Free Caretakers (Tyler Cunningham) by Jamie Sheffield Page B

and I weren’t invited to lunch?” Dorothy didn’t care about lunch, but this was her way of telling me to give some details about my new and ( she surmised ) exciting case as a consulting detective, while keeping it semi-private in the offices of the TLAS.
    “Kitty explained her need to me, Mike ( these were the names that Dorothy would use herself, she expected me to use them, so I did … it made things easier ) showed me around the camp, and gave me more details and background, and eventually, at his mother’s request/command, his car … for the duration of my investigation. That being the case, do you mind my leaving the Element here for the next week or two? You can use it for shelter stuff as needed.”
    She squealed and reached out to punch me, “GET OUT! That pretty green thing is yours?”
    “Not to keep, just as my fee. Want to see it?” I asked, anticipating a drawn out and rambling story of new dogs/cats and paperwork; instead, she grabbed her backpack, ducked under the counter-gate, and raced out the door before I was really aware of it.
    “I’m heading out, see ya’ll tomorrow,” I heard as the front door closed behind her rapidly diminishing form. I raced out to catch up with her, but by the time I got to the car, she was already settled in the driver’s seat, holding out her left hand, and grinning up at me. I detoured briefly to grab my go-bag from the Element and drop it into the tiny backseat-ish space of the Porsche, placed the keys for the 993 in her hand, and hurried around to the passenger side, so that I wouldn’t get left behind.
    “You have to drop me back off at my car behind SmartPig anyway,” she argued, as we rocketed past the turnoff that would bring us to the backstreet parking lot where we had left her car this morning before heading out to Camp Topsail.
    “I’m just going to take us out to Kiwassa and back, to stretch her out a bit,” she said when I looked questioningly at her, after she had missed the second viable turn to get us to her car. Last summer must have been on her mind as well, despite the fun, because she was taking turns, knowingly or not, that would take us past the house where George Roebuck ( the man who had Cynthia killed, and very nearly been responsible for my death ) had lived.
    Either because it had happened to someone else, or because she viewed it as self-defense or a fun adventure, Dot had not been bothered/scared/scarred/changed by the violence that we had been involved with in dealing with George and his crew at the end of last summer. It was only because of her help that I had lived through that period, but it had left more marks on me than her, as was quickly evident.
    “You have to promise me that you’ll bring me along for the fun this time, Tyler.”
    “Dot! What are you talking about? The fun when two guys beat me up … or the fun when they tried to shoot me and dump me in the lake … or the fun when they tried to finish me off once they found out that I was still alive … or wait, what about the fun when their fellow meth-cooking friends almost killed me and my dog?” My words didn’t get any louder, but she must have heard the tension in my voice because she pulled over to talk with me. She looked at me curiously, I tend not to get emotional, but had been showing frayed nerves more easily and frequently since the events of last summer.
    “Lighten up , Francis. None of that stuff. I was talking about the planning and maps and racing around the Park and beating them at their own game, that stuff. I wanna help, Tyler, and I hope that none of the other things are on the agenda this time around.”
    “None of them were planned the first time around, Dot … they just happened. Things don’t go according to plan when you’re dealing with crazy people or criminals; they don’t follow any logical patterns of behavior, and things get messy. If I thought this might be like last September with George, I’d pack up Hope ( my dog ) for