat. Sherlock eyed it as it slid into her. She picked it up and handed it to him.
"Oh, thank you," he said, gave it a baffled look, and stuck it in his pocket. "That was Erin Pulaski, she's my temporary babysitter, taking care of my daughter. She's, ah, a private investigator here in Stone Bridge, as well as my daughter's ballet teacher." He shook his head, flipped on his left-hand turn signal. "Some combination."
Savich said from the back seat where he was working on MAX, "Her name's Georgie, right?"
"Yeah, today she told me she was seven years and six months and not a baby anymore." He shook his head, grinned. "I'll tell you, it seems like she was wearing diapers and drooling just last week. Tell me about your little boy."
They spoke to him of Sean and their dog, Astro.
"I'm seven years and six months old now, Daddy, I'm not a baby."
"How could I be so blind? Forgive me." He went down on his haunches and hugged her, breathed her in. "I'll come visit whenever I can, but like I told you, I'm up to my earlobes in a big gnarly mess right now."
"Will you come back for dinner tonight?"
"No, sweetie, I'm sorry. I've got to have dinner with two hotshot FBI agents the bosses sent up from Washington."
"And they need you to show them what to do, right?"
She believed in him absolutely, Bowie thought, looking at that precious face and huge dark blue eyes, her mother's eyes. He nodded. "Yes, sweetie, they need my help."
He kissed his daughter again, told her to mind her manners, ruffled her dark brown hair, his hair, and rose. "Thank you, Ms. Pulaski, I owe you big for this."
Erin prayed she'd never have to collect on the debt.
And so it was done. Erin had a roommate for two days, then they'd reevaluate, Bowie had said in a hopeful voice.
Georgie shook her head and said in a too-adult voice, "He's worried, I know he is, but he doesn't say anything. Some German man got killed in Van Wie Park, and Daddy's got to figure it all out. He said he found out who the man was because of his teeth. He didn't have any ID either. I heard Daddy say that on the phone. I hope the agents from Washington will be able to help."
So the man who was killed was German? If he was German, he was almost surely connected to Schiffer Hartwin. He didn't have any ID? Bowie figured out he was German from his teeth? So that meant Bowie recognized German dentistry? Well done. What about his fingerprints?
She'd have to find out about that. She smiled down at Georgie. "We'll eat in an hour, that okay with you?"
"Will we have Nutcracker food?"
"Nah, not tonight. I've got a macaroni and cheese casserole in the oven. Now, kiddo, let me show you your room."
"What's my surprise?"
"It's in your room. Let's take a look."
Erin opened the door and Georgie charged in to see a barre set against a long glass wall. "Now you can practice and practice," Erin said. "I even lowered it for you. What do you think of that?"
Georgie had obviously nourished higher hopes, but the kid was polite. "It is a beautiful barre, thank you, Erin," and that little voice told her another surprise would be a lovely thing for Erin to produce. Long day for the little girl, she thought, and so full of change.
Erin said, "You know, if you don't want the mac and cheese, I could fry us up a mess of liver and put Cool Whip all over the top."
The little girl laughed and laughed as she walked over to lightly run her fingertips over the smooth wooden barre.
When, Erin wondered, did little girls, seven years and six months, usually go to bed? She had a feeling if she asked Georgie, she'd lie to her, clean.
They had a successful meal of mac and cheese, obligatory green beans, and a small salad thrown in. After an hour playing on the barre and two TV shows, Erin looked over at the droopy-eyed Georgie, who'd sworn her daddy never made her go to bed until very late, and dialed Bowie Richards's cell.
"Richards. Yeah?"
He sounded harried.
"It's Erin Pulaski. When does Georgie usually go to bed?"
There was an instant of stark silence. She could see him firmly bringing his brain back to the mundane. "An hour ago, at seven forty-five. She got you, huh?"
"Oh yeah." And she hung up.
Bowie laid his cell next to himself on the car seat. Sherlock eyed it as it slid into her. She picked it up and handed it to him.
"Oh, thank you," he said, gave it a baffled look, and stuck it in his pocket. "That was Erin Pulaski, she's my temporary babysitter, taking care of my daughter. She's, ah, a private investigator here in Stone Bridge, as well as my daughter's ballet teacher." He shook his head, flipped on his left-hand turn signal. "Some combination."
Savich said from the back seat where he was working on MAX, "Her name's Georgie, right?"
"Yeah, today she told me she was seven years and six months and not a baby anymore." He shook his head, grinned. "I'll tell you, it seems like she was wearing diapers and drooling just last week. Tell me about your little boy."
They spoke to him of Sean and their dog, Astro.
